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METROPOLITAN 

TORONTO 

LIBRARY 


789 

fONGE 

rOROr^TO 
M4'A   l'G8 


METROPOLITAN  TO^.CNTO 
LIBRARY  BOARD  ' 


ROSE-BELFORD'S 

Canadian  Monthly 


V 


Toronto  Public  Library 

Reference    Department  >  AM 


THIS  BOOK   MUST  NOT  -BE   TAKtN     OUT  OF  THE    ROOM 


w    ''-'/). V  ',882. 


TORONTO : 
ROSE-BELFORD    PUBLISHING    COMPANY. 

1882. 


ROSE-BBLFORD'S 

Canadian  Monthly 


]^(ATIOEAL   tlEYIEW. 


EDITED   BY 

G.    MERCER    ADAM. 


VOLUME    VIII. 
From  January  to  Jfke,  1882. 


TORONTO  : 

ROSE-BELFORD    PUBLISHING    COMPANY. 

1882. 


^  i:>. 


^ 


Entcnd  ■ccordint;  to  the  Act  of  the  Parliament  of  Canada,  in  the  year  one  thouiiand  eight 
knodre<ianci  ii(:hty  two,  by  the  R08R  Belford  PlBLiaHiNO  CoMPANT,  in  the  Office  of 
the  Miniitrr  of  A^picultTir^. 


PBtJITSD  BT   HCVTER,  RoSE  &  Co. 
TOBOKTO. 


CONTENTS. 


ARTICLES. 

PAGe 

A  Day  with  the  Children.     By  Miss  J.  Toc-s  Port  Hope        .         .         .  l'J-2 

A  Few  Words  on  C'o-Kducation.     By  '  Fide  lis,'  Kingston             .         .  31- 

A  Peep  at  Convent  Lite  and  Education.     By  Mrs.  Col.  Clarke,  Flora     .  401/ 

'  Antigone  '  of  Sophocles,  The.     By  W.  H.  C.  Kerr,  M.  A.,  Brantford.  3^'.' 

Antigone,  The  Story  of,  as  told  by  Sophocles.      By  '  Fidelis,'  Kingston  .  30f> 
Basis  of  Legislative  Prohibition,  The  True.     By  Rev.  Geo.  H.  Hodgson, 

Charlottetown,  P.F.I 4(; 

Book  Reviews 100,217,322,430,5-49,  604 

Bric-a-brac 110,222,327,440,551,  057 

Canadian  Loyalty,  The  True  Idea  of.    By  W.  D.  Le  Sueur,  B.A.,  Ottawa.  I 
Canadian  Politics,  The  Study  of.      By  the  Rev.  Hugh  Pedley,  B.  A. 

Cobourg    .         .         •         .         ....         ...  301 

Changes  and  Chances,  a  Tale.     By  '  Paul,' Toronto    .         .         .         .  \- 

Colonial  Status  Quo  v.  Canadian  Independence,  The      ....  ll.> 

Conduct  of  England  to  Ireland,  The.    By  Gold  win  Smith,  M.  A.,  Toronto.  628 

Cure  of  Moral  Insanity,  The.     By  .J.  L.  Foulds,  Toronto  .         .         .  483 

Darwin  ;  his  Life  and  Work 540 

Dawn  of  English  Art,  The.     By  .Julia  Aleyne,  Burlington,  Vt.           .  Oi» 
Disallowance,  The  Power  of  and  its  National  Importance.     By  the  Hon. 

Ex-Speaker  Cockburn,  Ottawa 292,  420 

Editor  and  Contributor.  By  '  Ishmael,' Truro,  N.  S  .  .  .  .511 
Kllerslie  Grange,  a  Story.  By  *  Esperance,'  Yorkville  .  .  340,  458 
Erasmus  of  Rotterdam.  By  George  Simpson,  Toronto  ....  296 
Free  Thought  and  Responsible  Thought.  By  W.  D.  Le  Sueur,  B.  A.  014 
Future  of  Cana.la,  The.  By  J.  W.  Longley,  M.A.,  Halifax,  N.  S  .  147 
How  the  Modern  Eve  Entered  Eden.  By  Miss  A.  E.Wetherald,  Fenwick.  131 
Illustrations  of  Canadian  Life.  By  the  Rev.  W.  Wye  Smith,  New- 
market           155,  220,  515 

Island  of  Cape  Breton,  The.     By  J.  George  Bourinot,  B.A.,  Ottawa      .  329 

Jewish  Question,  The.     By  Goldwin  Smith,  M.  A.  Toronto         .         .  198 

Literary  Notes 109,  439 

Literature  connected  with  the  Canada  Pacific  R.R.  By  N.  Flood  Davin.  583 

Longfellow.     By  the  Rev.  W.  D.  Armstrong,  M.  A.,  Ottawa      .         .  488 
Mental  Hospitality  of  the  Scot,  The.    By  the  Rev.  Robt.  Campbell,  M.  A., 

Montreal - 79 

Modern  Life  and  Nervous  Force.     By  David  K.  Brown,  Toronto        .  122 

Musical  and  Theatrical  Reminiscences.     By  J.  Hector,  Q.  C,  Toronto  .  579— 
Northern  and  Western  Boundaries  awarded  to  Ontario,  The.     By  '  Par- 

liamentum,'  Toronto 302,  379 

Notes  upon  Romeo  and  Juliet.     By  R.  W.  Boodle,  B.  A.,  Montreal.       .  470 

Old  New  World  Tales.     By  P.  S.  Hamilton,  Halifax,  N.  S.     .         441,  554 

Our  i^nglish  Critics.     By  Thomas  CrooS,  Ottawa 532 

Permanence  of  Christianity,  .The.     By  *  Alchemist,' Montreal     .         .  52.'> 

Personal  Responsibility  of  Bank  Directors,  The.     By  A.  T.  Innes.         .  26G 

Physics  and  Metaphysics.     By  W.  D.  Le  Sueur,  B.A.,  Ottawa  .          .  352 


IV 


COyTKHTS. 


Poetry  u  a  Fine  Art.     \\\  Prof.  Chas.  K.  Moy*c,  li.A..  Moiitiv.il  . 
IV'  !  Krtf  Traile.     Hy  A  Frt'olance,  Toronto 

R«  -oript 

Hv\...         .     .  uf  C'tn.iila^  The.     Hy  the  Editor. 

KouiJ.i  the  TmI.Io .     lOl.nOd, 

Huniiinj  W.,t«r  NotoK      \W  E-iith  M.  Thomas 


Ue] 


Str> 


the.  The.      Hv  Thomas  Cross,  Ottawa 
The.      A  T.ile  of  (  Utawa  City     .... 
.•it  IvaihIoiu  Strung.      Hy  .1.  K.  Collins,    I'oronto 
ongn*88  at  Dublin.     Prof.  (JoMwiu  Smith's  Aildross 


•^'•*, 


"V}}.; ..    ..  r.HH  ami  Teacher.     By  '  Fidelis,'  Kingston 

Toronto  an«l  its  F^rly  Theatrical  Entertainments.      By  Geo.    M     Har- 
rington. Toronto         .         - 

Taboo  of  Strong  Drink,  The.     By  F.  Blake  Croft-on.  B.  A.,  Truro,  N.S. 
Two  SchiwU  of  Mo«lern  Poetry.     By  the  Rev.  J.   F.  Stevenson,  D.D., 

Montreal 

Yoong  P.Hjplej*' Department 21.3,310,432,542, 

Your  House  anil   Mine  :  .Esthetic  or  Not  .Esthetic.       By   D.    Fowler, 
Emerald    . 


243 

4 '.to 
2. '")•.• 

G40 
G3 
23fi 
184 
109 
88 
.')67 

180 

G21 
G47 

.500 


POETKY. 


A  Fragment     By  '  S«^ranus,'  (Mrs.  .1.  F.  Harrison,  (Ottawa) 

A  Mood.     By  Frederick  (Jeo.  Scott,  Montreal  . 

A  New  Year's  NVish.     By  C.  E.  M.,  Montreal 

A  Strain  from  tlu-  S.-aside.      By  .1.  A.  P.ell,  Halifax,  N.S    . 

A  Summer  Walk.      By  Miss  E.  A.  Sykes,  Toronto 

A  Time  of  Peao*.      By  Sarah  Doudney        .... 

Agricola,  from  TaciliK.     By  .John  Keade,  Montreal 

Araaranthu.H.     By  '  Erato,'  Freiiericton,  N.B.     . 

An  Advent  Hvmn.     By  '  Fidelis,'  Kingston  . 

An  -E-.thetic  Party.     By  '  Cowan  Lea,'  Montreal        .... 

Ave  At^jue  Vale  :  H.  \V.  Longfellow.     By  C.  Pelham  Mulvany,  Toronto 

lUxds  an«l  Babiea.      By  C.  C.   Kossetti         .  .  . 

Canadian  Llylls :  The  Queen's  Birthday.     By  W.  Kirby,  Niagara 

"  "     :  The  Lord's  Supper  in  the  Wilderness.      l>y  W.  Kirl)y. 

<'onfe«»ion8 :      A    series    of    Sonnets.         By    Mrs.    J.     F.     Harrison, 


( Htawa 

•Confuseil  Dawn.  The.      liy  W.  Douw  Lighthall,  Montreal  . 
Desolata.      By  Frederick  A.  Dixon.  Ottawa  .... 
Evening  in  .lum-.      P.v  T.  W.  S.,  New  Durham 
Felo  De  .Se.     By  F.  Blake  Crofton,  B.V,  Truro,  N.S.    . 
For  an  Andante  of  Mf-ndt-lssohn.      By  the   Author  of  'John 
Oaribaldi  .  Memorial  Verses.     By  C.  Pelham  Mulvany,  M.A 
His  Picture.     By  '  Esperance,'  Yorkville    .... 
In  .Memoriam  :   Dean  Grasett.     By  G.  R.  G.,  Toronto 
In  the  Orchard.     By  '  Esperance,'  Yorkville 
In  Exile.      By  Maurice  Thompson      ..... 
Intruding  Tiir.uglitx     By  B.  S.  A.,  Montreal 
Kingfisher,  The,     By  Chati.  l>ee  Barnes,  St.  Stephen,  N.Ii. 

Ldith.     By  E.  T.  F..  Quebec 

Loiua     By  Charles  G.  D.  Robert«,  M.A.,  Chatham,  N.P.. 
L  »ve  Letter,  The.     By  D.  G.  Rossetti        .... 


77.  lOG. 


Halifax.* 


646 
4K1 
100 
225 
178 
168 
121 
1S3 
11 
201 
410 
351 
281 
370 

300 

408 
582 
1.54 
460 
627 
698 
431 

52 
5:}5 
295 

45 
508 
G43 
566 


CONTENTS.  V 

PAGE 

May.      By  Kale  S.-yimnir  Miiclcan,   IviiigstDn          .....  -tiiO 

Memorials.      By  '  Esperance,'  Yorkville      ......  514 

Mcrning.     By  D.  J.  MacMurchy,  Toi..nto 191 

Non  Posso.     By  Frederick  A.  Dixon,  Oitawa    .....  577 

0  Donna  di  Virtu  !     By  '  Alchemist,'   Montreal 3Cu 

On  Crossing  a  Battle-Fielti.      By  '  Esperance,"   Yorkville  4IG 

Rondeau:  L.  H.  Frechette.     By  C.  G.  D.  Kobert.s,  B.A.,  Chatliam,  N.B.  212 

Sorrow  Endureth  for  a  Night,  <fcc.     By  '  Esperance,'  Yorkville    .  242 

Songs'  Piiiioii.><.      By  Prof.  Edgar  Buck,  Toronto    .....  258 

Sonnet.      By  Chas.  Lee  Barnes,  Fredericton,  N.  B        .  369 

To  .     By  L.  L.,  Montreal 531 

To  the  New  Year.     Bv  '  Gt)wan  Lea,'  Montreal          ....  68 

To  Thaliarcbus.      By  R.  S.  Knight,  Dunham,  P.Q 487 

To  Maurice  Thompson.     By  *  Seranus,'  (Mrs.  J    F.  Harrison,  Oitawa.)  537 

The  Trvsting-Place  Revisited.     By  C.  Pelhanr;  Mulvanv,  M.A.,  Toronto.  87 

True  Love.     By  E.  B.  H "      .  524 

Lf^ntrodden  Ways.     By  '  Fidelis,'  Kingston  .         .         .  .130 

Victoria.      By  A.  P.  Williams 265 

We're  to  Meet  Again.     By  A.  L.  M.,  Rosedale 338 

What  can  I  do  that  others  have  not  done  ?     By  John  Reade,  Montreal  235 

Wine  of  Chios.     By  E.  T.  F.,  Quebec 407 

Winter  Thoughts.     By  Mrs.  A.  MacGillis,  Winnipeg  .         .         .61 


ROSE-15ELFOHD'S 


Canadiai^  Monthly 


AND    NATIONAL    REYIEAV. 


JANUARY,    1882. 


THE  TRUE  IDEA   OF  CANADIAN  LOYALTY. 


BY    W.    D.    LE    SUEUR,    B.A.,    OTTAWA. 


IN  the  November  numbei-  of  this 
^lagazine  a  distinguished  writer, 
eminently  qualified  for  the  task  both 
by  the  nature  of  his  studies  and  by 
his  peculiar  opportunities  for  observa- 
tion, undertook  to  discuss  the  question 
whether  Canadian  loyalty  was  '  a 
Sentiment,  or  a  Principle.'  The 
discussion,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  opened 
somewhat  abruptly,  no  attempt  being 
made  to  define  what  was  meant  by 
'Canadian  Loyalty.'  Yet,  that  such 
a  definition  was  highly  necessary  is 
obvious  enough,  and  has  moreover 
been  illustrated  in  a  somewliat  singu- 
lar way.  In  glancing  over  the  index 
to  the  Magazine  for  the  half  year  just 
closed,  I  find  the  article  to  whicli 
reference  is  made  (juoted  under  the 
title  of  '  Is  Loijalty  to  Canada  a  Sen- 
timent or  a  Principle  ] '  Here  is  a 
transformation  of  the  most  significant 
kind.  '  Loyalty  to  Canada'  is  a  much 
more  definite   thing   than   '  Canadian 


Loyalty,'  which,  if  capable  of  being 
interpreted  in  the  same  sense  is  also 
capable  of  being  interpreted  in  one 
widely  different,  namely,  the  Loyaltv 
of  Canada  to  the  Parent  State.  This 
in  fact  is  the  sense  in  which  the  term 
is  used  throughout  the  article,  nothing 
whatever  being  said  about  the  duty  of 
loyalty  to  Canada.  Understanding 
then  Canadian  loyalty  in  this  sense, 
and  not  in  the  sense  so  oddly  sug- 
gested by  the  index,  Mr.  Todd  proceeds 
to  enquire  whether  it  is  '  a  Sentiment 
or  a  Principle,'  and  concludes  that  it 
is  the  latter,  not  the  former.  The 
aim  of  the  following  pages  will  be  to 
show  that  Canadian  loyalty,  if  under- 
stood in  the  sense  of  loyalty  to  Canada, 
is — whether  sentiment  or  priuci{)le  or 
both — the  one  thing  which  it  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  the  future  of 
this  country  to  strengthen  and  pro- 
mote ;  but  that,  if  understood  in  the 
sense  adopted  by  Mr.  Todd,  it  repre- 


THK  Ti:i  i:  n>t: 


>t   I  A.SM>iA.\    /  »')  Ai.rY. 


virtue  which  tho  innrch  of 
event*  h«u»,  for  yrnrn  |»*»t,  Ikhmi  moix) 
anti  uu»n»  rv lulcring  ol»»oK't«\ 

A  won!,  howover,  l>cfon<  we  pro- 
cee^l  on  this  question  of  sentiuuMit  or 


pnnci| 


n  tJiu  qii 
.lo.       W 


e  njRV  1h«  sure  of  ono 


thing,  ftn«l  that  is  tli.it  whatever 
C«ni»(liNn  loyalty  in  either  of  it«  forma 
U  «.^,  it  it  »»entimenU  lx>yalty,  the 
vorKl  over,  ia  a  sentiment ;  any  virtue 
that  it  |K«»e»se«  arises  from  that  fuct  ; 
for  loyally  which  is  siujply  a  |»erccp- 
ti.'ii  i-iHiii  which  siile  one's  l>rfa»l  is 
if*  :  .1  is  not  tlescrving  of  the  name. 
Mr.  Imlil  himself  sjwaks  of  Canatlian 
loyaltv  as  a  'feeling,'  ami  maintains 
that,  as  such,  '  it  jKjsseasex  l»oih  iloptli 
and  r^-ality.'  Yet  the  object  of  the 
article  seems  to  be  to  show  that  it  is 
not  a  sentiment  or  feelinjj  hut  a  '  j)rin- 
ciple.'  The  truth  is  that  it  is  l)oth  a 
sentiment  antl  a  jirinciple,  and  that 
there  is  no  contra-liction  U-tween  the 
two.  It  is  a  sentiment  ia  its  essential 
nature,  and  a  principle  as  being  a 
source  and  rule  of  action. 

The  imfwrtant  fjuestion,  however, 
is  whether  Mr.  Tinld  hau  placcxl  before 
the  read<T8  of  the  C'.wadian  Monthly 
a  truo  idea  of  Canadian  loyalty.  Ac- 
cording to  him  it  consists  in  a  strong 
desire  antl  determination  to  preserve 
the  present  colonial  status  of  Canada. 
To  \>e  loyal  as  a  Canadian  is  to  wish 
to  maintain  Canada's  present  relation 
to  Clppat  liritain  and  to  the  British 
Empire  as  a  whole.  To  be  disloyal, 
therefore,  would  be  to  wish  to  disturb 
that  relation,  either  by  making  Canada 
entirely  indejKjndent  or  by  attaching 
her  to  some  other  political  system. 
Loyalty  ia  a  duty  and  a  virtue  ;  it  is 
■omething  wliich  no  one  can  reputably 
disown  -.  therefore  it  is  the  duty  of 
p..  -..<,.  i:.  .,,  strive  to  maintain 
t.  'ion  l^etween  Can- 

a  .'T  Country,     Only 

those  who  either  are  indifferent  to 
duty,  or  who  have  very  mistaken  ideas 
of  duty,  can  countenance  any  effort  or 
scheme  to  disturb  the  xt'itut  quo. 

"Sow  these,  I  resi»ectfully  submit, 
are  not  self-evident  prof>ositions  ;  and 


yet,  strange  to  sjiy,  the  ablo  writer 
whi>so  nama  has  l>een  mentioned 
makes  no  effort  to  prove  them.  Ho 
thinks  it  sullicient  to  try  and  give  an 
historicnl  explanation  of  what  lu>  takes 
to  be  the  dominant,  and  all  but  uni- 
vei-sal,  fi'olin:,'  uf  (^anadian.s  towards 
the  jmlitical  system  under  which  they 
arc  living,  lie  assumes  an  abounding 
loyalty  of  the  type  above  described — 
a  loyalty  to  (Jroat  Hritain — and  then 
sets  to  work  to  show  how  the  feeling 
was  developed.  J I  is  illustrations 
unhappily  iiardly  serve  even  the  j)ur- 
jiose  for  which  they  are  intended,  far 
a.s  that  falls  short  of  the  proper  scope 
of  any  general  tliscu.ssion  of  Canadian 
loyalty.  The  chief  point  made  is  that 
Canada  was  settled  in  part  by  U.,E. 
Loyalists,  men  who  failed  to  sympa- 
thize with  the  resistance  made  by 
their  fellow-colonists  of  America  to 
the  tyranny  of  King  ( ieorge  the  Third, 
and  who,  either  voluntnrily  or  upon 
compulsion,  forsook  their  homes  and 
sought  refuge  under  tiie  British  flag. 
The  force,  however,  of  this  argument 
is  greatly  weakened  when  wo  are 
exjiressly  told  that  the  great  majority 
ofthe.se  would  willingly  have  remained 
in  the  United  States,  sacrificing  their 
allegiance  to  Great  Britain,  if  the 
odium  into  which  they  had  fallen 
with  their  neighbours  had  not  made 
life  there  unendurable.  A  thousand 
citizens  of  JJusLon,  we  are  assured, 
though  opposed  to  the  Revolution, 
declared  that  they  '  would  never  have 
stirred  if  they  thought  t/ic  most  abject 
suhmUsioH  would  procure  them  peace.' 
One  can  read  this  over  several  times 
without  being  profoundly  impressed 
by  the  'loyalty'  of  these  thousand 
citizens.  That  being  compelled,  in 
spite  of  their  readiness  for  abject 
submission,  to  seek  homes  in  another 
country  they  should  have  carried 
thither  a  strong  aversion  to  the  land 
that  had  cast  them  out,  is  quite  con- 
ceivable ;  the  diflicult  thing  is  to 
supiKjse  that  they  shouhl  furnish  to 
their  adopted  country  any  very  a<J- 
mirable    tyjKj   of    loyalty,  unless   by 


rUE  TllVE  IJ'EA  OF  CANADIAN  LOYALTY. 


loyalty  we  menn  the  mere  hahit  of 
submission  to  arl)itrary  authority.  If 
these  were  conHjiicuoiis  '  loyalists'  then 
perhaps  their  successors  of  to-day 
would  he  ecjUiilly  prepaied  for  '  the 
most  ahject  subuussu)n,'  if  a  majority 
of  the  people  of  Canada  were  to  decide 
in  favour  of  independence.  1  do  not 
say  that  they  would  ;  it  is  Mr.  Todd 
who  somewhat  infelicitously  forces 
upon  us  the  suggestion  that  they 
might. 

Svhen,  therefore,  Mr.  Todd  speaks 
of  '  our  forefathers  '  having  '  deliber- 
ately preferred  the  loss  of  propeity 
and  the  perils  incident  to  their  flight 
into  the  wilderness  rather  than  forego 
the  blessings  of  i5ritish  supremacy  and 
of  monarchical  rule,'  we  are  compelled 
to  remind  him  that,  according  to  his 
own  express  statement,  this  was  not 
the  case.  They  were  prepared  to  let 
British  supremacy  and  monarchical 
rule  go  by  the  board,  if  only  their 
fellow-citizens  would  have  pardoned 
them  their  lukewarmness  in  the  great 
struggle.  '  Their  only  safety,'  we  are 
told,  '  was  in  flight.'  '  They  sought 
refuge  in  Canada  and  Nova  Scotia 
from  che  hardshijjs  to  which  they  were 
exposed  in  the  old  colonies  because  of 
their  fidelity  to  the  British  Crown.' 
"We  may  therefore  infer  that  had  the 
colonists  in  general  been  a  little  more 
magnanimous  or  forbearing  to  the 
non-sympathizing  minority,  the  latter 
would  never  have  trodden  the  wilds 
of  Canada,  or  furnished  an  argument 
for  Canadian  loyalty  as  understood  by- 
Mr.  Todd. 

When  the  foundation  of  an  argu- 
ment is  defective  the  superstructure 
is  apt  to  be  a  little  shaky  ;  and  so  we 
find  it  in  the  present  case.  As  the 
loyalists  did  not  carry  into  Canada  so 
consuming  a  zeal  for  '  British  supre- 
macy and  monarchical  rule '  as  a 
sentence  above  quoted  would  lead  us 
to  believe,  so  neither  did  they  bring 
into  Canada  or  transmit  to  their  de- 
scendants, so  lively  a  perception  as 
the  writer  of  the  article  imagines,  of 
the  benefit  of   a  connection  between 


I    Church  and  State.     In  the  Province  of 

i  Ontario,  which  perhaps  owes  most  to 
their  inlluence,  the  tendency  for  a  long 

'  time  past  has  been  steadily  away  from 
every  form  of  church  establishment. 
The  secularization  of  the  Clergy  lle- 

'  serves—  not  referred  to  by  ^1  r.  Todil 
— was  one  signal  example  of  this  ; 
and  the  withdrawal  of  government 
grants  from  all  denominational  colleges 
was  another.  The  general  feeling 
throughout  the  Province  of  Ontaiio  is 
that  religion  needs  no  kind  of  state 
patronage,  and  that  it  is  quite  as  safe 
— not  to  say  safer — under  the  Ameri- 
can system  which  ]\Ir.  Todd  so  much 
deplores  as  under  the  British  or  any 
other  which  gives  it  official  recogni- 
tion. As  a  political  indication,  the 
fact  that  Ontario  took  the  lead  in 
dispensing  with  a  second  chamber  in 
her  local  legislature  is  not  without 
significance. 

The  word  loyalty  calls  up  many 
ideas,  but  the  more  we  examine  it  the 
more  clearly  we  see  that  the  largest 
element  in  it  is  the  element  of  fidelity 
upon  the  part  of  an  inferior  to  a 
superior,  or  of  a  lesser  to  a  greater 
power.  We  do  not  talk  of  the  loyalty 
of  Great  Britain  to  Canada.  If  in 
any  relations  between  the.  two  we 
were  to  speak  of  Great  Britain  having 
followed  a  '  loyal '  course  of  conduct, 
the  loyalty  in  that  case  would  be 
towards  some  high  standard  of  national 
duty  conceived  as  equally  binding 
upon  great  states  antl  small.  We 
speak  of  the  '  loyal '  observance  of  a 
treaty,  and  there  again  the  loyalty  is 
towards  an  abstract  conception  of 
right  and  equity,  that  conception 
ranking  in  our  moral  estimation  far 
above  the  mere  expediencies  of  the 
hour.  Canada  or  any  other  country 
could  thus  loyally  fulfil  an  obligation, 
■whether  contracted  towards  an  equal, 
a  superior  or  an  inferior  power.  But 
when  loyalty  to  England  is  spoken  of 
the  idea  that  comes  to  our  mind  is  not 
the  loyal  fultilling  of  engagements, 
but  fidelity  as  of  a  person  to  a  person, 
and,  it  must  be  added,  of  a  dependent 


THE  TRUE  IDEA  OF  CANADIAN  LOYALTY. 


to  a  patron  or  j>rotoctor.  Ami,  just 
as  in  persouiil  relations,  this  fooling 
is  only  justitiod  where  services  are 
rendered  by  the  stronger  to  the  weaker 
which  the  latter  is  unaMo  to  render 
to  himself  ;  so,  between  countries,  an 
occasion  for  loyalty  only  arises  when 
the  stronger  community  does  that  for 
the  weaker  which  the  weaker  is  unable 
to  do  for  itself.  In  such  a  case  the 
stronger  country  has  a  right  to  expect 
that  the  weaker  will  show  a  due 
appreciation  of  the  bonetits  it  derives 
from  the  connection,  and  will  brave 
perils  i-ather  than  forsake  its  protec- 
tor in  an  hour  of  trial.  We  must, 
however,  Mssume  that  the  services 
rendered  by  the  stronger  i)Ower  are 
rendered  disinterestedly.  If  a  state 
plants  a  colony  in  some  distant  land, 
and  there  seeks  to  control  its  com- 
merce in  its  own  interest,  without 
regard  to  the  interests  of  the  new 
settlement,  I  fail  to  see  that  it  can 
justly  claim  the  loyalty  of  the  latter. 
I  do  not  think  that  any  loyalty  was 
due  from  Ireland  to  England  in  the 
days  when  England  was  oppressing, 
in  every  possible  way,  Irish  trade  and 
industry.  The  loyalty  of  the  Ameri- 
can colonies  survived,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  by  many  years  any  eijuitable  claim 
of  the  Mother  Country  to  such  a  feel- 
ing on  their  part.  There  are  those, 
no  doubt,  who  admire  a  loyalty  that 
no  injustice  can  quench  ;  but  there  are 
others  again  who  see  in  loyalty  carried 
to  such  II  length  only  a  servile  lack  of 
self-respect,  and  who  would  rather 
have  in  their  veins  the  Vilood  of  'some 
\-illage  Hampden '  than  that  of  a 
'  loyalist '  who  offered  in  vain  '  the 
most  abject  submission  '  as  the  price 
of  remaining  in  a  country  i\xa.i,icithout 
his  aid,  had  vindicated  its  liberty. 

If,  therefore,  Canada  is  now  '  loyal ' 
to  England  what  are  thecircumstances, 
what  are  the  facts,  that  give  signifi- 
cance, that  give  raison  d'etre,  to  its 
loyalty  ?  Is  it  that  Canada  is  depen- 
dent upon  England,  and  being  depen- 
dent ought  to  be  at  once  humble  and 
faitiful  ?     This  cannot  be  admitted, 


for  not  only  is  the  idea  of  Can- 
ada's (Icpoiulence  upon  England  dis- 
owned liy  very  many  here  in  Canaila, 
but  it  has  been  distinctly  disowned 
by  representative  Englishmen,  and  by 
none  more  distinctly  or  emphatically 
than  by  the  present  Prime  iMinister^ 
Mr,  Gladstone.  In  i)roof  of  this  I 
would  refer  to  the  discussion  that 
took  place  in  the  British  House  of 
Commons  on  the  28th  March,  1867, 
upon  the  application  of  the  Canadian 
Government  for  a  guarantee  of  a  loan 
of  .£3,000,000  stg.  for  the  building  of 
the  Intercolonial  Kailway.  Upon  that 
occasion  we  find  the  Under  Secretary 
of  State  for  the  Colonies,  Mr.  (now 
Sir  Charles)  Adderley,  who  moved  the 
resolution  ])roposing  the  guarantee, 
making  an  almost  abject  apology  for 
doing  so.  Here  I  must  be  permitted 
to  quote  (Hansard,  Vol.  186,  page 
736): — 'Mr.  Adderley  said  that,  in 
moving  the  Resolution  of  which  he 
had  given  notice,  not  one  word  would 
fall  from  him  approving  in  tlie  abstract 
of  guarantees  of  Colonial  Loans.  He 
had  always  thought  that  they  were  a 
feature  of  the  worst  possible  relations 
between  this  country  and  the  Colonies, 
bad  enough  for  this  country,  but  still 
worse  for  the  Colonies.  He  sincerely 
hoped  that  this  Colonial  guarantee 
would  be  the  last  proposed  to  Parlia- 
ment, or,  if  proposed  the  last  that. 
Parliament  would  be  disposed  to  grant. 
*  *  *  The  only  way  (page  739) 
of  making  the  new  Confederation  in- 
dependent of  the  United  States  was 
to  construct  this  important  railway 
(the Intercolonial)  which  would  enable 
Canada  to  develop  itself,  and  rely 
entirely  iipon  Jier  own  resources.  *  *  * 
The  Confederation  (page  743)  would 
take  away  the  lari(/uor  of  dependence 
upon  England  which  had  hitherto 
paralysed  the  divided  governments.' 

Mr.  Adderley  spoke  as  member  of 
a  Conservative  Government ;  but  he 
■was  followed  by  Mr.  Aytoun,  the 
Liberal  member  for  a  Scotch  borough, 
who  moved  the  rejection  of  the  guar- 
antee  as  unsound   in  principle   and. 


THE  TRUE  IDEA  OF  CANADIAN'  LOYALTY. 


unfair  to  British  taxpayers.  Mr. 
Thos.  Cave,  ineuiber  for  13ani8tai»lo, 
■denounced  the  whole  thing  as  'a 
colossal  jol),'  anil,  with  reference  to 
Mt.  AiUlerlej's  remark  that  the  pro- 
posed Railway  would  render  Canaila 
•entirely  independent  of  the  United 
States  (not  a  very  acute  remark,  it 
must  be  confesseil)  said  that  he  did 
not  see  what  interest  England  could 
Lave  '  in  so  entirely  severing  the  Cana- 
dians from  the  United  States.  He 
thought  the  safety  of  that  country 
consi.sted  in  friendly  communication 
with  the  United  .States.'  Be  this  as 
it  might,  '  It  would  be  better  to  have 
the  whole  onus  of  its  defence  thrown 
upon  Canada  itself.  If,  instead  of 
giving  .£3,000,000  with  a  view  of 
separating  it  from  the  United  States, 
we  were  to  give  £10,000,000  to  join 
and  unite  them  it  would  be  more 
patriotic'  Did  these  sentiments  pro- 
voke a  perfect  storm  of  indignation 
in  the  House  of  Commons  ?  By  no 
means ;  nobody  was  moved  to  indig- 
nation at  all,  and  Mr.  Gladstone  who 
followed  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
do  more  than  repel  the  insinuation  of 
jobbery  that  Mr.  Cave  had  (of  course 
most  unjustly)  thrown  out.  As  re- 
gards the  significance  to  be  attached 
to  the  proposed  guarantee,  he  said 
(page  752)  that,  '  far  from  considering 
it  as  an  expression  of  the  will  and 
readiness  of  any  government  of  this 
country  or  of  Parliament  to  undertake 
additional  responsibility  with  respect 
to  the  ordinary  work  of  the  defence  of 
the  Province  of  Canada,  he  placed  on 
it  an  ex.adhj  opposite  construction,  and, 
but  for  that  opposite  construction,  he 
should  find  it  impossible  to  justify  the 
jn-oposal  now  made.  He  looked  on 
this  guarantee  as  auxiliary  to  the 
great  work  of  Confederation,  the  pur- 
pose of  which  was  the  development  of 
the  resources  of  the  colonies,  and, 
along  with  that,  the  gradual  and 
speedy  development  of  their  self-re- 
liance.' England  had  long  occupied, 
he  went  on  to  say,  a  false  posi- 
tion  in   regard   to   colonial   defence, 


I  shouldering  our  burdens  and  doing 
our  thinking  for  us  just  as  if  these 
colonies  *  were  not  inhabited  by  an 
intelligent  and  free  population.'  The 
way  to  esca[)e  frou)  this  false  position 
was  *  to  give  a  higher  civil  and  politi- 
cal position  to  these  communities 
themselves.'  The  only  otiicer  in  the 
colonies  appointed  by  the  Colonial 
Secretaiy  was  the  Governor  ;  and  Mr. 
Gladstone  believed  that  '  if  it  were 
the  well-ascertained  de.sire  of  the  colo- 
nies to  have  the  appointment  of  their 
own  governor,  the  Imperial  Parlia- 
ment would  at  once  make  over  to 
them  that  power.'  The  British  North 
America  Act  had  been  passed  '  with  a 
promptitude  which,  //  it  had  been  a 
measure  affecting  ourselves,  would  have 
been  precipitancy.'  This  was,  however, 
'  an  acknowledgment  of  the  title  of 
these  colonies  to  deal  practically  with 
their  own  affairs,'  and  it  was  hoped 
that  the  result  would  be  *  the  develop- 
ment along  that  great  extent  of  ter- 
ritory of  a  stronger  sense  of  political 
existence,  more  self-reliance  and  more 
self-reliant  habits.'  England  had  her- 
self in  the  past  weakened  the  self- 
reliance  of  the  colonies  by  too  visibly 
taking  them  under  her  protection ; 
and  the  way  to  remedy  that  was  now 
'  to  raise  their  political  position  to  the 
very  highest  point,  in  order  that  with 
that  elevated  position  their  sense  of 
responsibility  may  also  grow.  The 
system  of  vicarious  defence — the  sys- 
tem of  having  the  burden  of  its 
frontier  defence  borne  by  another — 
enervates  and  depresses  the  tone  of 
the  country  in  which  it  prevails  ;  and 
its  withdrawal  is  necessary  in  order 
to  bring  the  country  to  the  full  pos- 
session and  enjoyment  of  freedom.' 

Then  followed  Mr.  Lowe,  now  Lord 
Sherbrooke,  who  objected  (page  7C0) 
to  the  guarantee  precisely  because  it 
was  represented  as  being  '  auxiliary 
to  Confederation.'  The  British  North 
America  Act  had  been  passed  with 
the  expedition  commented  on  by  Mr. 
Gladstone,  just  because  Parliament 
felt  it  was  a  matter  with  which  it  had 


6 


THE  TRUE  IDEA  OF  CANADIAN  LOYALTY. 


only  the  most  formal  concern  ;  and 
that  being  the  case,  Mr.  Lowe  wholly 
failed  to  see  why  that  measure  should 
be  followed  by  a  pecuniary  guarantee 
■which  was  a  matter,  not  of  formal, 
but  of  real  concern  to  the  British 
people.  Such  a  guarantee,  moreover, 
was  calculated  to  teach  Canadian  colo- 
nists the  very  false  lesson  that  Eng- 
land took  *  a  peculiar  interest  in  the 
manner  in  which  they  chose  to  regulate 
theirinternal  aflairs  and  their  relations 
•with  the  United  States.  Now  that 
we  have  given  them  self-government, 
let  them  manage  their  ali'airs  their 
•  own  way,  and  do  not  let  us  make 
ourselves  responsible  for  the  manner 
in  which  they  regulate  their  internal 
or  foreign  relations.  The  manage- 
ment of  our  own  affairs  is  quite  suffi- 
cent  for  us,  without  mixing  ourselves 
up  in  matters  with  which  we  have  no 
concern,  and  over  which  we  do  not 
for  a  moment  profess  to  exercise  the 
slightest  control.' 

Now,  what  is  my  object  in  making 
these  quotations  ?  Simply  to  show 
how  wide  of  the  mark  it  is  to  pretend 
that  there  is  anything  in  the  relations 
subsisting  between  Canada  and  Eng- 
land to  call  for  or  justify  the  kind  of 
'  loyalty  '  which  Mr.  Todd  assumes  to 
be  burning  in  Canadian  bosoms.  The 
men  who  speak  with  the  most  au- 
thority in  the  British  Parliament 
disclaim  wholly  the  idea  of  any  de- 
pendence of  Canada  upon  Great 
Britain,  and  equally  disclaim  the  idea 
that  Great  Britain  is  prepared  to 
recognize  such  a  relation  of  depen- 
dence on  the  part  of  this  country. 
Mr.  Gladstone  touched  the  quick  of 
the  matter  when,  after  saying  that 
the  Imperial  Parliament  would  wil- 
lingly allow  the  colonies  to  name  their 
own  Governors  if  they  wished,  he  went 
on  to  observe  that  even  more  than 
this  had  already  been  granted  in  the 
liberty  accorded  to  the  colonies  of 
taxing  British  goods.  '  If  there  is  one 
thing,'  I  quote  the  eminent  states- 
man's own  words,  '  which  we  are 
entitled  to  insist  upon  as  a  limit  to 


colonial  self-government,  it  is  that 
British  merchandise  should  enter  these 
provinces  on  certain  terms  ;  but,  in- 
stead of  that,  the  assent  of  the  Queen 
has  been  given  to  acts  imposing  duties 
of  10,  15,  20,  and  2")  per  cent,  upon 
products  of  English  industry  entering 
Canada.'  This  gives  us  the  key  of 
the  whole  situation.  Colonies  are 
planted  for  purposes  of  trade,  and  so 
long  as  they  can  be  made  subsidiary 
to  the  trade  of  the  parent  state,  so 
long  does  the  latter  prize  and  value 
them.  On  the  other  hand,  just  as 
they  begin  to  have  separate  interests 
of  their  own,  and  practically  to  con- 
sult those  interests,  does  the  interest 
which  the  parent  state  take  in  them 
dwindle,  until  it  gets  down  to  the 
point  indicated  in  the  debate  of  which 
the  above  are  some  of  the  most  signifi- 
cant portions.  For  Canada  to  choose 
her  own  Governor — or,  I  suppose,  for 
that  matter.  President — would  be  a 
small  thing  in  the  eyes  of  the  present 
British  premier,  compared  with  tax- 
ing British  goods,  even  as  they  were 
taxed  in  the  year  1867.  It  should  be 
remarked,  too,  that  Hansard  gives  us 
no  intimations  of  dissent  upon  the 
part  of  the  House  at  large  from  any 
of  the  sentiments  advanced,  even 
from  Mr.  Thos.  Cave's  suggestion  that 
it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  England 
to  pay  us  $50,000,000  to  go  and  join 
the  United  States.  The  only  state- 
ment that  called  forth  cries  of  '  No  ! ' 
'  No '  !  was  one  that  fell  from  Mr. 
Lowe,  to  the  effect  tliat,  in  creating 
the  Confederation,  England  would  be 
credited  with  trying  to  set  up  on  this 
Continent  a  rival  power  to  the  United 
States.  Upon  this  point  honorable 
members  were  very  anxious  to  clear 
themselves;  but  when  Mr.  Lowe  asked 
what  England  had  to  do  either  with  the 
internal  affairs  of  Canada  or  ivith  her 
foreign  relations,  there  was  no  move- 
ment, no  sensation,  no  interpellation, 
no  exi)ression  of  surprise.  Let  it  be 
remembered,  too,  that  this  debate 
probably  took  place  in  the  presence  of 
the  Canadian  delegates  who  had  been 


THE  TRUE  IDEA   OF  CANADIAN  LOYALTY. 


sent  to  London  to  arrange  the  details 
of  Confederation,  and  wlio  had  for 
months  been  doing  their  l)e8t  to  in- 
terest members  of  the  government  in 
the  allairs  of  Cana(hi.  To  what  ex- 
tent they  had  succeeded  let  the  facts 
declare. 

Will  it  be  said  that  a  change  has 
since  come  over  the  feeling  of  the 
British  public  in  regard  to  the  colo- 
nies ?  if  so,  I  sliouid  like  to  see  some 
distinct  evidence  of  it.  The  British 
public  and  British  representative  men 
would  have  to  push  want  of  interest 
and  sympathy  almost  to  the  point  of 
brutality  if,  in  spite  of  the  effusive 
character  of  Canadian  loyalty,  as  otfi- 
cially  and  conventionally  expressed, 
they  absolutely  refused  us,  on  their 
part,  any  answering  expressions.  But 
where,  I  ask,  are  the  signs  that  Great 
Britain  desires  any  closer  union  with, 
or  larger  responsibility  for,  Canada 
now  than  she  did  at  the  time  of  that 
debate  ]  Must  we  not  conclude  that 
as  the  causes  which  brought  about  the 
feeling  then  manifested  have  been  in 
steady  and  progressive  operation  ever 
since,  the  indisposition  of  England  to 
assume  any  responsibility  for  Canada 
of  a  nature  to  call  forth  loyalty  on  our 
part  as  its  fitting  return  is  greater  to- 
day than  at  any  previous  period  % 

Is  any  one  to  blame  for  this  ?  As 
well  ask  whether  any  one  is  to  blame 
for  the  fact  that  the  chicken  that  has 
learnt  to  take  care  of  itself  in  the 
barn-yard  ceases  to  cause  solicitude  to 
the  old  hen.  As  well  ask  who  is  to 
blame  for  the  fact  that  the  grown-up 
son  founds  a  family  of  his  own,  and 
rules  that  family  according  to  his  own 
will  and  judgment.  As  well  ask  who 
is  to  blame  because  the  ripe  pear  drops 
from  the  tree.  Had  things  come  to 
such  a  pass  between  Canada  and  Eng- 
land as  they  did  between  the  thirteen 
American  colonies  and  England,  we 
might  well  ask  who  was  to  blame  ; 
for  things  could  not  get  so  far  wrong 
without  somebody  being  seriously  to 
blame.  But  at  present  let  us  be  thank- 
ful nobody  is   to   blame.     The  course 


j    of  events,  the  healthy  development  of 
this  country,  has  brought  us  where  we 
are  to-day  ;  and  let  us  be  thankful  that 
we  are  where  we  are,  and  that  the  suf- 
\    ficiency  of  Canada  for  the  burdens  and 
responsibilities    of  complete    self-gov- 
I    ernment  have  been  recognized  in  so 
high  a  quarter  as  the   Parliament  at 
Westminster.      For  this,  and  nothing 
less   than   this,   was  the   meaning  of 
:    that  debate :  this,  and  nothing  less  than 
I    this,  has  been  the  thought  exjiressed, 
tentatively  and  even  furtively  I  grant, 
in    so    many    articles  in  the  London 
I    press,  but  particularly  in  The  Times, 
1    during  the   last   fifteen   years, — those 
:    articles  which  every  one  here  assured 
us  were  so  far  from  reflecting  the  sen- 
timents   of    the    British     people,  but 
\    which  some   of   us  none  the  less  took 
to  heart  as  precious  indications  of  the 
duty  that  Canada  had  to  face.    I  have 
said  that  nobody  is  to  blame.      Alas  ! 
I  must  retract  that  so   far  as  to  say 
that  Canada  has  herself  been  a  little 
\    to  blame  in  being  so  slow  to  read  the 
!    signs  of  the  times,  or  to  draw  the  les- 
sons which  practical  men  in  England 
\    were  drawing  from  the   political  and 
commercial     development     of     these 
North-American  colonies.     What  Mr. 
Gladstone  said  was  quite  true  :   '  Eng- 
j    land  had  been  our  nursing  mother  too 
I    long.'    What  Mr.  Adderley  said  was 
quite  true  :    '  There  had  been  on  our 
part    a    certain     "  langour    of  depen- 
dence "    uj)on    the  Mother    Country.' 
What  Mr.  Lowe  said  was  quite  true  : 
;    '  England  has  nothing  to  do  with  con- 
trolling, or  even   representing,   to  the 
world   a  country  the   political  system 
i    of  which  is  so  fully  developed  as  that 
\   of  Canada.'     '  She  is  of  age  ;  let  her 
I    speak  for  herself,'  was  the  sentiment, 
if  not   the   precise  expression,  of  the 
:   acute  member  for  Calne.     We  have 
i   been  to  blame  in   allowing  the  organ 
I    of  a   purely  conventional   opinion  to 
persuade   us   that   what  meant  every- 
thing meant  nothing,  and  that  what 
meant  nothing — namely,  the  expres- 
sions of  interest  extorted  from  British 
politicians  by  our  persistent   and  al- 


8 


THE  TRUE  IDEA   OF  CANADIAN  LOYALTY. 


most  pathetic  'lovalty' — meant  every- 
thing. 

However,  there  is  not  much  harm 
done.  To  have  moved  too  slowly  in 
such  a  matter  is  better  than  to 
have  moved  too  fast.  There  exist 
no  impeiHments  at  the  present  mo- 
ment to  the  most  amical)le  and  cor- 
dial relations  between  Canada  and 
the  Mother  Country  ;  only,  what 
the  latter  desires,  and  is  quite  right 
in  desiring,  is  that  Canada  shall  otler, 
not  her  loyalty — that  is  too  much — 
but  her  friendship  as  an  independent 
stata  To  have  on  this  Continent  a 
nation  bound  to  lier  by  the  strongest 
ties  of  sympathy  and  good  will,  a  na- 
tion whose  institutions  would,  in  the 
main,  be  hers,  and  that  would  be  dis- 
posed to  throw  whatever  influence  it 
could  exert  on  the  side  of  any  reason- 
able claims  she  might  make,  would  be 
a  real  and,  one  would  judge,  impor- 
tant advantage  to  Great  Britain;  while 
the  knowledge  that  she  could  not  be 
attacked  on  Canadian  territory  would 
take  an  immense  burden  and  respon- 
sibility off  her  shoulders.  Those  who 
look  favourably  upon  Canadian  inde- 
pendence are  sometimes  asked  what 
grievance  they  have  against  the  Mo- 
ther Country.  We  have  no  griev- 
ance ;  far  from  it,  we  feel  that  we 
have  every  reason  to  cherish  the 
warmest  feelings  towards  that  country, 
and  we  do  cherish  such  feelings.  We 
hold  (if  I  may  venture  to  speak  for 
many  who  1  know  share  the  views 
expressed  in  this  article)  that  the 
public  policy  of  England  to-day  is  gov- 
erned by  higher  moral  standards 
than  that  of  any  other  nation  of  the 
world.  We  consider  our  country  for- 
tunate in  having  learnt  in  the  British 
school ;  and  our  hope  is  that  when  the 
people  of  Canada  shall  have  relieved 
the  Parent  State  of  all  responsibility 
on  their  behalf,  they  will  show  the 
world  that  their  education  has  been  a 
good  one,  and  that  if  they  have  not 
got  on  in  all  respects  as  fast  as  certain 
more  highly  stimulated  communities, 
thev  have   at  least  learnt  a  few  im- 


portant things  well.  Grievances  ! 
the  idea  is  pro|)Osten)US.  Would  Eng- 
land ask  us  what  we  had  to  comi)lain 
of  if  we  were  respectfully  to  suggest 
that  the  time  had  come  for  us  to 
start  upon  an  independent  career  of 
our  own  1  Imagine  such  a  question 
being  asked  by  the  House  of  Com- 
mons that  listened  either  approving- 
ly, or  else  with  indiilerence,  to  the 
speeches  of  Mr.  Gladstone  and  Mr. 
Lowe,  to  say  nothing  of  Mr.  Cave. 

Then  if  England  does  not  want  our 
loyalty,  if,  afj  Mr.  Lowe  said,  Eng- 
lishmen have  enough  to  do  to  mind 
their  own  affairs ;  if,  as  Matthew 
Arnold  puts  it,  England,  like  the 
fabled  Atlas,  is  already  staggering 
under 

'  The  too  vast  orb  (if  her  fate,' 

to  whom,  to  what,  is  our  loyalty  due, 
— on  what  altar  can  we  protitably  lay 
it  ?  Ask  the  index  to  the  last  volume 
of  the  Canadtax  Monthly,  and  it 
will  tell  you  that  what  Mr.  Todd 
might  have  discoursed  upon,  but  did 
not,  was  '  Loyalty  to  Canada.'  Here, 
where  we  have  our  home,  here  in  this 
land  whose  resources  it  is  ours  to  de- 
velop, and  which  it  may  be  ours  to 
raise  from  weakness  to  strength,  from 
obscurity  to  honour  in  the  eyes  of  the 
nations,  here  we  may  find  ample  scope 
and  exercise  for  all  the  loyalty  of 
which  our  natures  are  capable.  Let 
us  then,  as  we  considered  some  time 
ago  what  loyalty  to  England  on  the 
part  of  Canada  meant  and  implied, 
consider  now  what  the  loyalty  of  Ca- 
nadians to  Canada  means  and  implies. 
It  means  that  we  desire  the  separate 
national  existence  of  our  country.  It 
means  that  we  valne  our  institutions, 
and  would  grieve  to  see  them  replaced 
by  others  of  a  different  order  and 
growth.  It  means  that  the  distinctive 
life  of  Canada  and  the  distinctive 
character  of  her  people  are  dear  to  us. 
It  means  that  this  is  our  home  and 
that  as  such  we  cherish  it.  It  means 
that  we  see  in  our  country  the  ele- 
ments of  future  greatness,  and   that 


TH1-:  TltUE  IDEA   OF  CANADIAN  LoYALTY 


we  liave  confidence  in  the  ability  of 
Canadians  to  deal  wisely  with  the 
splendid  trust  committed  to  their 
hands.  It  means,  in  a  word,  that  we 
feel  there  is  a  place  in  the  family  of 
nations  for  Canada,  and  that  our  am- 
bition is  that  she  should  till  it. 

Considering  the  matter  further  we 
find  that  whereas  there  is  little  or 
nothing  we  can  do  by  way  of  giving 
a  practical  turn  to  our  loyalty  to  Eng- 
land, there  is  everything  to  do  when 
we  once  make  uu  our  minds  that  what 
is  needed  is  loyalty  to  Canada.  Not 
a  day  passes  over  our  heads  without 
bringing  us  opportunities  of  doing 
something  directly  or  indirectly  fur  the 
good  of  our  common  country.  The 
true  patriot  is  not  he  who  swaggers 
over  what  his  nation  can  do,  or  who 
waxes  eloquent  over  its  vast  extent.of 
territory,  its  boundless  i-esources  and 
its  unimaginable  future  ;  but  he  who 
labours  practically,  in  however  humble 
a  sphere,  to  advance  its  interests. 
Every  honest  vote  cast  is  a  service  to 
the  commonwealth.  To  pay  honest 
dues  to  the  Government,  to  do  honest 
work  for  it  at  an  honest  price,  is 
a  better  proof  of  loyalty  than  to 
make  loyal  speeches  or  to  drink 
loyal  toasts.  If  the  ])ractical  good 
sense  and  good  feeling  of  our  people 
had  not  taught  them  better  there 
would  by  this  time  have  been  in  their 
minds  an  almost  complete  divorce  be- 
tween the  ideas  of  loyalty  and  the 
general  idea  of  good  citizenship  ;  see- 
ing that  loyalty,  as  presented  to  them, 
was  almost  wholly  a  thing  of  phrases 
and  vague  sentiment.  As  it  is,  there 
is  no  douljt  that  Canada  has  suffered 
much  from  the  weakening  of  the  idea 
of  loyalty  consequent  upon  the  uncer- 
tainty existing  as  to  its  proper  direc- 
tion or  object.  The  effort  to  sit  on 
two  stools  generally  results  in  sitting 
on  neither.  The  loyalty  heretofore 
preached  was  loyalty  to  Great  Britain; 
the  loyalty  demanded  by  circum- 
stances, but  never  preached,  was  loy- 
alty to  Ca  lada,  as  a  country  destined 
to  enter  S)oner  or  later  on  an  inde- 


pendent career.  The  result  has  been 
a  lack  in  Canada  of  that  public  spirit 
which  depends  for  its  development 
upon  a  '  strong  sense  of  i)olitical  exis- 
tence,'— to  recall  an  expression  used 
by  Mr.  Gladstone.  This  lack  nearly 
all  thoughtful  Canadians  feel  :  it  con- 
stitutes one  of  the  leading  differences 
between  Canada  and  the  neighbouring 
republic,  where  public  spirit  has  been 
developed  in  an  eminent  degree.  To 
take  but  one  illustration.  We  liave 
two  cities  in  Canada  of  considerable 
pojiulation  and  wealth.  In  many  re- 
spects we  feel  that  we  can  Ije  proud  of 
them  ;  but  in  neither  does  there  exist 
such  a  thing  as  a  public  librAry  access- 
ible to  all  classe.''.  Yet,  in  either  city, 
a  very  small  percentage  subtracted 
from  the  superfluous  wealth  expended 
upon  private  residences  would  have 
provided  such  a  library,  and  done 
away  with  what  has  often  been 
felt  as  a  reproach.  Upon  this 
point,  however,  it  is  needless  to 
insist.  It  is  vain  to  look  for  a  healthy 
growth  of  public  spirit  so  long  as  the 
position  of  Canada  is  as  indeterminate 
as  it  is  to-day.  If  there  have  been  any 
recent  grounds  for  encouragement  in 
this  respect,  it  is  because  something  in 
the  air  tells  us  to  prepare  for  the  bet- 
ter destinies  awaiting  us  in  the  future. 
I  am  not  forgetful  that  the  fore- 
most statesman  of  Canada  has  recently 
denounced  all  our  aspirations  towards 
a  change  of  political  status  for  Canada 
as  '  veiled  treason/  and  has  avowed 
his  preference  for  anexation  to  the 
United  States,  if  independence  were 
the  only  alternative.  That  opinion 
will  carry  great  weight  ;  but  the  ques- 
tion is  one  which  interests  too  inti- 
mately every  Canadian,  whatever  his 
position  in  society,  for  any  weight  of 
authority  to  bo  wholly  conclusive. 
We  must  all  think  this  matter  out  for 
ourselves,  and  shape  our  conclusions 
under  the  gravest  sense  of  responsi- 
bility. Canada  nuist  belong,  we  aro 
told,  either  to  the  British  system  or 
to  the  American  system.  Strictly 
speaking,  however,  there  is  no  'British 


10 


THE  TRUE  IDEA   OF  CA NA DIA X  L 0 YA LTY. 


system '  for  Canada  to  belong  to. 
There  is  a  kingdom  of  CIreat  Britain 
wbich  Canada  can  continue  to  make 
resiKjnsible  for  her  foreign  policy,  or 
rather  whose  foreign  policy — without 
liaving  any  voice  in  the  matter — Can- 
ada may  hind  herself  to  follow  and 
accept  the  conseciuences  of  ;  hut  there 
is  no  such  organization  of  the  British 
empire  as  a  whole  as  there  is  of  the 
different  states. )f  the  American  Union, 
and  consequently  there  is  no  British 
'  system  '  in  which  Canada  can  claim 
to  have  a  place.  Air.  Blake's  sugges- 
tion of  an  Imperial  Ifederation  aims 
at  creating  such  a  .sysstem  ;  but  the 
idea  is  characterized  l)y  Sir  John  A. 
Macdonuld  as  wholly  impracticable. 
We  are  told  that  as  a  separate  country 
we  should  be  obliged  to  raise  '  the 
]»hantom  of  an  army  and  navy  ;'  but  it 
was  no  phantom  of  an  army  at  least 
that  British  statesmen  plainly  inti- 
mated to  us  in  the  debate  referred  to, 
we  should  have  to  raise  if  we  wished 
Great  Britain  to  assume  any  respon- 
sibility for  our  defence.  What  did  Mr. 
Gladstone  mean  when  he  said  {u.  s., 
page  752).  '  If  Canada  is  to  be  de- 
fended, the  main  element  and  power 
in  the  defence  must  always  be  the 
energy  of  a  free  peoi)le  fighting  for 
their  own  liberties.  That  is  the  cen- 
tre around  which  alone  the  elements 
of  defence  can  be  gathered  ;  and  the 
real  responailitij  for  the  defence  must 
lie  u-ith  the  people  themsdces.'  Would 
a  phantom  army  meet  this  require- 
ment ?  1  hardly  think  Mr.  Gladstone 
would  say  so.  The  lesson  drawn  by 
Mr.  Gladstone  from  the  Fenian 
invasion  was  that  Canada  should 
'take  on  herself,  as  circumstances 
bhall  open  themselves,  the  manage- 
ment and  control  of  her  own  frontier,' 
not  only  as  '  a  means  of  raising  her 
position  in  the  world  by  the  fulfilment 
of  her  duties  of  freedom,'  but  '  as 
an  escape  from  actual  peril.'  He  did 
not  mean  to  say  '  that  in  the  event  of 
the  occurrence  of  danger,  the  arm  of 
England  would  be  shortened,  or  its 
disposition  to  use  its  re.sources  freelv 


and  largely  in  aid  of  the  colonies 
would  be  in  the  slightest  degree  im- 
4  paired  ;'  only  he  wished  the  colonies  to 
understand  distinctly  that  henceforth 
they  were  to  bear  their  full  share  of 
peril,  responsibility  and  expense. 

That  is  just  how  the  matter  .stands. 
Instead  of  our  connection  with  Great 
Britain  freeing  us  from  responsibility, 
and  enabling  us  to  dispense  with  phan- 
t  mi  armies,  it  would  rather  seem  that 
to  meet  what  the  present  Premier  of 
England  has  laid  down  as  a  most  just 
and  reasonable  condition  of  that  con- 
nection, we  should  have  to  raise  a 
very  real  army,  or  at  least  have  a  very 
real  and  effective  military  organiza- 
tion, in  order  to  be  prepared  to  fur- 
nish '  the  main  element  and  power  '  in 
our  own  defence. 

It  is  unfortunately  the  opinion  of 
many  that  the  experiment  of  complete 
self-government  in  Canada  would  not 
be  worth  trying  ;  and  not  a  few,  pro- 
bably, will  be  found  to  echo  the  sen- 
timent that  annexation  would  be  pre- 
ferable. To  my  mind,  this  seems  to 
argue  a  low  estimate  of  the  value  of 
the  institutions  we  now  enjoy.  If 
there  is  no  special  virtue  in  them,  and 
if  our  civilization  has  no  characteris- 
tics w'orth  preserving,  then,  no  doubt, 
}  annexation  miyht  be  preferable.  The 
opinion,  however,  seems  a  reasonable 
I  one,  that,  considering  how  different  our 
i  political  education  has  been  from  that 
of  the  jjeople  of  the  United  States,  and 
considering  that,  if  our  connection 
with  Great  Britain  is  severed,  it  will 
be  with  the  heartiest  good  will  on 
I  both  sides,  and  on  our  side  with  not 
a  little  of  the  regret  that  arises  in  the 
heai't  v/hen  the  vessel's  prow  is  turned 
from  the  land  we  love,  it  would  be  in 
every  way  advantageous  that  we 
should  abide  in  our  lot  and  manfully 
:  try  to  work  out  our  own  destinies  in 
our  own  way.  The  people  of  the 
United  States  have  abundance  of  ter- 
ritory, and  have  all  the  political  prob- 
lems on  their  hands  they  can  satis- 
factorily grapjjle  with.  What  their 
]    system  needs  is  con.solidation  and  com- 


AN  ADVENT  HYMN. 


11 


pression,  not  ext(;nsion  witli  acUled 
strain.  Here  we  are,  indeed,  but  four 
millions  and  a  half  to  day  ;  but  it 
does  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be. 
To  ask  for  aniiex:ition  would  imply 
that  we  do  not  hold  ourselves  compe- 
tent to  manage  our  vast  heritage  of 
fertile  soil  and  noble  rivers,  of  forests 
and  mines  and  hiirbours.  Is  it  so  1 
Let    the   vouth    of   Canada   answer. 


And,  as  they  answer,  let  them  tell  us 
also  how  they  understand  '  Canadian 
loyalty,' — whether  in  the  antiquated 
sense  of  continued  dependence  upon 
an  overburdened  Parent  State,  or  in 
the  new  sense  of  earnest  devotion  to 
the  land  that  has  borne  us,  of  respect 
for  its  institutions  and  faith  in  its- 
future. 


AN   ADVENT    HYMN. 


BY    'FIDELIS,'   KINGSTON. 


HE  comes  ! — as  comes  the  light  of  day 
O'er  purple  hill-tops  far  away  ! 
No  sudden  flash  of  new-born  light 
Darts  through  the  darkness  of  the  night ; 
But  even  while  our  waiting  eyes 
Are  looking  for  the  glad  surprise, 
We  find  that, — ere  we  know — the  day 
Clear  on  the  hills  and  valleys  lay  ! 

He  comes  ! — but  not  to  outward  sight 
With  herald  angels,  robed  in  light, 
Aud  choirs  celestial,  ringing  clear, — 
Yet  comes  He  still,  in  Christmas  cheer, 
In  loving  thought,  in  kindly  deed. 
In  blessings  shared  with  other's  need, 
In  gentle  dews  of  peace  and  love 
That  drop  in  blessings  from  above. 

Nor  only  where  the  minster  towers 
Bear  high  their  fretted  marble  flowers. 
And  vaulted  aisles,  with  echoes  long, 
The  chants  of  ages  past  prolong, — 
But  'neath  the  liumblest  pine  roof  reared 
'Mid  stumps  of  virgin  forest,  cleared, 
The  Babe,  who  in  the  manger  lay. 
Is  near  to  bless  the  Christmas  Day. 


12  CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 

He  comes  !  a  monarch,  now  as  then, 
To  reign  within  the  hearts  of  men, 
In  humble  thoughts  of  penitence, 
In  comfort  known  to  inward  sense, 
In  consciousness  of  sin  forgiven. 
In  love,  the  earnest  here  of  heaven. 
In  all  things  pure  and  just  and  true 
The  Christ  to-day  is  born  anew. 

And  though  in  human  form  no  more 
We  see  Him  as  He  walked  of  yore, 
At  even  on  the  hill-side  grey. 
Or  in  the  city's  crowded  way. 
Still  may  we  see  Him,  dim  or  clear. 
In  every  heart  that  holds  Him  dear, — 
•  In  every  life  that  owns  His  sway, 

The  Life  Eternal  lives  to-day. 

Yet  still  His  waiting  Church  below 
Looks  onward  to  the  brighter  glow, 
When  all  the  faint  and  scattered  rays 
United  in  one  lambent  blaze 
Shall  crown  the  holy  brow  that  bore 
The  crown  of  thorns  and  anguish  sore. 
And  His  own  ransomed  earth  shall  ring 
With  anthems  to  her  conquering  King  ! 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


CHAPTER  I 


FIRST    PRINCIPLES. 


1_> ANKING  hours  ai-e  over  in  the 
-l)  city,  and  the  clerks  are  all 
going  home.  Every  one  turns  up  his 
trowsers  and  coat  collar,  and  shakes 
out  an  umbrella,  if  he  has  one,  on  the 


step,  for  it  is  raining  heavily.  Those 
who  have  no  umbrella  stand  on  the 
door-step  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
looking  at  the  dripping  telegraph 
wires  overhead,  as  though  to  get  used 


CHANGES  AND  CHANC£,S. 


13 


to  the  wet  look  of  everything,  and  at 
last  run  for  an  omnibus.  The  rain 
and  dust  and  smoke  on  the  large  plate- 
glass  panes  of  the  bank  windows  form 
a  sort  of  black  mixture,  not  quite  mud, 
and  not  quite  water,  that  drips  from 
the  great  marble  window  sills  on  to  the 
stone  flags  of  the  pavement  below. 
At  last  the  old  caretaker  comes  to  the 
door,  and  is  preparing  to  shut  up  for 
the  night,  when  the  manager  passes 
out  He,  too,  turns  up  his  coat  collar 
and  trowsers,  and  puts  up  a  silk  um- 
brella. He  turns  to  the  caretaker  with 
the  words  '  I  hope  that  we  are  not  going 
to  have  a  wet  night,  Tim.'  Old  Tim 
'  hopes  not,  indeed,  sir,'  and  the  bank 
manager  walks  briskly  down  the 
street.  He  does  not  go  far  before  he 
hails  a  cabman,  and  desires  to  be 
driven  to  the  railway  station. 

Mr.  Stocton  is  a  man  of  about  fifty- 
odd  years  of  age.  He  is  a  sharp  fea- 
tured man,  though  with  a  kind  express- 
ion on  his  face,  and  his  mouth  indicates 
great  firmness  and  decision  of  charac- 
ter. He  has  been  a  close  man  of 
business,  has  worked  hard  all  his 
days,  and  now,  while  only  in  his  prime, 
he  has  gained  the  reward  which  many 
others  never  obtain  till  the  sands  of 
life  are  nearly  run. 

He  seats  himself  in  one  of  the  rear 
carriages  of  one  of  the  trains  that 
stand  ready  to  start,  in  the  great  de- 
put.  The  train  on  the  next  track  fur- 
ther over  starts  out  with  great  pufiing 
and  ringing  of  bells,  and  waving  of 
signals,  and  saying  of  good-byes,  and 
noise  and  bustle,  and  the  last  belated 
traveller  rushes  wildly  for  the  last 
coach,  and  is  trundled  in,  and  his 
valise  thrown  on  anyway  after  him, 
by  the  porters  —  and  the  train  is 
gone.  I'he  departure  of  this  train 
gives  Mr.  Stocton  more  light  to  read 
the  newspaper,  as  he  waits  patiently 
for  his  own  to  start.  At  last,  when 
all  the  dripping  passengers  have 
come  in  with  their  dripping  umbrellas, 
and  have  taken  their  seats,  and  piled 
their  valises  away,  and  rendered  the 
air  in  the   carriage   hot   and   moist, 


the  train  moves  out.  It  goes  with  the 
same  puffing  and  bell  ringing  and  good- 
byes, and  bustle  and  hurry  and  por- 
tei's  which  were  incident  to  the  de- 
parture of  the  former  one.  As  the 
train  draws  out  of  the  station,  the  rain 
beats  against  the  windows  and  almost 
obscures  the  view.  The  drops  rapidly 
chase  each  other  down  the  window 
pane,  each  one  following  the  one  before 
it  like  the  railway  trains,  running  be- 
hind each  other,  catching  up,  passing, 
running  on  side  lines,  switches,  cross- 
over tracks,  hurrying,  making  new 
lines,  blotting  out  old  ones,  but  all 
trickling  down  to  the  same  termina- 
tion. 

Now  the  train  passes  through  a  short 
■  tunnel,  and  then  under  a  dark  bridge,, 
which  renders  the  tail  lamp  of  the  train 
visible.  Then  out  through  the  busy 
streets,  crossing  a  small  bridge  over  a 
low  street  choked  with  carts  and  heavy 
drays,  past  a  high  stone  wall  that 
seems  to  slap  the  beholder  in  the  face — 
it  is  built  so  close  uj)  to  the  track.  By- 
and-by  it  passes  with  increasing  speed 
close  to  the  back  of  a  row  of  high  red- 
brick houses, where  some  children  were 
playing  on  the  liigh  steps.  Then  some 
more  high  stone  walls  and  wooden 
fences,  abridge  or  so  more,  some  cross 
streets,  and  the  view  begins  to  get  a 
little  clear.  A  church  can  be  seen  at 
a  short  distance,  and  occasionally  a 
garden  in  front  of  some  isolated  house. 
People  out  in  the  suburbs  turn  andi 
look  at  the  train  as  it  passes  with  more 
interest  than  do  those  in  the  city. 
Fewer  houses  and  more  green  fields 
fly  past,  for  the  train  is  fully  under 
way  now.  Mr.  Stocton  tries  to  get  a. 
sight  of  the  paper  before  the  iiext  tun- 
nel, for  it  has  been  impossible  to  readi 
with  any  comfort  since  the  train  start- 
ed. They  fly  past  a  station  which  looks 
to  the  bewildered  passenger  like  a  con- 
fused mass  of  chimneys,  and  gables, 
and  railway  signals,  and  people  and 
horses  and  carriages.  After  half-an- 
hour's  run  the  train  stops  at  the  vil- 
lage of  Hawthorne,  where  Mr.  Stoc- 
ton gets  out.    He  is  met  by  a  phaeton, 


14 


CHANGES  AXD  CHANCES. 


but  tliere  is  nobody  in  it  except  the 
coachman,  for  it  is  still  raining.  Mr. 
Stocton  gets  in  and  is  driven  oil',  while 
the  train  tlies  on,  leaving  nothing  be- 
hind but  a  fading  cloud  of  smoke, 
which  seems  to  be  beaten  down  and 
rolled  along  the  ground  by  the  pelting 
rain. 

At  last  the  phaeton  pulls  up  at  the 
gate  of  a  fine  okl  country  house-agood, 
comfortable,  substantial  building,  but 
with  no  architectural  beauty  about  it. 
The  coachman  gets  down  to  open  the 
gate  while  Mr.  Stocton  holds  the 
lines.  As  the  carriage  comes  in  through 
*the  gate,  a  little  girl  runs  out  on  the 
steps  and  is  ready  to  welcome  her 
father  as  he  alights. 

'  Well,  Gracie,  you  weren't  down  at 
the  stiition  to  meet  me  to  day,'  he  said, 
as  he  kissed  her. 

'  Xo,  papa  dear,'  she  said  with  a 
laugh,  '  why,  it  was  raining  ;  it's  been 
raining  all  day,  and  I  couldn't  even  go 
out  to  play.* 

'  Oh,  well,  you'll  have  lots  of  fine 
days  yet,  dear,  we  must  have  rain 
sometimes,  you  know.' 

'  Yes,  but  I  like  it  all  to  come  on 
Sundays,'  she  called  after  him  as  he 
went  into  the  house. 

Gracie  was  Mr.  Stocton's  only  child  : 
her  mother  dying  while  she  was  young, 
she  had  been  confided  to  the  care  of 
the  housekeeper,  who  had  lived  the 
best  part  of  her  life  in  the  family. 
That  evening  at  tea  Mr.  Stocton  said, 

'  Gracie,  I've  been  making  arrange- 
ments for  you  to  go  to  school  in  town, 
what  do  you  think  of  that  1 ' 

'  Oh,  I  like  it  very  much,'  said  the 
child,  eagerly.  *  Will  I  be  a  boarder 
and  take  my  own  blankets  and  pil- 
lows, and  all  that  ? ' 

'  Well,  we'll  see  about  getting  you 
some  in  town,  so  you  won't  exactly 
have  to  take  any,'  said  her  father. 
'  But  tell  me,  never  mind  what 
things  you  will  have  to  take,  how  do 
you  like  the  prospect  of  going  away 
from  home  1 ' 

*  Mrs.  Jackson  won't  have  any  more 
trouble  about  my  lessons,'   she  said, 


with  a  sly  glance  at  the  house- 
keeper. 

'  That  will  be  a  very  great  relief,  of 
course,'  laughed  Mr.  Stocton,  '  but 
come,  Gracie,  you  are  evading  the 
question,  how  will  you  like  to  leave 
me  r 

'  Oh,  well,  I'll  see  you  often,  papa, 
dear,  and  you  can  come  and  visit  me 
when  you  are  in  town.' 

'  Perhaps  you  are  more  sorry  to 
leave  Harry  North  wood  than  to  leave 
me,  aren't  you  1 ' 

'  Oh,  Harry  will  be  going  up  to 
•school,  too,  pretty  soon,  and  I'll  go  to 
all  the  cricket  matches  and  wear  his 
colours,  and,  oh,  it'll  be  just  splendid.' 

'  Well,'  said  Mr.  Stocton,  '  I'm  glad 
you  are  so  pleased  to  go .' 

'  But  where  am  I  going  to  1 '  inter- 
rupted Gracie. 

'  To  "  Waverley  House,"  I  think, 
my  dear,  I  like  it  the  best.' 

'  Oh,  that'll  be  splendid,  I  like 
"  Waverley  House,"  I've  heard  such 
lots  about  it,'  and  Gracie  fairly  clasped 
her  hands  for  joy. 

'  I  hope  two  weeks  will  be  long 
enough  for  you  to  get  Gracie  ready, 
Mrs.  Jackson,'  said  Mr.  Stocton, 
rising,  I  think  the  school  re-opens  in 
two  weeks.' 

'  Only  two  weeks  more,'  cried  Gra- 
cie, '  and  then  "  Wavei'ley  House," — 
oh,  I  wish  it  would  stop  raining,  I 
want  to  tell  Harry  so  much. 

Next  morning  after  breakfast  Mr. 
Stockton  took  the  early  train  to  the 
city,  and  was  quietly  sitting  reading 
the  paper  in  his  office  by  half-past 
ten.  Gracie  was  reading  by  herself 
in  the  library  at  home  when  some  one 
outside  whistled  a  sort  of  call ;  with- 
out looking  up,  she  whistled  a  reply, 
and  putting  away  her  book  ran  to  the 
window. 

'  Aren't  you  ready  yet  1 '  called  out 
Hany  North  wood,  when  he  saw  her 
at  the  window. 

'  Yes,  I've  only  got  to  put  on  my 
hat  ;  have  you  got  the  boat  1 ' 

Harry  nodded  an  affirmative,  show- 
ing the  bow   of  a    toy  yacht   under 


CHANliES  AND  CHANCES. 


15 


his  arm.  The  two  children  were  soon 
on  their  way  to  the  beach,  Gracie 
with  the  yacht,  and  Harry  with  a 
spade  over  his  shoulder,  and  a  garden 
trowel  stuck  in  his  belt  after  the  fash- 
ion of   an  Italian    biigand's  dagger. 

'  I  couldn't  come  over  yesterday  it 
rained  so,'  Harry  said  as  they  went 
along. 

'  No,  I  didn't  expect  you,  I  couldn't 
go  out  either.  Oh  Harry,  I'm  going 
to  school  in  two  weeks.' 

'  Going  to  school,'  Harry  repeated 
slowly.      '  Who  said  so  I ' 

'  Papa  did;  it's  all  settled,  I'm  going 
to  be  a  boarder,  and  take  my  own 
things,  and  have  a  trunk  all  my  own, 
and  I'll  get  my  name  painted  on  my 
trunk.  Whicli  ought  I  to  get," Grace  " 
or  "  Gracie,"  put  on  it.' 

'  Oh  "  Gracie''  is  the  best,  I  think,' 
said  Harry,  '  or  G.  Stocton,  that 
sounds   well.' 

'  It  sounds  so  like  a  man,'  said  Gra- 
cie, '  that's  the  only  thing.' 

'Yes,  it  might  be  your  father,  you 
know/  he  assented ;  'but  are  you  really 
going  in  two   weeks  1 ' 

'  Yes,  in  two  weeks,  but  that's  a 
long  time  yet;  it  will  be  awfully  dull 
for  you  when  I'm. gone,'  she  added 
with  the  characteristic  outspokenness 
of  childhood.  Harry  admitted  that  it 
was  no  fun  sailing  a  boat  alone,  be- 
cause when  you  blew  the  boat  over  to 
one  place,  it  wasn't  pleasant  if  you  had 
to  run  round  and  blow  it  back  again. 

The  tide  had  just  turned,  and  the 
water  was  beginning  gradually  its 
creep  up  the  long  tlat  beach,  when 
the  children  came  to  the  shore. 

'  See  there,  Gracie,  look  at  that  long 
hollow  in  the  sand  there,  if  we  dig  a 
canal  and  let  the  water  in,  we  can 
sail  the  boat  better  ! ' 

'  Yes,  we  can  both  work  at  it  too, 
as  you  have  the  trowel.' 

'  Old  Williams  would  be  awfully 
mad  if  he  knew  I  had  the  trowel,'  said 
Harry.  '  I  took  it  out  of  the  conser- 
vatory, without  asking  him,  this  morn- 
ing.' 

'  Well  I'm  glad  you  brought  it  any- 


way, or  I'd  have  nothing  to  dig  with,' 
said  his  companion. 

Both  children  set  to  work  with  a 
will,  and  soon  a  canal  vvas  dug  which 
allowed  the  water  to  fill  up  the  hollow, 
and  the  yacht  '  Tiger'  was  successfully 
launched.! 

'  Willian)S  says  "  Tiyer"  is  the  best 
name  for  a  yacht,'  Harry  explained. 

After  some  time  they  got  tired  of 
sailing  the  '  Tiger,'  and  went  home  for 
dinner.  In  the  afternoon  the  children 
went  to  the  rocks,  as  Harry  wanted  to 
put  a  new  mainmast  in  his  yacht. 
They  worked  busily  away  all  after- 
noon, until  Gracie  said  it  was  time  to 
go  to  the  station,  for  they  would  meet 
the  carriage  there,  when  papa  came 
home,  and  all  go  up  together.  The 
children  clambered  over  the  rocks, 
playing  a  sort  of  hide-and-go-seek  as 
they  went  in  shore  over  the  long  low- 
lying  bed  of  rocks  that  stretched  away 
out  to  sea,  and  terminated  in  a  steep 
cliff,  that  was  never  wholly  covered, 
even  when  the  tide  was  in. 

At  last  just  as  they  had  nearly  got 
off  the  rocks,  they  came  to  a  large  fis- 
sure between  two  great  flat  stones, 
where  the  water  was  only  a  foot  deep 
between  them,  and  indeed  the  rocks 
were  hardly  a  yard  apart.  Harry 
with  a  bound  gained  the  other  side, 
and  called  to  Gracie  to  follow  him. 

'I  can't  jump,  Harry,'  she  said. 

'  Why  not  1 '  he  asked,  '  it's  not  too 
far.' 

*  No,  but  I've  only  got  shoes  on.' 

'Well,  what  matter?'  said  Harry, 
'  shoes  are  just  are  good.' 

'Yes,  but  it  will  hurt  my  feet,'  she 
said  timidly. 

Harry  looked  round  for  a  piece  of 
plank,  but  could  not  find  any.  'You 
had  better  try  and  jump,  Gracie,'  he 
said  at  last,'  I  can't  find  anything.'  The 
water  had  only  become  a  little  deeper, 
but  each  wave  as  it  rolled  in,  splashed 
on  the  loose  stones,  and  made  jumping 
appear  a  very  formidable  undertaking. 
*  Come  Gracie,  we  can't  stay  here  all 
night,  I'll  stand  on  this  spot  and  catch 
you  by  the  hand.'    After  a  moment  or 


IG 


CHA^'GES  AND  CHANCES. 


two  of  hesitation,  Grade  stepped  back 
and  made  a  sort  of  running  jumi),  and 
got  over,  leaving  her  slice  stuck  in  the 
sand,  between  the  rocks,  at  the  same 
time  getting  her  foot  quite  wet,  and 
her  frock  splashed  : 

'  Oh,  Harry  !  I've  lost  my  shoe,' 
she  cried  despairingly  ;  '  what  will  I 
do  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know ;  mind  you  don't  take 
cold,'  Harry  said,  by  way  of  consola- 
tion. 

'  Yes,  that's  what  I'm  afraid  of.' 

'  Wait  a  moment  and  I'll  see  where 
, it  is.' 

Harry  stooped  down  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  and  tried  to  reach  the  shoe, 
which  was  stuck  fast  in  the  sand  that 
had  gathered  in  the  break  between 
the  rocks.  It  was  too  far  down  for 
him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  take  off 
his  own  boots  and  stockings  and  go 
into  the  water  to  get  it,  one  or 
two  of  the  waves  rolling  up  over  his 
clothes  and  wetting  him  as  he  did 
so. 

'  Oh,  Harry,  thank  you  so  much  ! 
But  you  are  quite  wet.' 

'  That  does  not  matter  much,'  he 
said,  bravely.  '  I  can  stand  it  better 
than  you.' 

*  But  what  shall  I  do,  Harry,  I 
can't  put  on  my  wet  shoe  1 ' 

'  Put  on  my  boots  and  stockings  ; 
they're  dry,'  he  said,  *  and  then  you'll 
be  all  right.' 

The  change  was  soon  made,  and  off 
they  set  towards  home,  Gracie  with 
Harry's  boots  and  stockings  on,  and 
he  walking  beside  her  with  bare  feet, 
her  dry  shoe  and  stocking  stuffed  in 
his  pocket,  and  the  wet  one  hanging 
over  his  shoulder. 

'  I  won't  have  any  fun  on  the  sea- 
shore when  I'm  at  school,'  she  said, 
after  a  pause. 

'  No,  that's  a  pity,  but  you'll  get 
used  to  doing  without  it ;  everybody 
can  get  used  to  a  thing  after  a  time.' 

They  walked  on  some  time  in  si- 
lence, then  Harry  said  rather  sud- 
denly : 

'  Of  course  you'll  marry  me  ? ' 


'  Oh,  yes  V  she  said,  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  way,  '  when  I  finish  school.' 

'  Well,  I've  got  to  go  to  school  my- 
self some  day,  and  I'm  going  to  r.sk  tO' 
be  allowed  to  go  when  you  do.' 

They  reached  the  station  ;  and,  in  a 
few  minutes,  Mi\  Stocton  arrived  by 
the  train,  and  the  whole  party  drove 
off  together.  He  was  very  much  sur- 
prised to  see  the  odd  plight  thechildrerk 
were  in,  but  patted  Harry  on  the  head 
and  called  him  a  brave  little  fellow. 
When  they  got  home,  Mr.  Stocton 
sent  his  phaeton  on  to  '  Hartgrave 
Manor  '  with  Harry,  which  was  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  further  on,  al- 
though the  boy  protested  that  he 
could  run  home  in  two  minutes. 

Harry  teased  to  be  sent  to  school^ 
and  Sir  Gannett  North  wood,  who  had 
been  thinking  the  matter  over  for 
some  time  past,  and  who  had  previ- 
ously decided  it,  was  apparently  easily 
won  over.  Harry  could  hardly  sleep 
the  night  he  was  told  he  was  to  go,, 
and  was  up  and  over  to  tell  Gracie  all 
about  it  long  before  breakfast.  Harry 
was  in  his  turn  quite  undecided  as  to 
what  name  he  would  have  on  his 
trunk,  for  he  was  certain  to  get  one  of 
his  own  now.  '  I  don't  like  Henry,  it 
sounds  as  though  I  was  naughty.  No- 
body ever  calls  me  Henry,  except 
when  I'm  in  a  scrape,'  he  said. 

At  length  the  day  for  departure 
drew  on.  Sir  Gannett  had  made  ar- 
rangements long  ago  for  his  son,  so  he 
had  no  trouble  in  entering  him  at 
school  now. 

Harry  was  allowed  to  have  Gracie 
OA^er  to  take  tea  with  him  the  evening 
before  their  school  life  was  to  begin. 
Years  afterwards  they  could  both  re- 
member this  evening.  Tea  was  served 
in  what  was  still  called  the  nursery, 
and  the  children  had  tea  by  them- 
selves. Harry  thought  Gracie  looked 
particularly  pretty  that  night,  and  he 
told  her  so.  She  had  a  white  dress 
with  a  little  white  apron  tied  with  pale 
pink  ribbons,and  her  hair  was  fastened 
with  a  Vjow  of  the  same  colour.  She 
wore  also  two  pink  rosebuds,  and  the 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


17 


similarity  of  colour  quite  took  Ilarrv 
by  storm,  though  ho  would  probably 
have  been  unable  to  say  exactly  why 
he  liked  Gracie  so  much  that  night. 
After  tea  Harry  showed  her  his  own 
trunk  with  his  name  painted  on  it  in 
large  letters,  and  all  the  things  he  had 
to  take  with  him.    They  were  allowed 
to  come  down  to  see  Sir  Gannett  at 
dessert.     He   had  dinner   alone   that 
evening  in  the  library  as  his  wife  had 
not   been   feeling  well,   and   had  not 
come  down.     A  lire  had  been  lighted 
in  the  old  open  fireplace,  for  the  day 
had  been  cold   and  rainy.     Sir  Gan- 
nett talked  to  them  a  little  while  and 
then  giving  them  each  a  final  bunch  of 
raisins,  let  them  play  hide-and-go-seek 
under  the  table    and  round    the  old 
suits  of  armour,  and  behind  the  thick, 
dark  curtains.      The  baronet,  as  he 
sipped  his  wine  watched  them  playing 
in    that    old    room,   with    its    quaint 
furniture,  watched  them   dancing  in 
and  out  among  the  high  dark  chairs, 
saw  them,  like  laughing  sprites  mock- 
ing the  flickering  fire-light  with  their 
gambols,  as  they  played  with  the  an- 
tique curiosities.     He  smiled  quietly 
to  himself  to  see  little  Gracie,  almost 
weighed  down  beneath  a  battered  and 
war-scarred  helmet,  whose  iron  casing 
had  never  before  protected  such  golden 
locks,  or  through  whose  rusty  vizier 
no   such  bright   blue   eyes   had  ever 
looked  till  then.     A  pretty  picture — 
little  Gracie  using  a  long  sword-scab- 
bard as  a   spear,   and  Harry  looking 
down  over  the   high   back   of  a  huge 
arm-chair,  with  face  of  mock  alarm  at 
the  daring  warrior  below.     The  father 
smiled  as  he  heard  her  call  upon  his 
boy  to  surrender  his  castle  and  his  life, 
and  musing   to   himself   of  days  long 
gone  by,  wondered  if  the  changes  and 
chances  of  this  changing  world  would 
ever  make  their  play  a  reality.   Would 
he  ever  surrender  to  her  his  castle  and 
his  life  ?     Would  he  ever, — for  things 
change ;    but     the    dancing   shadows 
mimic  the  children  at  their  play. 


CHAPTER  II. 


NEW  SCENES. 


THE  Northwoods  and  the  Stoc- 
tons  were  not  intimate.  They 
had  lived  in  the  quiet  little  village 
of  Hawthorne  for  many  years ;  in 
fact,  their  estates  joined.  Each  enter- 
tained for  the  other  a  very  great  re- 
spect, yet  they  were  never  what  would 
be  called  intimate.  Mr.  Stocton  was 
hard-working  and  devoted  to  his  busi- 
ness, and  had  few  pursuits  or  pleasures 
apart  from  it ;  while  his  neighbour, 
though  of  a  retiring  disposition,  had 
been  compelled,  when  younger,  to 
mix  more  with  the  gay  world,  on  ac- 
count of  his  wife,  who  was  decidedly 
a  woman  of  fashion.  It  was  perhaps 
well  for  him  that  she  forced  him  to 
come  out  into  the  world  a  little,  for 
had  he  been  left  to  himself  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  a  few  years  would 
have  found  him  a  confirmed  recluse. 

School  life  for  Harry  and  Gracie 
was  very  different  from  what  they  had 
both  looked  forward  to,  though  they 
were  quite  happy  in  their  new  em- 
ployments, after  the  first  few  weeks 
had  dragged  over.  Harry  was  at  school 
at  Hai-row,  while  Gracie  was  at 
'  Waverley  House,'  a  boarding-school 
of  high  repute,  situated  in  one  of  the 
suburbs  of  London.  The  children, 
therefore,  saw  nothing  of  each  other 
except  during  the  holidays,  and  Gracie 
often  spent  the  best  part,  if  not  the 
whole  vacation,  with  some  one  or 
other  of  her  school  friends.  Mr.  Stoc- 
ton was  glad  of  this,  for  as  she  grew 
older  he  felt  that  home,  without  a 
mother  or  any  society  of  his  da\ighter's 
age,  must  often  make  it  very  lonely 
for  her. 

We  need  hardly  follow  the  children 
through  the  various  experiences  of 
school  life  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  Harry 
had  entered  on  his  university  career 
about  the  time  that  Gracie  had  finish- 
ed her  education  and  had  come  home 
for  good,   Mr.  Stocton  had  determined 


18 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


to  give  his  daughter  the  advantages  of 
foreign  travel  after  she  liad  finished 
school.  With  this  end  in  view,  he 
had  made  arrangements  with  a  lady 
who  was  going  to  take  chai-ge  of  a 
small  party  of  young  ladies  on  the 
Continent.  She  was  going  to  travel 
with  them,  and  study  with  them  when 
abroad,  and  as  the  party  was  to  be 
gone  for  several  years  it  was  very  pro- 
bable that  the  young  ladies  under  her 
charge  would  receive  a  species  of  educa- 
tion perhaps  more  serviceable  in  after- 
life than  that  afforded  by  Girton  Col- 
lege or  Newnham  Hall.  Grace  was 
delighted  at  the  prospect,  for  she  was 
passionately  fond  of  travel ;  and  as  it 
was  quite  impossible  for  her  father  to 
have  gone  with  her,  or  spare  the  time 
requisite  for  an  extended  continental 
tour,  she  was  quite  satisfied  with  the 
arrangement. 

Grace  and  Harry  had  met  seldom 
since  they  left  Hawthorne  at  the  be- 
ginning of  their  school-days,  but  the 
same  firm  friendship  had  been  kept 
up.  A  friendship,  though  at  present 
decidedly  Platonic,  had  yet  enough  of 
old  association  about  it  to  quite  frighten 
Lady  Northwood  when  she  saw  them 
walking  home  from  church,  a  day  or 
two  before  Grace  left  with  her  party 
for  the  Continent.  There  was,  how- 
ever, little  cause  for  alarm,  had  any 
one  been  able  to  overhear  their  con- 
versation, which  consisted  entirely  of 
school  and  college  experiences. 

It  was  during  the  Christmas  vaca- 
tion just  before  Harry  had  completed 
his  course  at  the  University,  when 
he  was  staying  with  a  friend  of  his 
in  London,  that  an  incident  occurred 
which  made  a  gi-eat  impression  on 
him.  He  and  his  friend  had  been 
invited  to  a  very  quiet  dinner 
one  evening,  and  only  one  or  two 
had  dropped  in  after  to  enjoy  the 
music. 

*  For  goodness'  sake,  Helsingfors,' 
Harry  said  to  his  friend,  as  they  join- 
ed the  ladies  after  dinner,  '  who  was 
that  girl  you  took  down  to  dinner. 
I've  been  envying  you  all  the  even- 


ing. See,  there  she  is  at  the 
piano.' 

'  Oh  !  that  is  Miss  De  Grey.  She  is 
just  splendid,  and  awfully  pretty,  as 
you  can  see.' 

'  Yes,  indeed,  she  is  !  I'll  get  in- 
troduced to  her  at  once.' 

'  Yes,  do,'  said  Helsingfors.  '  She 
knows  a  girl  in  that  party  with  whom 
your  friend  Miss  Stocton  is  travelling, 
and  will  be  able  to  tell  you  all  about 
her.' 

Harry  lost  no  time  in  seeking  the 
hostess,  and  in  being  presented  to  his 
enamorata,  as  Helsingfors  afterwards 
called  her.  Harry,  who  was  usually 
vei'y  self-])ossessed,  found  himself  posi- 
tively awkward  as  he  sat  down  beside 
her  at  the  piano. 

'  I  like  that  valse  of  Chopin's  you 
were  playing  very  much,'  he  jerked 
out.     '  Chopin  is  my  favourite ' 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  plea- 
sant laugh. 

*  "Why,  Mr.  Northwood,  you  don't 
mean  to  say  you  can't  tell  the  difference 
between  Beethoven  and  Chopin  % ' 

Harry  felt  more  hopelessly  muddled 
than  ever,  and  floundered  through 
some  kind  of  an  explanation,  which 
was  not  particularly  clear.  Miss  De 
Grey  soon  put  him  at  his  ease  by  en- 
tering upon  a  topic  of  which  Harry 
was  never  tired  talking. 

*  Your  friend  is  such  a  clever  fel- 
low,' she  said. 

*  Yes,  indeed,'  Harry  eagerly  as- 
sented ;  and,  finding  his  tongue  a 
little  more  under  control,  he  launched 
out  in  praise  of  the  young  viscount. 

'  You  stand  about  as  high  in  his  es- 
timation as  he  seems  to  stand  in  yours,' 
she  said,  as  Harry  finished  an  account 
of  the  way  in  which  the  last  boat-race 
had  been  won  for  their  college  by  his 
chum. 

'  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
Helsingfors  has  so  little  to  talk  about 
as  to  say  anything  about  me,'  he  re- 
plied. 

*  It  was  not  because  he  had  so  little 
to  say,  certainly  ;  and  after  what  he 
told  me,  you  may  know  I  was  sur- 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


prised  to  find  that  Mr.  North  wood 
should  make  a  mistake  in  anything 
concerning  music' 

'  Oh,  well,  I  sometimes  lose  the 
composer  in  the  performer — Helsing- 
fors  could  not  have  told  you  that  1 ' 

Harry  felt  that  he  was  blushing 
just  a  little  as  he  said  this,  and  was 
half  glad  and  half  stnry  when  it  was 
out,  though  it  was  nothing  very  much 
to  say,  he  thought. 

'  Well,'  she  said,  with  mock  demure- 
ness,  '  I  must  certainly  thank  you  for 
that ;  if  I  interpret  myself  rather  than 
the  composei',  my  playing  needs  a  good 
deal  of  attention  yet ;  I  will  be  more 
careful  another  time  if  you  are  listen- 
ing.' 

Harry  thought  it  was  all,  somehow 
or  other,  very  cleverly  turned  against 
him,  though  he  could  hardly  tell  how. 
He  begged  for  one  sonata  before  they 
went  home,  which  was,  however,  play- 
ed by  some  one  else,  Miss  De  Grey 
declaring  that  Mr.  Northwood  did 
not  appreciate  her  playing  in  the 
least. 

Harry  talked  all  the  way  home 
about  his  new  acquaintance.  He  told 
Helsingfors,  in  confidence,  how  wretch- 
edly awkward  he  had  been,  when  first 
introduced,  and  asked  whether  she  had 
noticed  it. 

'  Oh  well,'  says  Helsingfors,  'I said 
something  for  you  at  dinner,  so  even 
if  she  did,  it  won't  hurt  you.' 

'  Why,  what  made  you  do  that  1  I 
talked  away  about  you,  I  mxist  have 
tired  her  to  death.' 

*  Yes,  most  likely  you  did.' 

'  Oh,  but  my  dear  fellow,'  said  Hai'- 
ry,  '  it  was  because  I  could  think  of 
nothing  else,  I  mean,  but  how  did 
you  come  to .' 

*  Why  I  saw  the  way  you  were  look- 
ing at  her  across  the  table,  nothing 
very  mai-ked,  of  course,  but  still  I 
knew  you  would  likely  want  to  be  in- 
troduced, so  I  cleared  the  way  for 
you,  that's  all,  but  you  ought  to  have 
rewarded  me  better  than  by  making 
her  actually  hate  my  name,'  his  friend 
said,  with  a  lau^h. 


19' 

'  Well,  you  are  the  queerest  fellow 
I  ever  met,  Helsingfors,  you  have  a 
good  deal  of  insight  into  human  na- 
ture.' 

HaiTy  did  not  go  straight  to  bed 
that  night  when  he  went  to  his  room, 
but  sat  with  his  feet  on  the  fender 
looking  at  the  fire,  and  thinking  of 
Helen  De  Grey.  He  went  over  the 
events  of  the  night,  felt  his  shyness 
come  over  him  again,  as  in  imagina- 
tion he  again  encountered  the  first 
glance  she  gave  him.  He  thought 
seriously  over  that  speech  he  made  to 
her  about  the  music,  and  wondered 
over  and  over  again  what  she  thought, 
and  whether  he  ought  not  to  have 
said  it.  On  the  whole  he  felt  pleased 
he  had  said  it,  but  if  he  had  to  do  it 
all  over  again  he  did  not  think  he 
would  have  gone  so  far.  When  he 
had  finished,  he  remembered  lots  of 
places  vvhere  he  could  have  said  much 
better  things  than  had  come  into  his 
head  at  the  time.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  let  so  many  chances  for 
saying  clever  and  witty  thing  slip  by 
unimproved,  that  he  wondered  very 
much  if  she  had  not  thought  him  a 
downright  fool.  It  was  very  strange, 
he  reflected,  that  so  many  things  came 
to  him  when  he  had  no  use  for  them, 
and  so  few  when  he  had.  He  went 
on  after  this  to  imagine  scenes  and  cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  and  Helen  De 
Grey  wei-e  the  chief  figures.  He  made 
lip  conversations  between  them  in  his 
mind.  He  imagined  her  as  saying 
ever  so  many  different  things,  and  he 
imagined  himself  as  answering  them 
with  the  wisdom  of  a  Solon.  Indeed, 
so  engrossing  did  his  reverie  become, 
i  that  he  was  startled,  on  looking  at  his 
watch,  to  find  it  was  a  quarter  past 
two,  and  he  had  come  up  to  his  bed- 
room at  midnight. 

The  afternoon  following,  Helsingfors 
and  Harry  Northwood  strolled  into 
one  of  the  city  clubs,  where,  through 
the  kindness  of  his  friend,  Harry's 
name  had  been  put  up  as  a  visitor. 
They  went  up-stairs  to  one  of  the 
smaller  smoking  rooms.     The  only  oc- 


20 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


cupant  of  this  room  was  a  young  man, 
apparently  a  few  years  Harry 's  senior. 
He  bad  a  handsome  face,  with  keen, 
dark  eyes  ;  a  bh\ck  moustache  hardly 
concealed  a  mouth  which  indicated 
great  decision  of  character.  He  was 
one  of  those  individuals  who  was  ac- 
customed to  think  and  act  on  the  mo- 
ment— two  things  seldom  combined. 
Endowed  with  a  woman's  intuition, 
lie  had  a  clear  judgment,  which  sel- 
dom led  him  astray.  Yet  he  had 
withal  a  pleasing  manner,  and  a  frank- 
ness which  made  for  him  friends 
•among  both  sexes. 

Helsingfors  nodded  pleasantly  to 
him,  and  at  once  introduced  Harry. 

*  St.  Cloud,  this  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
Mr.  ISi  orthwood.  *  Harry  shook  hands 
with  St.  Cloud,  whose  off-hand  man- 
ner had  already  quite  won  him.  Cigars 
were  speedily  produced  and  lighted, 
St.  Cloud  insisting  that  his  were  su- 
perior to  any  in  England,  and  there- 
fore deserving  of  a  fair  trial  by  Hel- 
singfors and  Mr.  Northwood.  The 
three  were  soon  chatting  pleasantly, 
and  St,  Cloud  proposed  that  if  the 
others  had  nothing  particular  to  do 
that  evening,  they  had  better  stay  and 
take  dinner  with  him  at  the  club,  and 
then  wind  up  by  going  to  the  theatre. 
The  proposition  was  readily  agreed  to, 
as  Helingfors  said  there  was  nothing 
on  earth  to  do  at  home  that  night. 

The  arrangement  was,  therefore, 
carried  out,  Harry  returning  home 
very  much  pleased  with  his  new  ac- 
quaintance. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

GETTING  ON. 

THE  spring  was  pretty  well  ad- 
vanced, and  the  world  was  pre- 
paring to  exchange  the  heat  of  the 
city  for  the  cool  of  the  sea-side,  to  lay 
aside  the  routine  of  daily  life  at  home, 
for  the  routine  of  daily  life  abroad, 
perhaps  the  more  irksome  of  the  two. 


Harry  had  come  up  to  town  on  busi- 
ness for  the  day,  when,  as  he  turned 
the  corner  on  the  way  from  his  hotel, 
he  met  Helsingfors. 

*  Well,  old  fellow,'  exclaimed  the 
latter,  as  he  caught  sight  of  Harry, 
'  where  did  you  spring  from  1  Stay- 
ing in  London  and  you  didn't  look  me 
up,  that's  too  bad.' 

Harry  explained  that  he  was  only 
up  for  the  day,  and  would  be  going 
back  in  the  evening. 

'  Where  are  you  all  going  for  the 
summer  ? '  asked  Harry. 

*  Oh,  I  don't  know,  somewhere  or 
other  on  the  Continent,  I  suppose. 
Where  are  you  off  to  ? ' 

'  Oh,  I  think  I  may  go  to  the  sea- 
side for  a  short  time,  but  I'm  not  by 
any  means  sure.' 

« Now,  my  dear  fellow,'  said  Hel- 
singfors, with  a  quiet  smile,  *  you  are 
quite  sure,  and  you  know  you  are. 
Why  your  enamorata  is  going  to  the 
sea-side  this  year,  with  the  whole  fam- 
ily, so  you  will  have  a  chance  of  get- 
ting to  know  them  alL' 

Harry  moved  uneasily  while  his 
friend  was  speaking,  but  managed  to 
stammer  out,  '  Oh,  well,  now  that  you 
tell  me,  perhaps  I'll  go." 

Helsingfors  continued  to  chaff  him 
about  his  not  being  sure  whether 
he  was  going  or  not,  until  Harry  was 
fain  to  acknowledge  that  he  had  heard 
in  a  kind  of  an  indefinite  way  where 
Helen  was  going. 

The  De  Greys  had  only  gone  out  of 
town  a  few  days  when  Harry  North- 
wood  packed  up  his  things  and  set  out 
in  the  same  direction.  The  morning 
after  he  arrived  at  the  watering-place 
where  they  were  staying,  he  felt  con- 
siderably relieved  at  catching  sight  of 
Helen's  figure  among  one  of  the  groups 
on  the  beach.  When  he  went  back 
to  his  hotel  he  stumbled  on  St.  Cloud, 
who  seemed  very  glad  to  see  him,  but 
wondered  why  he  had  taken  this  place 
above  all  others  to  spend  the  summer. 
Harry  manufactured  some  reason  or 
other  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and 
asked  St.   Cloud  the  same  question. 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


21 


St  Cloud  in  his  turn  made  some  eva- 
sive answer,  and  by  mutual  consent 
the  subject  di-opped. 

In  the  afternoon  Harry  went  out 
for  a  stroll  on  the  beach.  He  passed 
the  crowd  of  bathing  machines  drawn 
up  along  the  shore,  and  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  the  solicitations  of  the  owners 
to  enjoy  a  dip.  He  walked  on  for 
some  length  of  time,  absorbed  in 
thought,  and  did  not  notice  that  he 
had  got  some  distance  from  the  more 
frequented  part  of  the  beach,  till, 
stumbling  over  a  piece  of  stone,  he 
partly  turned  round,  and  at  a  little  dis- 
tance saw  Helen  De  Grey.  She  was 
sitting  with  her  back  to  him,  leaning 
against  a  couple  of  rocks  which,  mak- 
ing an  angle,  formed  a  very  comfort- 
able support.  She  had  been  reading, 
but  had  laid  down  her  book  and  was 
looking  out  to  sea,  with  that  kind  of 
quiet  enjoyment  which  often  steals 
over  one  in  the  contemplation  of 
sky  and  water.  She  looked  round  as 
Harry  appi-oached  with  a  pleasant 
smile  of  recognition.  He  shook  hands, 
and  his  surprise  at  meeting  her  at  this 
watering-place,  of  all  places  in  the 
world,  seemed  quite  natural.  He 
seated  himself  beside  the  rocks  against 
which  she  was  leaning. 

'  I  came  out  here,'  she  said,  '  with 
the  avowed  purpose  of  reading,  but 
my  eyes  ai'e  so  continually  wandering 
from  my  book  to  the  sea  and  the  sky, 
that  at  last  I  stopped  reading  alto- 
gether.' 

'  Yes,  one  would  rather  enjoy  na- 
ture alone,'  said  Harry  ;  '  I  do  all  my 
reading  indoors.' 

'  Are  you  a  lover  of  nature,  then  1 ' 

'  Yes,  very  much  indeed,'  he  said, 
'  though  I  do  not  go  in  for  sketching 
or  painting,  or  anything  of  that  sort.' 

'  Don't  you,  indeed  ?  Why  I  should 
have  thought  you  were  the  very  one 
who  would  be  a  most  enthusiastic 
painter.' 

'  Oh,'  said  Harry,  laughing,  *  I 
haven't  got  long  hair  or  sunken  eyes, 
have  I  ? ' 

*  No,'  she  said  ;   '  if  they  are  the  re- 


quisites for  a  good  artist,  T  have  them, 
I  think,  to  perfection.'  After  a  pause 
she  said,  somewhat  suddenly  : 

'  (3h,  dear,  where  is  Ion  gone  ? ' 

'  Is  Ion  your  dog  1 ' 

'  Yes  ;  he  is  my  greatest  friend  ;  I 
have  had  him  since  he  was  a  pup,  and 
I  am  really  quite  attached  to  him,  and 
I  think  he  is  to  me.' 

Harry  had  no  doubt  of  that  in  the 
world.  He  whistled  once  or  twice, 
and  soon  came  a  rapid  pattering  of 
feet,  and  a  moment  later  a  splendid 
greyhound  bounded  out  of  the  wood 
and  came  up  and  licked  his  mistress's 
hand.  Harry  could  not  help  admir- 
ing the  splendid  animal.  It  was  full 
grown  and  in  perfect  condition.  The 
beautifully  formed  limbs  told  of  a 
matchless  speed,  and  the  intelligent 
look  in  the  soft  eyes  spoke  of  a  saga- 
city little  inferior  to  that  of  a  human 
being.  He  patted  Ion  kindly  on  the 
head,  for  he  had  already  taken  quite 
a  fancy  to  the  dog. 

'  I  suppose  that  Ion  is  your  constant 
companion  !  '  he  enquired,  as  they 
strolled  back  towards  the  hotel. 

'  Yes,  indeed/  said  Helen.  '  I  am 
quite  glad  of  his  company,  for  I  often  go 
to  visit  an  old  woman  who  lives  in  a  cot 
tage  about  a  mile  further  on,  whose 
little  daughter  I  met  wandering  alone 
on  the  beach.  The  old  woman  is  a  widow, 
and  her  son  is  a  stoker  or  fireman,  or 
something,  on  the  railway  that  passes 
through  the  place,  and  they  live  near 
the  bridge,  close  to  the  track.' 

'Yes,  that  is  some  distance  from 
the  hotel,'  said  Harry. 

*  It  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half,  I 
think,  and  sometimes,  if  I  am  a  little 
late  in  getting  away,  it  gets  quite  dark 
on  the  way  home ;  but  I  am  not  afraid 
of  anything  here,  you  know ;  papa 
wanted  to  send  some  one  for  me,  but 
I  would  not  let  him,  while  I  have  Ion. ' 

Harry  frequently  looked  out  for 
Helen  when  she  visited  the  poor  old 
woman,  or  when  she  went  for  a  quiet 
read  on  the  rocks,  and  waylaid  her  on 
the  road  home.  The  first  few  times 
he  did  so  as  if  by  accident,   and  ap- 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


peared  quite  surprised  at  meeting  ber, 
but  after  a  while  be  made  no  secret 
of-tbe  fact  that  he  was  on  the  look 
out  for  ber.  As  she  made  no  objec- 
tion to  bis  doing  so,  it  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  he  never  missed  a 
day  when  she  was  out,  but  would  wait 
most  patiently  for  ber,  till  the  time 
for  coming  home.  Once  or  twice  be 
met  ber  as  she  was  going  out,  and 
walked  with  ber  as  far  as  the  old  wo- 
man's cottage.  On  these  occasions  be 
walked  on  to  the  bridge,  which  was 
about  a  hundred  yards  further  on,  and 
waited  there  till  be  saw  ber  come  out 
of  tile  cottage.  Ion,  who  bad  become 
quite  friendly  with  him,  would  lie  at 
bis  feet  while  Helen  was  in  the  cot- 
tage reading  for  the  old  woman.  Once 
or  twice  St.  Cloud  bad  joined  ber  in 
the  walks  home,  before  Harry  met  ber, 
but  it  bad  only  occasioned  a  momen- 
tary disappointment,  and  be  did  not 
think  of  it  again. 

There  was  dancing  once  a  week  at 
the  hotel  where  they  were  staying, 
but  it  was  a  very  harmless  amuse- 
ment, as  the  orchestra  stopped  i)laying 
at  half-past  eleven  punctually.  One 
evening  during  one  of  these  weekly 
dances,  St.  Cloud  and  himself  bad 
danced  several  times  with  Helen.  It 
was  nearly  half-past  eleven  when 
Harry  led  ber  out  on  the  verandah, 
and  brought  chairs  near  an  open  win- 
dow, so  that  they  not  only  could  enjoy 
the  moonlight  on  the  water  before 
them  but  see  the  dancers  inside.  It 
was  one  of  those  glorious  nights  when 
the  moon,  high  in  a  clear  dark-blue  sky, 
traced  a  silver  path,  leading  out  over 
the  waters  of  the  quiet  ocean  to  the  un- 
known world  beyond.  Harry  thought 
as  the  moonlight  fell  on  Helen's 
face,  that  be  had  never  seen  anything 
more  beautiful.  There  was  a  sort  of 
sadness  of  expression  that  peculiarly 
delighted  him,  and  be  felt  a  quiet  plea- 
sure in  ber  presence.  Helen  was  gazing 
out  over  the  sea,  as  was  ber  wont,  and 
silently  enjoying  the  scene.  Harry  did 
not  feel  disposed  to  say  anything  to  dis- 
turb ber,  and  observing  this,  she  laugh- 


ingly told  him  that  she  hoped  be  was 
not  becoming  melancholy.  Harry  was 
assuringber  that  his  feelings  were  quite 
of  a  contrary  nature,  when  St.  Cloud 
came  suddenly  upon  them.  He  begged 
their  pardon,  but  asked  Helen  for  one 
more  turn.  Helen  made  some  excuse 
at  first,  but  St.  Cloud  persisted,  in- 
sisting that  she  bad  promised,  so  she 
at  length  reluctantly  complied.  As 
she  turned  to  lay  aside  ber  shawl,  St. 
Cloud  said  to  Harry  in  a  low  voice, 
and  with  a  smile — 

'  Northwood,  we  seem  to  be  rivals 
to-night.' 

Hax'ry  said,  '  Yes  it  seems  so,'  as 
pleasantly  as  be  could,  but  yet  it 
seemed  as  though  there  was  a  little 
too  much  truth  in  it,  and  St  Cloud's 
manner,  while  certainly  frank  and 
pleasant,  did  not  altogether  please 
him,  be  could  not  tell  why.  He  did 
not  exactly  know  what  be  did  feel, 
but  a  sort  of  indefinable  desire  rose  up 
within  him,  as  he  saw  Helen  and  St. 
Cloud  pass  into  the  dancing-room 
together — a  desire  some  way  or  other 
to  stop  St.  Cloud,  and  bring  ber  back. 
Harry  walked  up  and  down  the  gal- 
lery once  or  twice  while  the  dance 
was  going  on,  dissatisfied  with  himself 
for  giving  way  to  a  feeling  of  anger 
when  St.  Cloud  took  ber  off.  He  said 
to  himself  that  he  bad  no  right  to 
control  ber,  and  that  she  ought  to  be 
able  to  dance  with  whom  she  liked, 
and  when  she  liked.  Yet  it  pleased 
him  to  think  that  she  had  not  wanted 
to  go,  whether  she  was  tired  of  danc- 
ing or  wished  to  enjoy  the  moonlight 
or  perhaps,  it  was  just  possible — no 
it  could  not  be  of  course,  yet  the 
thought  would  come  whether  or  no, — 
that  she  might  like  him  a  little,  and 
if  she  was  tired  it  was  very  unfortu- 
nate that  St.  Cloud  had  disturbed  her. 
That  brought  him  back  to  St.  Cloud 
again.  He  thought  St.  Cloud  ought 
to  have  bad  perception  enough  to  have 
seen  that  she  did  not  want  to  go.  But 
then,  in  all  fairness,  he  ought  to  have 
put  himself  in  St.  Cloud's  place,  and 
as  Helsingfors  had  often  said,  be  ought 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


23 


to  allow  a  little  for  human  nature. 
•St,  Cloud  liked  her  as  much  as  he  did, 
perhaps  more,  and  had  he  not  just  as 
good  a  right  to  dance  with  her  1  Yet 
no  matter  how  he  looked  at  it,  he  did 
not  altogether  like  what  St.  Cloud  had 
said,  or  the  way  he  said  it,  or  some- 
thing about  it — '  North  wood,  we  seem 
to  be  rivals  to-night.' 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  '  Season'  had  now  fully  opened 
in  London.  Helsingfors'  family 
had  returned,  and  were  living  in  one 
of  the  fashionable  suburbs.  The  De 
Oreys  were  not  far  off,  while  Harry 
and  his  mother  were  living  in  a  re- 
mote neighbourhood,  yet  still  suffi- 
ciently near  to  be  in  what  may  be 
called  the  fashionable  district.  Sir 
Gannett,  however,  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  come  to  Town  this  season, 
but  preferred  the  retirement  of  'Hart- 
grave  Manor  '  to  the  gaiety  of  London 
life.  His  wife  had  decided  to  stay  in 
London,  for  a  short  time,  without  her 
lord  and  master,  but,  considering  that 
too  long  an  absence  from  him  would 
probably  provoke  remark,  she  had  re- 
luctantly agreed  to  go  home  after  the 
first  four  weeks,  consoling  herself, 
however,  with  the  thought  that  by  so 
going  she  might  be  better  able  to  per- 
suade him  to  come  back  with  her,  or 
that  her  return  without  him,  towards 
the  close  of  the  season,  would  not  be 
noticed. 

Mr.  Stocton  had  taken  a  house  in 
Town,  and  was  anxious  to  let  Grace 
go  out  into  society. 

Grace  was  well  connected  on  her 
mother's  side,  and  therefore  found  no 
difficulty  in  gaining  admission  to  the 
charmed  circle  of  pleasure-seekers 
which  is  termed  Society.  Under  the 
chaperonage  of  her  mother's  sister,  she 
appeared  at  her  first  ball.  Mr.  Stoc- 
ton did  not  design  Grace  to  grow  up 


a  woman  of  fashion,  but  had  never- 
theless taken  a  common-sense  view  of 
the  case.  He  had  given  her  the  best 
education,  together  with  several  years 
of  foreign  travel,  under  the  guidance 
of  a  controlling  mind,  which  had 
moulded  her  character  and  developed 
the  resources  of  intellectual  enjoy- 
ment by  the  study  of  nature  and  art 
in  their  highest  and  noblest  forms. 
Upon  these  stays  Mr.  Stocton  relied 
to  keep  his  daughter  from  becoming 
frivolous  or  devoted  only  to  the  but- 
terfly life  of  fashion.  He  had,  how- 
ever, taken  means  to  bring  her  out 
into  society,  for  he  believed  that  the 
only  hope  of  salvation  from  what  he 
dreaded  was  not  to  be  found  in  a  life  of 
seclusion  and  retirement,  under  which 
his  daughter  would,  in  all  probability, 
have  chaf«d  and  fretted,  causing  her 
to  go  to  greater  lengths  when  the  re- 
straining influence  was  removed,  as  it 
would  be  some  day,  in  the  ordinary- 
course  of  events. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  from  what 
has  been  said  respecting  Grace's  school 
life  and  subsequent  course  of  practical 
instruction,  that  she  had  returned  to 
England  a  blue  stocking,  or  that  she 
looked  down  on  home  customs  and 
manners  with  an  air  of  condescending 
endurance  so  often  produced  by  for- 
eign travel.  She  had  returned  only 
to  prize  England  more,  and  to  value  it 
on  account  of  her  long  absence.  She 
had  grown  q\;ite  tall  when  abroad, 
and  now  that  she  had  returned,  her 
handsome  face,  free  from  the  slightest 
affectation,  seemed  to  win  all  hearts. 

It  was  at  one  of  a  series  of  brilliant 
entertainments  with  which  the  season 
opened,  that  Grace  was  standing  in  the 
hall  waiting  for  her  chaperone  to  ap- 
pear, when  Harry  came  out  of  one  of 
the  dressing-rooms.  He  came  to  where 
Grace  was  standing,  and  quietly  edg- 
ing his  way  close  to  her,  asked  her  to 
keep  him  a  couple  of  valses.  Grace 
promised,  of  course. 

'Oh,  Harry!'  she  said,  'if 'your 
friend,  Miss  De  Grey,  is  here  to-night 
do  point  her  out  to  me,  for  you  know 


24 

I  have  not  seen  her  yet,  though  I 
have  often  lieard  of  her  from  Maggie 
Morton,  and  since  I  have  come  back 
to  England  her  praises  have  been  in 
everybody's  month.' 

Helen 'De  Grey  was  undoubtedly 
the  reigning  belle  this  season.  Her  tall 
and  commimding  figure,  her  jet  black 
hair  and  eyes,  her  deep  rich  complex- 
ion, and  above  all  her  graceful  man- 
ner, would  attract  attention,  and  com- 
mand respect  from  all  ranks. 

Dancing  had  just  begun  and  Harry 
was  about  to  lead  Grace  to  the  ball- 
room, when  Helen  entered  the  room 
where  they  were. 

'  There  she  is,'  said  Harry.  *  That's 
Helen  De  Grey,  don't  you  think  she 
is  handsome  1 ' 

Grace  was  quite  charmed  with  Hel- 
en's appearance,  and  said  that  she  liked 
her  face  exceedingly.  She  laugh- 
ingly told  Harry  that  she  did  not 
wonder  that  he  should  have  fallen  in 
love  with  such  a  girl.  Harry  pro- 
tested that  he  had  not  done  anything 
so  foolish,  and  changed  the  subject. 

At  last  the  ball  was  over,  and  one  by 
one  the  guests  began  to  depart.  The 
music  ceased,  and  the  players  were 
busy  packing  up  their  instruments  and 
collecting  their  music.  The  dance  was 
over  with  all  its  happiness  and  un- 
happinesa,  with  all  its  brightness  for 
some  and  all  its  dulness  for  others, 
with  all  its  coldness  and  stiffness,  with 
all  its  well-bred  rudeness,  with  all  its 
truth  and  falsehood,  all  its  hopes  and 
fears,  all  its  love  and  longing,  all  its 
thousand  temptations  to  wrong,  all  its 
hard  struggles  for  the  right.  Like  the 
great  world  without,  it  hasits  inner  life, 
btjow  the  tinsel  and  show  and  sham, 
that  must  not  be  laid  bare.  Below 
the  gaudy  exterior  there  beats  thesame 
heart,  with  the  same  feelings,  overlaid, 
perhaps,  with  a  veneer  of  polished 
manners,  but  the  same  for  all  that. 

The  following  morning  as  Harry 
and  his  mother  were  sitting  at  break- 
fast, talking  over  the  events  of  last 
night,  a  letter  was  brought  in.  It 
bore  the  Hawthorne  postmark,   and 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


was  addressed  in  his  father's  hand  to 
Lady  North  wood.  Harry  handed  it 
to  his  mother.  The  letter  ran  as  fol- 
lows : — 

'My  dearest  Mary — I  need  hardly 
tell  you  what  you  know  was  impend- 
ing. My  s])eculations  have  turned  out 
as  we  have  for  some  time  past  had 
reason  to  fear  they  would.  I  have 
therefore  mortgaged  the  "  Hartgrave 
estate,"  with  all  the  furniture,  as  it 
stands,  for  its  full  amount.  As 
you  know,  we  have  yet  enough  to 
live  on  very  comfortably,  these  re- 
verses need  not  make  any  differ- 
ence in  your  eujoyment,  only  we  will 
have  to  give  up  the  Manor,  which 
has  been  in  the  family  for  the  last 
century,  for  I  see  no  other  way  of  dis- 
charging the  liability.  There  will  not 
be  any  immediate  necessity  for  change, 
so  you  need  not  tell  Harry  about  it 
till  I  have  seen  you.  I  shall  look  for 
you  at  the  end  of  your  allotted  time. 
As  I  am  anxious  to  talk  matters  over 
with  you,  if  you  come  home  any 
sooner  than  originally  proposed,  I 
shall  be  glad,  as  I  am  a  little  dull 
here  now  without  you.  With  affec- 
tionate remembrances  to  Harry,  I  am, 
my  dear  Mary, 

'  Your  ever  devoted  husband, 

*  Gannett  Noethwood.' 

She  folded  the  letter  up  and  re- 
turned it  to  the  envelope  again  with- 
out giving  it  to  Harry  to  read. 

'  I  will  go  home  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected,' she  said.  '  Your  father  writes 
me  that  he  is  lonely,  and  wishes  that 
the  time  f o  !■  going  home  were  come, 
so,  although  I  have  only  been  here  for 
two  weeks,  and  although  I  will  miss 
everything  by  going,  yet  if  your  father 
is  so  lonely,  I  think  I  ought  to  go.' 

Harry  said  nothing,  but  thought 
that  probably  his  father  was  getting 
a  little  fidgety  in  his  old  age,  and 
ought  to  have  some  one  to  look  after 
him. 

The  following  day  therefore  he  saw 
his  mother  off  by  the  train  for  Haw- 
thorne, and  promised  to   take  a  run 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


down  in  a  couple  of  weeks  and  cheerhis 
father  up  a  little.  Lady  North  wood  was 
anxious  to  know  the  state  of  affairs 
more  exactly  than  her  husbmd's  let- 
ter had  informed  her.  Fortunately, 
it  turned  out  that  there  was  no 
immediate  cause  for  alarm.  Sir 
Gannett's  income  remained  intact, 
and  was  secured  to  him,  though  the 
liabilities  he  had  incurred,  owing  to 
some  ill-advised  speculations,  were 
more  than  he  could  meet  out  of  his 
income,  without  drawing  on  the  in- 
vested principal.  This  Sir  Gannett 
did  not  wish  to  do,  but  had  borrowed 
the  money  from  Mr.  Stocton  on  a 
mortgage  of  his  property  In  tlie  village 
of  Hawthorne.  The  interest  was  only 
nominal,  for  Mr.  Stocton,  knowing 
that  the  property  would  become  his 
after  the  expiration  of  the  term  of 
years,  had  no  desire  to  press  heavily 
on  his  more  unfortunate  neighbour. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    CASUS     BELLI. 

IT  was  a  dreary  night  towards  the 
close  of  February,  snow  and  rain 
were  falling  together,  and  fi'eezing  as 
they  fell.  One  side  of  every  post  in 
the  street  seemed  coated  with  a  sort 
of  varnish  which  gave  them  the  ap- 
pearance, not  of  common  weather- 
stained  wood,  but  of  polished  ma- 
hogany. The  shop  windows  were 
covered  with  a  thick  coating  of  fro- 
zen sleet,  whose  corrugated  surface 
diffused  the  light,  and  rendered  it  less 
dazzlingly  brilliant  to  the  eye.  Far 
away  from  the  gaudy  shop  windows, 
one  of  the  mansions  in  the  fashionable 
west  end  was  brilliantly  lighted  this 
stormy  night.  The  blinds  were  drawn 
down,  and  a  soft  radiance  fell  on  the 
cheerless  scene  without.  Ever  and 
anon  the  wheels  of  some  carriage 
ploughed  through  the  slush,  making 
little  canals  and  rivers  in  the  snow 
and  mud,  as  it  rolled  up  to  the  hall 


door.  Umbrellas  were  quickly  put 
up  by  footmen,  and  dainty  feet  hur- 
ried up  the  steps  into  the  warm  light 
of  the  door,  that  was  flung  wide  open 
as  each  new  comer  arrived. 

Up  stairs  there  was  a  hum  of 
voices  ;  glad  greetings  were  exchanged 
and  cold  and  formal  recognitions 
stifily  given.  The  crowd  laughing  and 
talking  going  down  stairs  on  its  way 
to  the  drawing-room,  had  its  contrast 
in  the  stream  of  shrouded  and  over 
coated  beings  unrecognizable  in  cloaks 
and  clouds  and  wraps,  that  hurried 
up  stairs,  stopping  nowhere,  but  fol- 
lowing one  another  in  quick  succession 
to  the  vai'ious  dressing-rooms. 

The  musicians  were  just  beginning 
to  scrape  their  instruments  into  tune 
for  the  night's  work  when  Harry 
Northwood  arrived.  He  was  an- 
nounced by  a  stentorian-voiced  foot- 
man as  Mr.  Nurthword,  but  his  name 
was  sufficiently  familiar  to  the  lady 
of  the  house  and  to  most  of  those 
present  to  render  the  mistake  harm- 
less. After  he  had  spoken  to  the 
hostess  he  elbowed  his  way  to  the 
centre  of  the  knot  which  surrounded 
Helen,  and  entered  his  name  on  her 
programme.  He  then  made  his  way 
to  Grace  ;  flitting  from  group  to  group, 
he  edged  his  way  to  the  centre '  of 
each,  making  engagements  for  the 
evening. 

One  of  his  first  dances  was  with 
Helen,  the  room  was  not  unpleasantly 
filled,  for  a  good  many  had  not  began 
to  dance  yet.  The  orchestra  had  just 
begun  one  of  those  enchanting  valses 
of  "VValdteufel ;  airs,  so  insuperably 
connected  in  the  mind  with  happy 
evenings,  bright  faces,  the  flitting  of 
graceful  figures,  thronged  stairway  and 
galleries,  quiet  retired  nooks,  soft  looks 
and  softer  words,  and  the  thousand 
and  one  shining  ripples  on  the  silver 
sea  of  beauty  and  pleasure.  Harry 
felt  his  heart  almost  bound  within 
him  as  the  music  began.  He  pressed 
his  way  through  the  circle  near  the 
door,  and  led  Helen  to  the  centre  of 
the  room  and  began  to  dance.     Thev 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


■seemed  to  start  as  if  by  magic,  for  both 
were  tboiouglily  practiced  in  the  art. 
It  seemed  to  Harry  as  he  guided  his 
fair  comjianion  in  and  out,  in  the 
mazes  of  the  dance,  avoiding  a  flowing 
train  here,  missing  a  pair  of  broad, 
black  shouklers  there,  deftly  gliding 
p:\st  all  obstructions,  ever  mingling, 
yet  ever  alone — it  seemed  to  him,  as 
she  followed  him  everywhere,  respond- 
ing almost  to  his  very  thoughts,  to  be 
a  mimic  picture  of  the  future  he 
longed  for  A  future  in  which,  while 
they  mingled  in  the  world  around 
llhem,  they  were  ever  alone.  A  fu- 
ture in  which  she  followed,  trusting 
the  guiding  to  him,  moved  with  him, 
thought  with  him,  lived  for  him. 
How  he  wished  that  it  might  be  real- 
ized some  day.  At  the  close  of  the 
dance  Harry  led  his  partner  back  to 
JNtrs.  De  Grey,  and  surrendered  her  to 
Helsingfors  for  the  next  dance.  Harry 
could  not  help  envying  his  friend  just 
a  little,  as  she  glided  off;  but  he  was 
glad  that  it  was  not  with  St.  Cloud. 

'  Oh,  Harry,'  said  Grace,  as  ho  came 
up  to  claim  his  dance,  *  let  us  not 
dance,  I'm  quite  tired  after  the  last.' 
Harry  consenting,  they  passed  into 
the  conservatory.  They  sat  down 
under  the  spreading  branches  of  some 
rare  exotic,  while  a  fountain  oppo- 
site diflused  a  delicious  coolness 
about.  '  I  am  so  glad  that  this  was 
your  dance,  Hariy,'  said  Grace,  when 
they  were  comfortably  seated  oppo- 
site the  fountain,  *  because  I  did 
not  want  to  dance,  and  I  knew  you 
would  not  mind.' 

'  Certainly  not,'  replied  Harry,  '  Do 
you  know,  Grace,'  he  said,  after 
a  pause,  '  I've  often  thought  it  is 
just  delightful  to  have  one  or  two 
people  you  know  pretty  well  at  one 
of  these  large  dances,  so  that  a 
fellow  is  not  on  the  strain  all  night 
with  peojjle  he  does  not  know  very 
well,  and  perhaps  doesn't  care  about' 

'  Yes,  said  Grace,  •  and  after  all,  out 
of  the  great  number  one  meets,  how 
very  few  we  really  like.' 

'  That  is  true,'  Harry  replied ;  'but, 


Grace,  when  we  consider  it,  we  are 
not  called  upon  to  give  them  anything 
but  a  little  formal  politeness,  you 
know  :  no  I'eal  friendship  is  necessary.* 

*  As  it  is,  we  waste  too  much  friend- 
ship on  people  unworthy  of  it/  Grace 
rejoined. 

Harry  thought  there  was  no  rea- 
son to  waste  it,  if  it  had  been  pro- 
perly bestowed  on  the  right  people  in 
the  beginning.  But  Grace  did  not 
agree  with  him  altogether  in  that,  for 
she  thought  that  persons  ought  not 
deliberately  to  set  themselves  to  force 
a  friendship;  it  should  come  naturally, 
and  if  true,  it  would  outlast  every- 
thing. Harry  smiled  as  she  finished 
laying  down  her  premises,  with  all 
the  incontvovertibility  that  attaches  to 
a  woman's  logic,  when  she  is  simply 
stating  what  she  believes  herself. 
'  You  must  believe  in  platonic  friend- 
ships  then  ! '  he  said. 

*  No,'  I  do  not,'  she  answered,  de- 
cidedly. '  A  platonic  friendship  can- 
not last,  it  will  either  degenerate  into 
coldness,  or  deepen  into  something 
more  than  mere  friendship. 

Harry  was  on  the  point  of  say- 
ing, '  well,  our  friendship  has  not 
degenerated,  nor  has  it  deepened 
into  anything  else  ;  '  but  there  was 
something  in  the  way  Grace  had 
spoken  that  checked  him,  A  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind,  was  it  pos- 
sible that  on  her  side,  at  least,  the 
friendship  might  deepen  into  some- 
thing more  1  What  little  things 
words  are,  and  yet  what  a  difierence 
even  the  lightest  of  them  can  make. 
Already  Grace  was  in  a  difiterent  posi- 
tion to  him.  He  wished  that  she 
had  not  said  that,  at  least  so  earn- 
estly ;  yet  he  could  not  let  the  mat- 
ter remain  just  where  it  was.  He 
must  have  the  doubt  her  words  had 
raised  in  his  mind  satisfied.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  she  cared  for  him  1 
He  said  to  himself  that  he  was  very 
foolish  to  think  of  it  again,  but  he 
could  not  let  the  matter  rest. 

Harry  knew  that  he  would  only 
find  it  out  by  implication.     He  knew, 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


27 


also,  that  be  could  not  force  from  her 
anything  she  did  not  choose  to  tell. 
INIoreover,  he  was  sure  that  if  he  found 
it  out  it  would  only  be  by  some  little 
tride,  nothing  in  itself,  but  with,  per- 
haps, a  hidden  meaning.  She  might 
only  be  trying"  him,  while  concealiug 
her  own  purpose.  Harry  felt  as  if 
he  were  doing  wrong,  but  the  thought 
of  Helen  seemed  to  force  him  on.  He 
contrived  to  keep  the  conversation  in 
the  channel  into  which  it  had  so 
thoughtlessly  fallen,  weighing  every- 
thing, that  he  might  know  what  he 
longed  for,  yet  dreaded  to  hear.  At 
last,  the  dance  was  over.  Grace  had 
not  said  anything  further  to  lead  him 
to  suppose  that  he  had  been  right,  and 
he  was  tempted  to  think  that  he  had 
been  too  hasty  in  his  suppositions, 
•when,  as  they  turned  to  go,  Grace 
pulled  a  small  pink  rose  from  one  of 
the  bushes  which  grew  in  the  conser- 
vatory, and,  handing  it  to  him,  said, 
*  Harry,  we  have  talked  pretty  freely 
about  friendship  ;  this  is  to  show  you 
that  our  friendship   has,  at  least,  not 

degenerated  into   .'       Harry  felt 

the  blood  rush  to  his  face  as  he  took 
the  flower. 

The  music  had  begun  again,  as 
Harry  hurried  back  to  the  conserva- 
tory alone.  The  rose  was  in  his  hand 
as  he  came  to  the  place  where  she  had 
picked  it.  Harry  knew  now  for  cer- 
tain what  he  had  wanted  to  know.  The 
I'emark  she  had  made  had  been  one 
that  might  have  been  made  to  any 
one.  Nay,  he  had  himself  often  said 
things  much  more  serious  than  that, 
with  no  more  apparent  meaning  at- 
tached to  them  ;  but  there  had  been 
something  quite  different  in  this  case. 
No,  her  words  were,  in  themselves, 
nothing.  But  words  are  often  only 
intelligible  when  read  with  their  ac- 
companying context  of  manner.  Her 
words  were  nothing  ;  yet  there  had 
been  something  in  Grace's  manner 
that  told  Harry  he  had  not  guessed 
amiss.  He  had  not  responded  to 
her  in  any  way  yet.  How  could  he, 
in  all  honour  ?     Was  he  giving  up  the 


substance  for  the  shadow  1  He  had 
not  spoken  to  Helen  yet.  Why  had 
he  been  so  determined  to  find  it  out  ? 
He  had  found  out,  but  the  truth 
had  made  him  miserable.  It  seemed 
strange  ;  Grace  whom  he  had  known 
so  long  and  liked  so  much,  that  she 
should  now  a])pear  before  him  in  this 
new  light,  only  to  vanish  and  leave 
him  to  his  regrets.  He  held  up  the 
flower,  a  litle  pink  rose-bud  that  she 
had  given  him  as  a  token  that  their 
friendship  had  not  at  least  degenerated 
into  coldness.  But  what  did  that  mean  I 
The  perfume  seeuied  only  to  remind 
him  of  the  chance  of  happiness  he  had 
cast  out  of  his  hands.  Perhaps  the 
devotion  of  a  life  wasted  !  Lost! 
The  thought  almost  maddened  him  ; 
he  must  know  his  fate  with  Helen 
this  very  night. 

He  looked  at  his  card,  he  was  en- 
gaged to  Helen  for  this  dance,  but 
how  could  he  meet  her  as  he  was.  He 
seemed  to  grow  dizzy,  as  he  held  his 
hand  to  his  aching  brow.  He  opened 
the  door  of  the  conservatory  and  stood 
on  the  step  outside  for  a  moment  to 
compose  himself  before  going  in.  The 
night  was  dark,  and  the  rain  and  snow 
were  still  falling.  He  stood  there 
fully  five  minutes  before  he  felt  calm 
enough  to  return  to  the  ball-room.  At 
last,  summoning  up  courage,  he  hur- 
ried through  the  crowded  rooms.  The 
dance  was  half  over  when  he  met 
Helen  standing  with  her  mother  near 
one  of  the  dooi's"  Harry  apologized 
for  being  late,  but  told  her  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  come  earlier. 
It  seemed  a  good  omen  to  him,  that 
she  had  waited  for  him,  for  he  knew 
that  she  could  easily  have  gone  ofi" 
with  some  one  else,  as  he  had  not  been 
there  when  the  dance  began.  Harry 
begged  Helen  to  come  into  one  of 
the  rooms  up  stairs ;  he  was  tired  of 
dancing,  he  said.  Helen  complied, 
and  he  led  her  into  an  alcove,  cur- 
tained ofi"  from  a  small  ante-room.  It 
was  lighted  by  a  rich  Chinese  lantern, 
i  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  though  a 
!   ray  of  light  came  in  between  the  cur- 


28 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


tains  from  the  room  without,  '  "What 
a  lovely  little  room,'  said  Helen,  as 
he  drew  back  the  curtains  to  let  her 
pass  in. 

'  Yes,'  he  said,  '  a  sort  of  Holy  of 
Holies,  since  you  are  here.' 

'  Ax-e  you  not  afraid  to  follow  me 
then  1 '  she  asked,  looking  back  at 
him  with  a  smile. 

She  seemed  so  beautiful  to  Harry  as 
she  stood  between  the  curtains,  as  if 
to  prevent  him  from  entering.  '  No, 
I  would  follow  you  anywhere,'  he  said 
eai'nestly.  Helen  smiled  again  as  he 
took  a  seat  opposite  her. 

'  What  makes  Mr.  Northwood  so 
very  complimentary  to-night  ? ' 

'  Ah,  Miss  De  Grey,  believe  me,  I 
am  not  complimentary,  I  always  mean 
what  I  say,  at  least  in  speaking  to 
you.' 

*  Then  there  are  people  to  whom 
you  say  things  that  you  do  not  mean  ? ' 
she  asked. 

Harry  stumbled  through  some  ans- 
wer to  the  question,  bit  his  lip,  pulled 
back  the  curtain,  and  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  be  thinking  of  something 
else. 

'  Why,  Mr.  Northwood,  what  has 
happened  to  you?  You  don't  seem 
yourself  to-night.' 

Harry  looked  up  suddenly,  and 
said,  '  Why.  what  have  I  been  doing 
that  is  different  from  my  ordinary 
behaviour*?' 

'Well,'  said  Helen,  '  to  begin  with, 
you  were  very  late,  aud  you  came  to 
me  rather  hurriedly,  and  looked  as  if 
something  had  gone  wrong  with  you, 
and  then  you  did  not  want  to  dance, 
so  we  came  up  here,  and  you  say  such 
extraordinary  things  so  unlike  your- 
self,— and  further,'  she  added,  as  she 
noticed  his  serious  expression,  'if  I  may 
extend  the  indictment  a  little  more,  I 
would  say,  you  are  now  destroying 
that  very  pretty  little  rosebud  in  your 
hand.' 

'  At  the  mention  of  the  rosebud, 
Harry  started  involuntarily,  he  felt 
the  colour  mount  to  his  cheeks.  '  You 
are  right,  I  am  not  myself  to-night,' 


he  said,  '  I  feel  as  though  I  had 
left  something  undone,  unless  I  speak 
to  you,  even  though  you  know  it  al- 
ready, for  my  whole  life  has  long  ago 
told  you  what  I  have  now  to  say.. 
But  I  must  tell  you  now.  Helen,  I 
love  you  devotedly.  I  love  you  mad- 
ly.    I  cannot  live  without  you.' 

'  Is  that  what  he  told  her  ? '  Helen 
said  in  a  clear,  cold  voice  that  startled 
Harry,  at  the  same  time  spreading  a 
large  fan  across  her  face,  concealing 
everything  but  her  sparkling  eyes.  She 
shot  a  quick  glance  at  him,  and  turn- 
ing round  Harry  found  himself  face 
to  face  with — St.  Cloud. 

Harry  started  back  in  dismay,  but 
instantly  recovered  his  composure  on 
seeing  Helen  leaning  back  in  her 
chair,  and  fanning  herself  with  an  air 
of  the  utmost  unconcern.  '  Not  a  bad 
story  Mr.  Northwood,  and  you  must 
finish  it  for  me  some  other  time,'  she 
said  quietly  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. Harry  felt  grateful  to  her 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  St. 
Cloud  did  not  know  what  to  make  of 
it  all,  at  first.  He  had  come  in  search 
of  Helen,  for  the  next  dance  had 
already  begun,  and  had  arrived  ort 
the  scene  just  in  time  to  hear  Harry 
declare  his  love.  Cleverly  as  it  had 
been  done,  St.  Cloud's  penetration  told 
him  that  it  was  not  a  story  to  which 
Helen  had  been  listening,  and  a  feel- 
ing of  gratification  came  over  him 
that  he  had  at  least  prevented  her 
from  giving  a  reply  which  might  have- 
sealed  his  own  fate  before  he  had  a 
chance  to  speak  for  himself.  While 
St.  Cloud  undoubtedly  admired  Helen 
for  the  coolness  and  cleverness  she 
had  shown,  still  the  whole  occurrence 
disquieted  him,  for  it  seemed  as  if  he 
himself  had  somehow  had  a  narrow 
escape. 

Helen  returned  to  the  ball-room  on 
Harry's  arm,  where  St.  Cloud  claimed 
his  dance,  and  they  went  ofi".  Poor 
Harry  was  even  in  a  worse  state  of 
mind  than  ever.  He  felt  that  he  had 
spoken  plainly  and  to  the  point  with 
Helen,   but  she  had  been  unable  to 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


29 


give  him  any  answer.  He  was  toi'- 
turecl  with  the  thought  that  St.  Clpud 
might,  perhaps,  have  seen  through 
the  ruse  and  have  understood  all  that 
he  had  said.  He  did  not  know  how 
much  of  the  conversation  had  been 
overheard,  for  St.  Cloud's  approach 
had  been  unperceived.  But  it  was 
likely,  HaiTy  thought,  that  he  had 
not  stood  behind  the  curtain  listening 
or  he  would  not  have  appeared  at  the 
time  he  did.  Be  that  as  it  may,  and 
Harry  had  his  misgivings  as  to  which 
way  it  was ;  certain  it  is  chat  his  rest- 
lessness did  not  abate,  but  rather  in- 
creased. He  felt  as  if  intoxicated  as 
he  went  out  again  to  the  conservatory, 
and,  opening  the  door,  stood  on  the 
step  in  the  very  spot  where  he  had 
been  only  a  short  time  before.  The 
night  was  as  dark  and  rainy  as  ever, 
but  Harry  did  not  heed  the  night,  so 
absorbed  was  he  in  his  own  wild,  rest- 
less thoughts.  After  a  few  minutes 
the  intense  excitement  passed  off,  and 
reasoning  the  matter  over  quietly  to 
himself,  he  felt  that  he  must  lose  no 
time  in  looking  out  for  an  opportunity 
of  getting  Helen's  answer,  without 
which  he  felt  he  could  not  rest. 

St.  Cloud,  not  a  little  fluttered,  by 
the  discoveiy  he  had  made,  led  Helen 
to  the  refreshment  room,  as  much  for 
the  purpose  of  collecting  his  thoughts 
and  of  forming  his  opinion  as  to  the 
exact  state  of  the  case,  as  of  anything 
else.  He  occupied  a  little  more  time 
than  was  actually  necessary  in  getting 
her  an  ice,  but  excused  himself  on  his 
return  for  his  tardiness.  As  he 
handed  it  to  her  she  dropped  her  card. 
St,  Cloud  picked  it  up,  but  glanced 
over  it  as  he  did  so.  He  noticed  that 
Northwood's  name  was  not  on  it  for 
any  of  the  dances  yet  to  come,  while 
his  own  he  knew  was  on  again  three 
or  four  dances  lower  down.  He  in- 
stantly resolved  what  course  to  adopt. 
When  the  dance  was  over  and 
Helen  had  returned  to  her  chaperone, 
St.  Cloud  had  time  to  decide  upon  the 
best  means  of  carrying  out  the  resolve 
he   had   made.     He   stood  where  he 


could  see  her  till  she  was  taken  off 
again;  fearing  that  North  wood  would 
make  his  appearance  and  speak  to  her 
in  the  interval.  '  An  awkward  thing,' 
he  said  to  himself,  '  if  I  have  to  act 
the  detective  and  keep  an  eye  on  her 
for  the  rest  of  the  night.'  St.  Cloud 
felt  that  although  he  was  terribly  in 
love  with  Helen  himself,  yet  he  dare 
not  speak  to  her  of  it  at  present.  He 
was  a  man  of  strong  passions,  and 
with  a  determined  will,  thoroughly 
unscrupulous,  he  would  let  no  obstacle 
prevent  him  from  attaining  his  end. 
He  was  roused  at  what  seemed  to  him 
the  eminent  danger  he  was  in  of 
losing  what  had  now  become  to  him 
the  object  of  his  life,  and  he  deter- 
mined at  all  costs  to  prevent  Helen 
from  accepting  Hariy  Northwood. 
He  was  in  possession  of  all  the  facts, 
and  there  was  yet  time. 

Knowing  that  his  rival  was  a  gi-eat 
friend  of  Miss  Stocton  he  determined 
to  make  use  of  that  fact,  to  the  further- 
ance of  his  own  designs.  But  how  ? 
It  would  not  do  to  tell  Helen  that 
there  was  anything  more  between 
them  than  a  strong  friendship,  and 
have  his  story  treated  as  an  absurdity. 
He  must  have  something  sure  to  go 
upon.  It  was  a  game  of  life  and  death, 
he  felt,  and  he  must  not  hazard  his 
chances  of  success  by  any  false  step. 
He  had  long  suspected  what  Harry 
had  only  found  out  that  evening ; 
Grace's  regard  for  her  old  playmate  ; 
for  he  had  watched  them  closely  when 
together,  and  moreover  he  had  not  fail- 
ed to  discern  the  decided  uneasiness 
manifested  by  Harry's  mother  on  such 
occasions, 

St,  Cloud  was  thinking  of  this  when 
Helen,  leaning  on  Helsingfords'  arm, 
passed  out  of  the  room.  He  saw  Harry 
at  the  end  of  the  hall,  eyeing  the 
couple  intently.  An  impulse  seized 
Harry  that  he  would  briefly  explain 
to  his  friend  -the  position  of  affairs,  and 
ask  him  to  allow  him  a  few  minutes. 
This  he  felt  sure  Helsingfors  would 
do.  He  took  a  few  steps  forward  and 
was  on  the  point  of   speaking,    when 


30 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


the  thought  flashed  through  his  mind 
that  if  lie  precipitated  matters,  all 
might  not  turn  out  as  he  hoped  it 
would.  He  stood  still,  irresolute,  for 
a  moment,  and  then  it  was  too  late. 
St.  Cloud  understood  the  meaning  of 
the  few  steps  forward,  and  it  nerved 
him  to  immediate  action.  He  hurried 
off  in  search  of  Grace  Stocton.  After 
some  little  search  he  found  her.  A 
long,  tall,  dry-looking  fellow  with  a 
prominent  nose,  and  an  eye-glass  had 
just  made  his  excuses  for  having  to 
go  home  early,  and  without  the  ])lea- 
sure  of  his  dance.  St.  Cloud  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  take  the  tall,  dry- 
looking  gentleman's  place,  and  after  a 
tui-n  or  so  in  the  ballroom  he  led 
her  to  the  very  room  where  he  had 
so  unceremoniously  disturbed  Harry 
and  Miss  De  Grey.  '  It  is  the  only 
way  of  finding  out — the  only  way,'  he 
said  to  himself,  as  they  went  up-stairs, 
'  and  if  she  happens  to  say  Yes,  I 
need  only  keep  it  up  for  a  month  or 
so,  and  after  all  it  won't  be  such  bad 
fun.' 

The  dance  was  over,  and  St.  Cloud 
■was  bringing  Grace  down  stairs  again. 
'  It  is  because  there  is  someone  else 
more  fortunate  than  I,  that  this  great 
happiness  is  denied  me  % '  he  said 
sadly.  '  Mr.  St.  Cloud,'  Grace  an- 
swered, blushing  crimson,  '  I  am  deep- 
ly sensible  of  the  honour  you  have 
done  me,  but  oh,  believe  me,  it  can 
never  be  as  you  have  asked  ;  you  have 
guessed  tlie  truth,  but  do  not  speak 
to  me  further.  I  have  told  you  my 
secret,  believing,  that  at  least  for  the 
sake  of  the  love  you  say  you  have  for 
me,  that  you .  will  respect  my  confi- 
dence. 

A  momentary  feeling  of  shame  crept 
over  St.  Cloud's  face  as  he  ])arted  from 
her.  She  looked  so  unhappy  at  the  pros- 
pect of  the  sorrow  he  had  said  she  was 
bringing  upon  him.  She  had  tried  so 
hard  to  tell  him  gently  and  without 
paining  him,  that  the  dream  of  his 
life  (his  own  words)  could  never  be 
realized.  He  inwardly  despised  him- 
self, but  he  had  gone  too  far  to  retract 


now.  Yes,  St.  Cloud  felt  a  momen- 
tary pang  of  regret  at  the  perjury  of 
which  he  had  been  guilty.  In  vain 
did  he  try  to  quiet  his  conscience,  by 
repeating  to  himself  '  Love  is  like  mad- 
ness, all  things  are  forgiven  it.'  He 
had  wilfully  trampled  upon  that  in- 
nate sense  of  right  and  wrong  that  we 
all  possess — all,  even  the  worst  of  us, 
for  we  are  all  alike,  in  that  we  were 
made  by  the  same  Almighty  hand, 
though  all  different,  for  we  were  not 
each  formed  in  the  same  mould- 
But  St.  Cloud  had  as  yet  only  ac- 
complished half  of  his  design.  It  was 
not  hard  to  guess  of  whom  Grace  had 
spoken.  He  gloried  in  his  power,  and 
the  terrible  use  he  could  make  of  it 
against  his  rival ;  it  would  help  him 
to  gain  the  prize  he  had  set  before 
him,  but  what  a  price  he  had  paid 
for  it !  He  felt  almost  certain  of  suc- 
cess, but  he  had  lost  honor  and  self- 
respect. 

As  the  time  drew  near,  St.  Cloud 
almost  dreaded  to  meet  Helen,  for  he 
felt  almost  ashamed  to  meet  her.  But 
he  was  not  to  be  beaten  now.  A  little 
bit  of  scandal  ;  a  sly  innuendo  ;  a  lie  ; 
and  the  burning  cheek  and  flashing- 
eye  of  the  haughty  girl  beside  him, 
told  he  had  succeeded.  Helen  re- 
membered HaiTy's  agitated  manner, 
so  different  from  his  usually  calm 
and  quiet  bearing.  With  this  evi- 
dence before  her,  she  could  not  doubt 
what  she  had  been  told. 

North  wood  had  been  on  the  look 
out  to  see  Helen,  but  no  opportimity 
had  presented  itself.  He  felt  miser- 
able and  wretched,  but  determined 
not  to  let  the  night  go  over  without 
knowing  his  fate.  By  and  by  the 
guests  began  to  go,  first  by  twos  and 
threes,  then  more  followed  quickly,  till 
the  whole  of  the  gay  scene  seemed  to 
be  rapidly  dissolving,  leaving  the  bril- 
liant rooms  empty  and  bare.  St. 
Cloud  waited  in  the  hall  below  to  see 
Helen  as  she  passed  out,  and  to  make 
sure  that  even  at  the  eleventh  hour 
his  rival  would  not  be  able  to  outwit 
him,       Harry    was  standing   on    the 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


3-I 


opposite  side  of  the  hall  from  St. 
Cloud,  whose  presence  there  made 
him  feel  uneasy.  Helen  and  her 
mother  came  down  stairs  together. 
Mr.  De  Gre_y,  who  had  been  waiting 
for  them  below,  offered  his  arm  to  his 
wife,  and  they  went  out  followed  by 
Helen.  Almost  at  the  same  moment 
Harry  and  St,  Cloud  apjDroached  her 
from  different  sides. 

'  May  1  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  to  your  carriage?'  asked  St.  Cloud. 
Helen  gave  him  a  graciou.s  smile. 

•  Helen,'  said  Harry,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  *  have  you  nothing  to  say  to 
me  ?  ' 

She  finished  saying  something  to  St. 
Cloud  before  she  turned  round  and 
said  aloud,  '  No,  Mr.  Northwood,  I 
have  not.' 

Poor  Harry  was  staggered  for  the 
moment.  '  Oh,  Helen,  you  must  have 
something  to  say,  let  me  know  one 
way  or  other — .'  Helen  turned  again 
towards  St.  Cloud.  '  For  God's  sake, 
Helen,  give  me  some  answer,  yes  or 
no,'  said  Harry,  in  utter  despair. 

Helen  turned  upon  him  an  angry 
look,  as  she  replied  in  a  low  voice,  '  I 
will  give  you  au  answer  since  you  de- 
sire it, — No  1 ' 

'  Oh,  Helen,  what — what  does  this 
mean — why — '  stammered  Harry, 

'  Mr.  St.  Cloud  has  kindly  oiBfered 
to  see  me  out,'  she  replied  coldly,  and 
passed  on  to  the  carriage. 

Harry  was  utterly  bewildex-ed  for 
a  moment  ;  he  seemed  quite  stun- 
ned. St.  Cloud  said  an  elaborate 
good-night  to  Helen,  as  the  carriage 
drove  off.  He  came  up  to  the  steps 
and  was  crossing  the  verandah,  w^hen 
Harry  strode  out  to  meet  him.  Stung 
by  Helen's  cold  manner,  rendered  ut- 
terly beside  himself  by  her  inexplic- 
able and  point  blank  refusal,  with  the 
bitter  memory  of  Grace  and  the  rose- 
bud she  had  given  him,  he  was  in  no 
mood  to  meet  this  man. 

St.  Cloud  smiled  blandly  as  he  saw 
Harry  stand  trembling  and  excited 
before  him.  *  So,'  exclaimed  Harry, 
*  you  not  only  have  the  meanness  to 


play  spy  and  eavesdropper,  but  you 
have  the  audacity  to  interrupt  me 
when  I  choose  to  speak  to  Miss  De 
Grey.' 

'  Take  care,  Northwood,  you  are 
excited  about  something ;  you  are 
not  youi-self,'  he  said,  again  smiling, 
this  time  a  little  maliciously. 

'  I  know  what  I  am  saying,  St 
Cloud,'  Harry  replied,  angrily  ;  for  the 
cool  look  and  manner  of  the  other  ex- 
asperated him. 

'Indeed?'  rejoined  St.  Cloud,  with 
aggravating  coolness. 

'  St.  Cloud,  you  are  no  gentleman, 
or  you  woj^ild  not  act  as  you  have  done,' 
cried  Harry,  giving  way  to  his  pas- 
sion. 

'What  damnable  impertinence, 
Northwood,'  exclaimed  St.  Cloud,  his 
eyes  flashing  as  he  spoke ;  '  I  will 
make  you  repent  this.' 

Blind  with  rage  and  disappoint- 
ment, Harry  stepped  quickly  for- 
ward, and  struck  St.  Cloud  a  vio- 
lent blow  on  the  forehead  that  sent 
him  reeling  against  one  of  the  pil- 
lars of  the  verandah.  St.  Cloud  le- 
covered  himself,  and  was  in  the  act 
of  springing  forward  to  return  the 
blow,  when  the  door  opened  to  allow 
some  other  visitors  to  depart.  It  was 
Grace  and  her  aunt.  Hariy  shrunk 
into  the  darkness,  and  stood  behind 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  porch.  St. 
Cloud,  who  was  standing  directly  op- 
posite the  open  door,  turned  round, 
and,  tossing  his  hair  slightly,  as  though 
blown  by  the  wind,  he  contrived  to 
press  one  of  his  dark  locks  down  on 
his  forehead  to  hide  the  mark  of  his 
adversary's  knuckles.  He  bowed 
pleasantly  to  Grace  and  aunt  as  he 
passed  in.  As  he  passed  Harry,  he 
muttered,  *  I  will  be  revenged  on  you 
yet,  Northwood,  if  it  takes  a  thousand 
years.' 

Harry  paced  up  and  down  in  the 
darkness  some  time  before  he  could 
show  himself  in  the  light.  He  did 
not  see  St.  Cloud  again  in  the  dressing- 
room  when  he  went  in,  so  he  concluded 
he  had  gone.    He  hurriedly  put  on  his 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


wraps  and  weut  dowu  stairs.  As  he 
gained  the  sti-eet  some  bachelor  friends 
of  his  asked  him  to  come  round  to 
their  rooms  and  smoke  a  pipe  with 
them,  but  Harry  declined,  and,  dis- 
miijsing  the  carriage  that  waited  for 
him,  walked  off  slowly  iu  the  rain  and 
sleet  through  the  dark  and  cheerless 
streets  of  the  gi-eat  city. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


TRYING  TO  FORGET. 


HARRY  NORTHWOOD  did  not 
go  straight  home  that  night, 
but  wandered  through  the  streets, 
sometimes  walking  with  a  feverish 
energy,  anon  dragging  along  with  a 
slow  uncertain  step,  till  the  gradual 
approach  of  thegi-ay  dawn  warned  him 
to  be  getting  home.  Thoroughly  wet 
and  uncomfortable,  he  crept  up-stairs, 
and,  changing  his  suit,  he  packed 
up  a  valise,  and  sat  down  to  the  table 
to  write.  He  wrote  to  his  father,  say- 
ing he  was  going  over  to  Wales  for  a 
few  days,  as  he  was  not  very  well,  ex- 
cusing himself  from  going  home,  and 
saying  that  he  would  probably  return 
to  London  in  a  few  weeks.  He  en- 
closed his  address,  and  sealed  the  let- 
ter up.  He  then  wrote  a  long  letter 
to  Helsingfors,  telling  him  the  whole 
story  of  how  he  had  been  refused  by 
Helen,  and  telling  him  the  way  in  which 
she  had  done  so.  He  omitted  saying 
anything  about  his  encounter  with  St. 
Cloud  ;  he  enclosed  his  address,  asking 
him  to  write,  but  not  to  mention  the 
occurrence  to  any  one,  just  yet.  Hav- 
ing completed  these  letters,  he  threw 
himself  on  his  bed  and  tried  to  rest  a 
little,  till  breakfast  time,  but  he  could 
not  sleep. 

"\rVTien  breakfast  was  over  he  left  word 
that  he  would  probably  be  away  for 
some  weeks,  and  directed  where  letters 
were  to  be  forwarded.  He  had  de- 
cided upon  going  to  Wales,  because  he 
wished  to  get  somewhere  away  from 


London.  He  had  not  chosen  Paris, 
for  he  wished  to  be  quiet ;  but  had 
picked  out  a  retired  little  village  some- 
where  on  the  coast  of  Caernarvonshire, 
almost  at  random,  for  he  desired  to  be 
alone  for  the  })resent  till  the  wretch- 
edness he  felt  should  have,  in  a  mea- 
sure, worn  off. 

He  was  out  all  day,  as  he  had  to  see 
about  several  things  before  leaving.  It 
was  quite  dark  when  he  arrived  at  a 
small  town  on  the  west  coast  of  Caer- 
narvonshire, and  took  a  room  at  the 
quaint  old  inn  for  the  night.  Want* 
of  sleep  on  the  previous  night,  toge- 
ther with  the  troubled  state  of  mind  he 
was  in,  made  Harry  forget  his  sorrow 
in  a  sound  sleep,  which  lasted  till  late 
the  following  morning.  When  he  woke 
he  was  a  little  confused  to  find  him- 
self in  a  small  room  with  nothing  but 
a  couple  of  chairs,  a  washstand,  a  bu- 
reau and  the  bed  upon  which  he  was 
lying.  He  remembered  the  occurrence 
of  the  night  before,  but  it  seemed  like 
a  year  ago.  He  felt  much  older,  and 
could  hardly  rid  himself  of  the  feeling 
that  some  dear  friend  had  died.  When 
he  had  at  length  roused  himself  to 
dress  and  had  come  down  stairs,  he 
found  that  he  was  just  in  time  for  din- 
ner. In  the  afternoon  he  strolled  out, 
and  began  looking  for  lodgings.  This 
occupied  him  all  the  afternoon,  as  it  was 
not  easy  to  find  quarters  exactly  to  suit 
him.  Harry  was  surprised  when 
night  came  on,  but  remembered  that 
his  hours  had  been  somewhat  irregu- 
lar the  last  couple  of  days. 

Next  morning  he  dropped  back  into 
the  ordinary  routine  of  daily  life.  He 
breakfasted  at  the  usual  hour,  took  a 
walk  along  the  sea-shore  now  so  cold 
and  bleak,  and  returned  to  dinner 
with  the  same  feeling  of  loneliness 
which  had  so  completely  taken  pos- 
session of  him.  In  the  afternoon  he 
went  in  the  opposite  direction.  Walk- 
ing along  the  road  he  came  across  the 
railroad  track,  by  which  he  had  come 
to  the  village  the  evening  before. 
The  wind  was  humming  discordantly 
in   the   telegraph   wires    over 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


bumming  the  monotonous  story  of 
work  and  toil  and  sorrow,  on  that 
great  yEolian  harp  of  commerce. 

He  walked  on  still  further,  absorbed 
in  his  meditations,  till  he  came  oppo- 
site an  old  church.  It  was  nearly  all 
covered  with  the  branches  of  some 
cree))ing  plant,  which  in  sunnner 
would  have  thrown  a  mantle  of  living 
green  over  the  old  gray  stones.  But 
now  the  branches  hung  shivering 
against  the  cold  wall,  in  the  chill 
February  breeze.  The  door  of  the 
church  seemed  to  be  unlocked,  so 
Harry  turned  out  of  the  road  and 
passed  up  between  the  long  i"ow  of 
sentinel  tombstones  that  seemed  to 
guard  the  consecrated  ground  on 
either  hand.  The  door  was  open,  as 
he  had  thought,  for  the  sexton's  wife 
was  sweeping  out  the  gallery,  and  a 
fire  had  been  lighted  for  her,  so  that 
the  church  was  not  cold.  Harry  ex- 
plained to  the  woman  that  he  desired 
to  look  at  the  church,  as  he  was  a 
stranger.  The  old  woman  in  the  gal- 
lery replied  that  he  was  very  welcome 
indeed  to  look  at  anything  that  might 
interest  him  in  the  church,  which  was 
dingy,  she  admitted,  although  her  old 
man  and  herself  did  their  best  to  make 
it  look  clean  for  Sundays. 

The  church  was  a  pretty  little  struc- 
ture, Gothic,  of  tlie  early  perpendicular 
style,buil  t  probablyabout  the  close  of  the 
reignof  Edwardlll.  The  gallery  which 
the  old  woman  was  engaged  in  sweep- 
ing out  was  a  comparatively  modern  in- 
novation in  the  church,  and  had  been 
put  up  part  of  the  way  along  the  two 
sides,  to  match  the  cramped  old  organ 
loft  which  was  of  perhaps  a  little 
greater  antiquity.  Harry  amused 
himself  looking  at  the  numerous  tab- 
lets which  adorned  the  walls,  covered 
with  uncouth  inscriptions,  many  of 
them  in  the  now  almost  unintelligible 
Gothic  letters  which  require  such 
unlimited  patience  and  hard  study  to 
make  out.  He  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing as  he  read  the  inscriptions  on 
tablets  to  the  memory  of  men  who  had 
died  hundreds  of  years  ago,  whether 
3 


they  had  ever  experienced  sorrows 
and  trials  such  as  he  was  called  upon 
to  endure  now.  He  thought  that 
some  day  it  would  be  all  over  with 
him,  as  it  was  with  them.  He  thought 
how  a  busy,  active  life,  full  of  anxiety, 
care,  trouble,  a  little  pleasure,  full  of 
longings  and  strivings  and  hopes  and 
fears  would  one  day  be  represented  by 
two  dates  cut  on  a  marble  slab  in 
some  quiet  church.  The  emptiness  of 
life  seemed  to  come  upon  him  with  a 
new  force  as  he  looked  on  the  tablets 
around  him.  How  vain  those  records  ! 
Death  striving  for  a  memory  among 
the  dying.  A  life  with  all  its  no- 
bility and  meanness,  all  its  love  and 
hatred,  marked  only  by  the  dates  of 
birth  and  death — a  record  left  by 
earth's  ephemera. 

Harry  was  much  interested  with 
the  details  of  the  church  itself.  The 
large,  high  windows  were  filled  with 
handsome  stained  glass  panes.  What- 
ever may  be  said  against  the  perpen- 
dicular style  of  architecture,  the 
square  divisions  of  the  windows  un- 
doubtedly favour,  to  a  certain  extent, 
pictorial  representations  on  the  glass. 
He  noticed  the  great  number  and 
variety  of  the  canopies  and  canopied 
niches  ;  some  occupied  by  statues  of 
saints,  some  left  vacant,  as  though 
their  occupants  had  become  tired  of 
standing  for  ever  with  their  backs 
against  the  sloping  sides  of  their  niches, 
and  had  spread  their  wings  and  flown. 

The  following  day,  at  about  the 
same  houi*,  Harry  set  off  again  for  the 
old  church.  It  had  pleased  him  with 
its  quietness  ;  and  the  lonely  look  of 
the  deserted  building  seemed  to  suit 
his  state  of  mind.  As  he  approached 
it  this  afternoon,  fearing  that  he 
would  be  unable  to  get  in,  he  thought 
he  heard  the  sound  of  music.  He 
stopped  to  listen.  Somebody  was 
playing  the  organ  in  the  church. 
Harry  went  softly  up  to  tlie  porch, 
and  tried  the  door.  It  was  not 
locked,  he  opened  it  and  crept  quietly 
in,  that  he  might  not  disturb  the  mu- 
sician.   He  went  into  a  large,  straight- 


34 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


backed,  square  pew,  suriwmded  with 
high,  red  curtains.  Drawing  the  cur- 
tains a  little  aside  he  looked  curiously 
towards  the  organ-loft.  The  figure  of  a 
young  girl  could  be  seen  on  the  high 
old-fashioned  organ-stool.  She  had  her 
back  to  him,  and  seemed  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  what  she  was  playing.  She 
had  laid  her  hat  on  the  seat  beside 
her,  disclosing  a  mass  of  raven  black 
hair.  She  was  playing  Bach's  well- 
known  composition,  '  My  Heart  Ever 
Faithful,'  and  as  Harry  listened  he 
seemed  to  grow  calm  and  quiet.  That 
feeling  of  restlessness,  as  at  the  loss  of 
some  dear  friend,  passed  off,  and  he 
listened  in  silent  rapture.  The  organ 
was  old,  but  many  of  the  stops  were 
good,  several  being  of  recent  date, 
were  well  suited  both  in  tone  and 
power,  to  the  church.  Harry  could 
not  help  remarking  that  she  played 
with  great  ease,  and  displayed  a  very 
cultivated  taste  in  the  selection  of  the 
stops. 

When  the  music  was  finished  she 
called  out  to  some  one  behind  the 
oi-gan,  '  That  will  do  to-day,  thank 
you,'  and  immediately  afterwards  a 
little  boy,  who  had  been  engaged  in 
blowing  the  bellows,  clattered  down 
stairs  and  was  off.  Harry  thought  he 
would  slip  out  unobserved  and  return 
when  the  young  lady  was  gone.  He 
stepped  towards  the  door  of  the  pew 
with  the  utmost  caution.  He  stumbled 
over  a  hassock  as  he  went  out  and 
upset  several  large  prayer-books. 

*  Is  that  you,  George  1 '  called  out 
the  young  lady  from  the  gallery. 

Harry  came  out  in  some  confusion 
from  behind  the  curtains  and  said,  '  I 
beg  your  pardon,  I  am  sure,  for  this 
intrusion,  but  as  I  was  passing  outside 
I  was  attracted  by  the  music,  and 
came  in  to  listen.  My  presence  would 
probably  have  been  unnoticed  had  I 
not  knocked  dows  these  books  in  get- 
ting out.' 

The  young  lady  was  a  little  taken 
aback  at  the  sudden  appearance  of 
the  stranger,  though  she  was  pleased 
with  his  courteous  bearing.   She  hoped 


he  had  not  been  very  much  disap- 
pointed with  the  playing  he  had  heard. 
Hairy  assured  her  that  the  last 
piece  she  played  had  charmed  him 
exceedingly,  as  he  knew  it  well,  and 
had  always  liked  it.  She  tied  up  her 
music  and  came  down  stairs. 

As  she  was  passing  out,  Harry  en- 
quired if  there  would  be  service  in 
the  church  on  Sunday, 

She  told  him, '  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
only ;  the  morning  and  evening  ser- 
vices are  conducted  in  the  church  in 
the  village,  but  as  use  always  preserves 
a  building  in  better  repair  the  Rector 
had  services  here  on  Sunday  after- 
noons,' 

Harry  expressed  his  desire  to  attend 
one  of  these  afternoon  services,  and 
asked  who  was  the  clergyman  in 
charge. 

'  My  father,  Mr.  Morton,  is  the 
Rector  of  this  parish,'  answered  the 
girl. 

'  Indeed,  then  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  speaking  to  Miss  Morton  V  Harry 
asked  in  some  surprise. 

'  Yes,'  she  said  with  a  smile. 
'  Miss  Maggie  Morton  V  he  asked. 
'  That  is  my  name,'  was  the  reply. 
*  I   know  you  very  well  by  name. 
Miss  Morton,'  he  said,   '  though  you 
will    not    very   likely    know    me.      I 
have    often   heard  a  great  friend    of 
mine  speak  of  you — Miss  Grace  Stoc- 
ton,  of  Hawthorne.   I  am  Mr.  North- 
wood,  and  am  also  from  Hawthorne.' 
'  Oh,  indeed,  your  name  is  familiar 
to  me  too ;    Miss   Stocton  has  often 
spoken  of  you  ;   she  and  I  were  on 
the  Continent  together  you  know.' 

A  little  more  was  said  in  the  way 
of  mutual  recognition,  and  Harry 
asked  permission  to  accompany  her  to 
the  village,  as  it  was  growing  dusk. 
He  offered  to  carry  her  music,  and 
very  soon  they  were  chatting  plea- 
santly of  the  places  and  persons  they 
both  knew.  They  parted  at  the  Rec- 
tory, Harry  being  quite  delighted  with 
his  new  friend,  whose  acquaintance  he 
had  made  that  afternoon  by  chance, 
and  in  a  somewhat  romantic  manner.. 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


35 


Maggie  was  the  eldest  of  a  family 
of  five,  though  the  others  were  all 
much  younger  than  herself.  She  was 
not  what  would  be  called  pretty,  but 
she  had  a  good  face,  all  her  features 
were  regular  and  well  formed.  Her 
expression  was  that  of  gentleness  and 
amiability,  while  her  large,  thoughtful 
eyes  had  a  depth  of  truth  in  them 
that  made  the  beholder  look  more 
than  once  at  her  face.  Her  wavy 
hair  was  drawn  off  her  brows,  dis- 
closing a  high,  intellectual  forehead, 
evidently  inherited  from  her  father. 

While  Harry  remained  at  Thorn- 
dale  he  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  Mor- 
tons. Being  very  fond  of  music,  he 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  to  the 
church  on  Maggie's  practice  days.  The 
first  few  times  he  went,  he  sat  down 
stairs  listening  to  what  she  played,  but 
as  time  went  on  she  permitted  him  to 
accompany  her  to  the  organ-loft,  and 
even  at  times  to  manage  the  stops  for 
her.  This  Harry  soon  became  very 
proficient  in,  for  although  unable  to 
play  the  organ  himself,  he  soon  learned 
the  nature  and  quality  of  the  stops. 
One  very  sweet  combination  of  stops 
of  which  he  soon  became  fond,  he  play- 
fully termed  his  vox  humana,  and  made 
her  use  it,  for  some  pieces  when  ever 
she  played.  Harry  found  not  only 
solace,  but  occupation  in  this  pursuit, 
and  sometimes  he  would  even  forget 
his  unhappiness  while  listening  to  the 
rich  tones  of  the  organ. 

He  liked  the  somewhat  matter-of- 
fact  way  in  which  Maggie  dealt  with 
everything,  and  admired  the  practical 
good  sense  with  which  she  was  en- 
dowed. He  enjoyed  the  winter  even- 
ings at  the  rector's  fireside,  all  was  so 
cheerful  and  comfortable.  The  old 
drawing-room,  with  its  large  warm  fire 
and  circle  of  bright  faces,  could  not 
fail  to  attract  him,  while  the  open  hos- 
pitality and  genuine  kindness  shown 
him  was  very  agreeable  to  him. 
The  whole  family  had  taken  quite  a 
fancy  to  the  quiet,  grave,  young  gen- 
tleman who  had  suddenly  made  his 
appearance  among  them.     The  rector 


liked  to  talk  over  church  matters  with 
him,  and  was  pleased  to  find  that  he 
was  of  the  same  school  of  thought  as 
himself.  But  all  this  kindness  could 
not  all  at  once  restore  Harry  to  his 
former  cheerfulness.  He  had  not 
spoken  to  anyone  of  the  cause  of  his 
vi.sit  to  Thorndale,  or  how  he  had 
chosen  the  village  at  random  in  look- 
ing over  the  railway  time-table  the 
night  before  leaving  London.  He  felt 
as  if  his  life  had  been  blighted,  and 
time  alone  could  restore  him  to  what 
he  had  been  before. 

When  he  returned  to  his  lodgings, 
one  afternoon,  he  found  a  telegram 
from  his  father  awaiting  him.  It 
stated  that  Mr.  Stocton  had  died  sud- 
denly at  Hawthorne,  and  telling  him 
to  come  home  for  the  funeral  at  once. 
Harry  went  over  to  the  Rectory  with 
the  news,  and  to  say  good-bye  to  the 
family,  though  he  promised  to  be  back 
again  in  the  course  of  a  few  days.  The 
next  day  he  left  the  village  of  Thorn- 
dale,  and  went  up  to  Holyhead,  where 
he  caught  the  fast  train  commonly 
known  as  the  '  Wild  Irishman,'  and 
was  whirled  away  to  London.  Having 
a  few  hours  in  the  metropolis,  he  called 
to  see  Helsingfors.  Catching  the  after- 
noon train,  he  was  soon  at  Hawthorne, 
driving  along  the  well-known  road  to- 
wards his  father's  mansion. 

The  funeral  of  the  wealthy  banker 
was  attended  by  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood, and  many  came  down  from  Lon- 
don to  pay  their  last  respects  to  his 
memory.  Harry  did  not  see  Grace 
at  all,  for  she  would  not  see  any  one, 
although  Lady  North  wood  had  called 
twice.  Harry  was  not  sorry  that  he 
did  not  see  her,  though  he  sympa- 
thized fully  with  her  in  her  terrible 
bereavement.  He  seemed  to  be  able 
to  feel  for  others  much  more  of  late, 
and  he  was  touched  by  what,  a  short 
time  ago,  he  would  have  passed  over 
with  indifference. 

Sir  Gannett  Northwood,  whose  in- 
come, although  ample  for  his  small 
fam.ily,  was  not  able  to  buy  back 
his    magnificent   inheritance   without 


36 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


trenching  too  seriously  on  the  princi- 
pal, told  Harry  the  ditliculty  he  had 
been  in,  explaining  that  he  had  used 
the  only  nie^ns  in  his  power  to  ex- 
tricate "himself.  He  blamed  himself 
for  the  speculations  in  which  he  had 
invested  his  money,  and  imi)lored 
his  sou  to  forgive  him  forhaviui^  thus 
robbed  him  of  what  ought  rightfully 
to  have  belonged  to  him.  Harry  was 
of  course  very  much  surprised  at  the 
news,  and  also  that  it  had  been  kept 
from  him  until  now,  but  his  father's 
distress  at  having  taken  from  him  the 
^Id  estate  quite  overcame  him,  for 
though  he  was  sorry  for  the  loss  of 
the  beautiful  property  which  he  had 
always  expected  to  possess,  yet  he 
could  not  bear  to  see  his  father  blame 
himself  for  the  ill  luck  of  his  ventures. 

The  three  sat  up  late  in  the  old 
library  talking  over  their  plans  for  the 
future.  Neither  Harry  nor  his  father 
would  hear  of  taking  up  their  resi- 
dence in  London,  so  it  was  at  length 
decided  that  they  should  take  a  cottage 
somewhere  in  the  south  of  France, 
and  thus  enjoy  the  seclusion  that  Sir 
Gannett  so  much  desired.  He  made 
it  a  sine  qua  von  that  his  son  should 
accompany  him,  so  Harry  at  last  con- 


A  week  after  the  funei-al  of  Mr. 
Stocton  the  Norwoods  left  Hawthorne, 
and  delivered  into  the  hands  of  stran- 
gers the  old  homestead  that  had  shel- 
tered their  ancestors  for  generations 
back.  Harry  wrote  to  Thorndale, 
telling  the  Mortons  of  his  unexpected 
departure  for  France. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CHANGES   AND    CHANCES. 

ABOUT  a  year  and  a  half  had 
flown  over  since  the  events 
narrated  in  the  preceding  chapter  took 
place.  Sir  Gannett  had  become  quite 
at  home  in  his  pretty  little  cottage  in 
the  south    of   France,  and   even  his 


wife  had  become  partially  reconciled 
to  her  exile,  though  she  sometimes 
indulged  in  some  gentle  regrets  at 
being  so  completely  'out  of  the  world.' 

The  first  signs  of  spring  had  begun 
to  appear  when  Harry  one  day  rather 
startled  his  father  and  mother  by 
saying  that  he  purposed  going  back 
to  England.  This  determination 
awakened  all  his  mother's  desire  to 
go  too,  but  she  was  at  length  persuaded 
not  to  go,  by  the  promise  that  her 
husband  would  take  her  to  Paris  for 
a  visit.  She  was  the  more  easily  re- 
conciled to  this  arrangement,  for  she 
felt  confident  that  when  they  were 
safely  in  Paris  it  would  not  be  so  hard 
to  tease  Sir  Gannett  into  coming  over 
to  England  for  a  few  weeks  at  least. 

Harry  called  to  see  Helsingfors  as  he 
passed  through  London  on  his  way  to 
Thorndale,  but  could  only  be  per- 
suaded to  stay  a  couple  of  days.  He 
heard  from  his  friend  that  Helen  was 
still  iinmarried,  and  also  that  rumour 
said  it  was  not  St.  Cloud's  fault  that 
she  was  so.  Harry  could  not  help 
feeling  gratified  that  St.  Cloud  had 
not  been  [the  fortunate  one,  though 
he  was  surprised  that  she  had  not 
been  married  before  this.  He  did  not 
go  down  to  Hawthorne,  though  he 
knew  the  family  to  whom  the  house 
had  been  rented,  as  he  felt  he  would 
not  care  to  see  strange  faces  in  the 
old  familiar  place. 

He  found  things  very  little  changed 
at  Thorndale,  though  he  had  been 
away  more  than  a  year  and  a  half, 
when  he  came  there.  It  seemed  as  if 
he  had  only  left  it  yesterday.  The 
Mortons  were  all  very  much  surprised 
and  delighted  to  see  him,  for  he  had 
not  w^'itten  to  say  he  was  coming. 
The  Rector  was  as  glad  to  see  him  as 
ever,  and  hoped  that  he  would  make 
something  of  a  visit  now,  and  not  run 
off  as  unceremoniously  as  he  had  done 
before.  The  only  difference  that 
Harry  could  notice  in  the  family  was 
that  Maggie's  younger  sister,  Fanny, 
seemed  to  have  quite  grown  into  a 
young  lady.     Fanny  was  undoubtedly 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


37 


the  prettiest  of  the  family.  Her  good 
nature  and  handsome  face  had  won 
for  her  many  devoted  admirers  in  the 
village.  Maggie  still  continued  her 
organ  practices  at  the  old  church,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  no  time  at  all  had  in- 
tervened when  Harry  found  himself 
again  listening  to  '  My  Heart  Ever 
Faithful,'  and  managing  the  stops  for 
her  while  she  played. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  practices,  and 
some  weeks  after  Harry  had  returned 
to  Thorn  dale,  that  he  said  to  Maggie  as 
he  was  beside  her  at  the  organ,  '  What 
a  beautiful  ring  that  is,  you  wear  on 
your  left  hand.' 

'Yes,'  she  said,  'it  was  one  my 
mother  gave  me  when  I  was  going 
away  off  on  that  trip  on  the  con- 
tinent, you  know.  Is  not  pretty  1 ' 
she  took  the  ring  off,  as  she  spoke,  and 
handed  it  to  him.  It  was  a  very  hand- 
some Turquoise  ring. 

'  My  mother  told  me  that  by  an 
old  superstition  Turquoise  was  sup- 
posed to  preserve  the  wearer  from 
all  bodily  harm,  so  that  is  why 
she  gave  it  to  me  when  I  was  go- 
ing away,'  she  continued.  '  Father 
said  if  there  was  any  truth  in  the  old 
superstition  he  hoped  it  would  shield 
me  from  "  all  dangers  ghostly  and 
bodily,"  as  our    church  service  says.' 

'  And  so  it  has,'  said  Harry,  '  I  feel 
more  like  believing  such  old  supersti- 
tions when  I  see  one  of  them  verified.' 

'  You  may  keep  the  ring  till  I  am  fin- 
ished playing,  and  see  if  it  will  pre- 
serve you  from  all  danger,  till  then,' 
she  said  laughingly. 

'  There  is  one  danger  which  it 
has  no  charm  to  ward  off,'  he  said  as 
he  slipped  the  ring  on  his  little  finger. 

•'  And  what  is  that,  pray  1 '  she 
asked.' 

'  One  that  I  do  not  dread,  yet 
one  from  which  there  is  no  es- 
cape,' he  answered.  Maggie  turn- 
ed away  her  head  and   began  playing. 

When  the  practice  was  over,  and  the 
little  bellows-blower  had  clattered 
down  stairs  and  was  gone,  and  Mag- 
gie  had  just   settled   up    her  music, 


Harry  took  the  ring  off  his  finger  and 
said,  '  Will  you  let  me  wish  the  ring 
on  for  you  1 ' 

'  Yes,'  she  replied,  *  but  how  long 
before  your  wish  can  be  realized  1 

'  That  depends,'  he  said,  '  I  could  not 
tell  you  that,  unless  I  told  you  the 
wish  itself.' 

'  Oh,  if  you  once  tell  your  wish  you 
cannot  get  it,'  Maggie    said. 

'  I  cannot  get  it  unless  I  do  tell  you 
the  wish,'  he  replied,  looking  at  her, 
full  in  the  face. 

'  You  had  better  not  tell  me,'  she 
said,  looking  down  and  blushing 
slightly. 

'  Well,  give  me  your  hand  till  I 
wish  it  on.' 

She  held  out  her  hand  without  look- 
ing up.  As  Harry  slipped  the  ring 
slowly  on  her  finger,  he  said,  '  I  only 
wish  to  be  like  your  Turquoise  ring,  and 
ever  through  the  changes  and  chances 
and  dangers  of  this  world  be  your  guard 
and  shield.'  There  was  a  pause  for 
several  minutes  ;  but  she  she  did  not 
withdraw  her  hand  from  him,  when  he 
had  finished  speaking. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  old  church 
looked  brighter  to  them,  and  the  old 
tablets  on  the  wall  less  gloomy  than 
before,  as  they  stood  together  in 
the  light  of  the  setting  sun  as  it 
streamed  in  through  the  rich  stained 
glass  window,  tracing  its  fairy  colours 
on  the  wall. 

London  was  as  full  of  busy  life  and 
gaiety  as  ever,  though  the  return  of 
spring  had  brought  round  the  bustle 
and  excitement  of  preparation  for  go- 
ing to  the  country.  Helen  had  gone 
out  to  dinner  once  more,  before  turn- 
ing her  back  on  London,  and  feeling 
thoroughly  tired  she  sat  down  by  her- 
self behind  a  larg»  Japanese  screen, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  dreading  the  ad- 
vent of  the  gentlemen,  who  were  still 
down  stairs.  She  had  not  enjoyed 
herself  at  dinner,  and  was  consoling 
herself  with  the  thought  that  she 
would  have  a  little  quietness,  while 
tea  and  coffee  were  being  handed 
round. 


38 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


Presently  two  old  dowagers  came 
and  sat  on  a  sofa,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  screen.  Helen  could  hear  what 
••they  were  saying,  though  she  was  con- 
cealed from  view.  She  felt  too  tired 
to  move  and  not  at  all  desirous  of  los- 
ing her  comfortable  and  retired  posi- 
tion. So  she  fanned  herself,  and  tried 
not  to  hear  what  was  being  said.  The 
two  old  ladies  were  evidently  continu- 
ing a  conversation  which  had  been  be- 
gun elsewhere.  One  of  them  said, 
'  So  that  was  the  reason  that  young 
Northwood  left  London  so  suddenly 
•  nearly  two  years  ago.  And  you 
are  quite  sure  that  he  had  not  paid 
Miss  Stocton  any  particular  attention 
after  all?' 

'  Oh  quite  sure,'  replied  the  fii'st 
speaker,  '  I  had  it  from  the  very  best 
authority,  a  very  great  friend  of  his,' 

But  Mr.  St.  Cloud  told  me  him- 
self that  Mr.  Northwood  had  i-eally 
proposed  to  Miss  Stocton  the  very 
same  night  that  he  did  to  Miss  De 
Grey,  but  that  she  heard  of  it  in  time 
and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him.' 

'  All  a  great  mistake,  my  dear,'  re 
plied  the  other,  '  Mr.  St.  Cloud  may 
have  reasons  for  saying  what  he  did 
of  J  young  Xorthwood,  for  his  own  at- 
tentions to  Miss  De  Grey  stopped 
rather  suddenly,  not  so  very  long  ago.' 
'  Is  ^[iss  Stocton  married  yet  ? '  in- 
quired the  tirst  speaker  again. 

'  No,  not  yet,  and  it  is  very  extra- 
ordinary too,  for  her  father  left  her  a 
good  deal  I  am  told.' 

Helen  had  scarcely  breathed  during 
this  conver-sation,  and  slie  was  glad 
that  she  was  behind  the  screen.  It  was 
all  clear  to  her  now  ;  the  great  mis- 
take she  had  made.  All  that  Harry 
had  said  to  her  had  been  honest  and 
true,  but  she  had  been  blinded  ;  blind- 
ed till  that  moment  by  the  base  insinu- 
ations of  another.  She  had  given  him 
no  chance  to  deny  what  slanderous 
tongues  had  said,  but  had  cruelly  de- 
cided the  case  against  him,  without 
even  hearing  him.  St.  Cloud's  treach- 
ery was  clear,  and   she  was    heartily 


glad  that  she  was  so  well  rid  of  him. 
But  that  did  not  make  matters  right  ; 
it  did  not  right  the  wrong  done  to 
Harry.  The  more  she  thought  of  it, 
the  more  she  wondered  at  herself. 
All  the  old  feelings  of  strong  friend- 
ship and  regard,  so  long  repressed, 
came  back  again  with  renewed  force. 
His  manner,  so  misconstrued  that 
night,  his  look,  his  words  to  her,  came 
back  again  as  she  sat  behind  the  Jap- 
anese screen.  She  remembered  every- 
thing that  had  happened  on  that  night 
when  she  had,  woman  like,  listened  to 
the  voice  of  the  deceiver,  and  had  an- 
swered him  so  proudly  and  disdain- 
fully. A  conscientious  and  high- 
spirited  girl,  she  determined  at  once, 
cost  what  it  would,  to  see  him  and  ex- 
plain all.  If  he  I'elt  now  as  he  had 
then,  she  might  hope  that  he  would 
still  be  to  her  what  he  had  been  then. 
If  not,  she  must  only  endure  the  con- 
sequences of  her  own  rash  conduct. 
Helen's  strong  sense  of  justice  told  her 
that  this  was  no  time  for  half-mea- 
sures. She  had  grievously  wronged 
one  who  had  given  her  the  purest 
love ;  and,  hard  and  mortifying  as  it 
no  doubt  would  be,  it  was  her  duty  to 
make  some  reparation.  When  the 
gentlemen  appeared  Helen  lost  no 
time  in  learning  the  whereabouts  of 
Mr.  Northwood  from  Helsingfors, 
who  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  the 
newly-awakened  interest  which  Helen 
showed  for  her  old  lover. 

The  following  day,  therefore,  saw 
Helen  at  Thorndale.  She  had  en- 
quired for  Harry  at  his  lodgings,  but 
he  was  not  in.  She  was,  however, 
directed  to  the  old  church  where 
Harry  had  left  word  he  was  going. 
As  Helen  came  towards  the  old  church 
she  felt  sure  that  she  saw  Harry  on 
ahead  of  her,  though  she  could  not  be 
certain,  for  she  had  not  seen  him  for 
so  long.  He  reached  the  gate,  and 
without  looking  round,  walked  up  the 
path  to  the  church  door.  Helen  was 
on  the  point  of  calling  out  to  him,  but 
contented  herself  by  hurrying  after 
him.     When  she  reached  the  church 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


39 


door  she  opened  it  slightly  and  looked 
in.  All  was  still ;  she  pushed  the  door 
open  and  glided  inside.  She  caught 
sight  of  a  girl's  figure  in  the  organ- 
loft  opposite,  and  heard  footsteps  on 
the  gallery  stairs.  Without  knowing 
why  she  did  so,  she  slipi)ed  noiselessly 
into  the  very  pew  in  which  Harry  had 
been  concealed  on  his  first  meeting 
with  Maggie,  and  drew  the  curtains 
across. 

Looking  up  at  the  gallery,  in  a  mo- 
ment more  she  saw  Harry  come  for- 
ward and  affectionately  greet  the  girl 
who  was  standing  by  the  organ.  Helen 
could  not  see  who  it  was,  for  her  back 
was  turned.  *  I've  got  the  ring,'  he 
said,  '  and  you  won't  mind  my  wishing 
this  one  on,  will  you?'  He  took 
from  his  pocket  a  little  case,  and  open- 
ing it  disclosed  a  beautiful  sapphire 
ring. 

*  Oh,  what  a  beauty,'  she  cried, 
turning  round  to  the  light  to  examine 
it.  Helen  saw  tliat  it  was  her  old 
friend  and  school  mate,  Maggie  Mor- 
ton, and  a  strange  feeling  crept  over 
her,  as  she  watched  the  pair  in  the  gal- 
lery, Helen  would  not  have  believed 
that  she  could  have  felt  so  agitated, 
had  anybody  told  her  what  she  would 
witness  in  that  old  church.  She 
seemed  condemned,  against  her  will, 
to  be  an  eavesdropper,  yet  there  was 
no  escape  without  making  her  presence 
known,  and  this  she  dare  not  do  now. 

After  Maggie  had  examined  the  ring, 
Harry  offered  to  put  it  on  her  finger. 
Maggie  held  out  her  hand,  and  Harry, 
placing  the  ring  on  the  third  finger  of 
the  left  hand,  said,  '  Will  you  let  me 
say  to  you  what  King  James  I.  said 
to  the  Earl  of  Salisbury  when  pre- 
senting him  with  a  diamond  ring  V 

Maggie  nodded,  and  Harry  con- 
tinued, '  The  love  and  affection  with 
which  I  give  you  this,  is,  and  ever 
shall  be,  as  the  form  and  matter  of 
the  ring,  endless,  pure  and  perfect.' 

*  How  pretty,'  said  Maggie,  '  I  will 
ever  look  on  it  in  that  light,  Harry, 
but  it  is  more  to  me  than  any  King's 
or  Emperor's  ring  ever  could  be.' 


'Well,'  said  Harry,  'I  have  given 
you  the  saying  of  a  king,  let  me  say 
from  myself,  that  like  the  ring,  my 
life  holds  one  gem  only,  shining  by 
its  light  alone,  and  counted  as  nothing 
worth  without  it.'  Was  his  love  less 
true  to  jMaggie,  even  if  a  thought  of 
Helen  crossed  his  mind,  as  he  gave 
the  ring  ? 

Helen  could  hardly  credit  the  evi- 
dence of  her  senses.  She  had  learned 
that  he  had  truly  loved  her,  only  to 
see  that  love  given  to  one  more  worthy. 
She  drew  the  curtains  close  and  held 
her  breath  as  they  passed  down  the 
aisle.  Helen  felt  it  was  all  over  now, 
for  ever.  Harry  was  telling  Maggie 
that  he  had  to  hurry  up  to  the  station 
to  meet  the  train,  as  he  was  expecting 
some  important  papers  to  be  brought 
down  to  him  from  London.  Maggie 
laughingly  told  him  that  she  had 
promised  her  father  to  drive  a  short 
distance  into  the  country  to  see  some 
poor  parishioners,  but  that  she  had 
made  him  promise  to  call  for  her  at 
the  church,  as  she  did  not  want  to 
miss  this  appointment  in  the  old 
church.  Maggie  pulled  out  her  watch 
and  said  her  father  ought  to  call  for 
her  in  a  few  minutes,  so  they  walked 
down  to  the  gate  together. 

Helen  crept  softly  out  of  her  place 
of  concealment  and  looked  after  them 
as  they  stood  at  the  gate  together  in 
the  bright  sunshine.  Scarcely  had 
she  reached  the  middle  of  the  aisle, 
when  she  was  aware  of  some  one 
standing  behind  her.  She  turned 
round,  and  there  stood  St.  Cloud. 
Helen  was  completely  staggered  at  the 
presence  of  this  man,  here  and  at  such 
a  time.  St.  Cloud  smiled  blandly  at 
her  astonishment,  and  remarked  play- 
fully, and  not  without  a  touch  of  de- 
rision in  his  tone,  '  an  interesting 
spectacle  we  have  witnessed  this  morn- 
ing, Miss  De  Gray.'  Helen  bit  her 
lip  to  keep  back  the  mortification  and 
anger  she  felt.  '  Interesting  all  the 
more,'  continued  St. 'Cloud,  '  since  we 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him  now.' 
The  last  words  were  emphasized,  and 


40 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


Helen  felt  her  heart  sink  within  her, 
as  she  realized  that  he  read  the  motive 
for    her    strange    visit  to    Thorndale. 

'  You  have  followed  me  here/  she 
said,   in  a   low  voice. 

*  I  have,'  answered  St.  Cloud, 
coolly.  '  I  would  follow  you  the  world 
over,  that  you  know.' 

'  If  vou  do  not  leave  me  instantly, 
I  will  call  Mr.Northwood  to  my  assis- 
tance,' said  Helen  with  raised  voice  and 
flashing  eyes. 

'  Northwood  is  otherwise  engaged,' 
he  said  mockingly. 

Helen  looked  at  him ;  his  cool- 
ness quite  throwing  her  off  her  guard 
for  the  moment.  St.  Cloud  saw 
his  opportunity.  '  Oh,  Miss  De  Grey, 
you  must  know  my  real  motive  for 
following  you  here  ;  what  I  said  in  jest 
is  only  too  true.  I  cannot  be  happy 
without  you  ;  you  have  said  No,  but 
let  me  entreat  you  to  listen  to  me.  I 
see  you  know  all  now,  oh  forgive  me, 
but  I  could  not  lose  you,  I  cannot 
give  you  up.  Oh  if  you  only  knew 
how  i  love  you,  how  I  worship  you, 
vou  might  give  me  some  little  hope: 
ilelen,  I  entreat  you,  I  implore  you, 
do  not  drive  me  utterly  to  despair.' 
Helen  was  not  prepared  tor  an  appeal 
like  this.  Before  her  stood  the 
haughty  St.  Cloud,  apparently  quite 
crushed  and  humble.  She  could  not 
doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  words,  and 
she  felt  pity  for  him.  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears  as  she  thought  of  the  un- 
happiness  she  had  caused  him,  but 
what  could  she  do?  It  was  a  hard 
struggle,  but  by  a  herculean  effort  she 
mastered    her    weakness. 

'  Mr.  St.  Cloud,'  she  said,  as  she 
drew  herself  up  proudly,  '  I  have 
ah'eady  given  you  my  answer  on  this 
subject,  and  I  will  never  alter  that 
decision.' 


CHAPTER  IX. 


OFF  for  the  continent  again;  a 
short  visit  to  his  father  and 
mother  in  the  south  of  France  ;  then 
on,  farther  than  ever  from  England, 
Harry  Northwood  reaches  Rome,  a 
broken-hearted  man.  When  the  cup 
of  happiness  had  been  raised  to  his 
lips,  it  had  been  dashed  from  his  hand, 
by  the  ai'ch-destroyer.  Maggie  Moi^- 
ton  was  dead.  Driving  from  the 
church,  her  heart  beating  high  with 
happiness,  ever  gazing  fondly  at  the 
sapphire  ring,  which  had  just  been 
placed  on  her  finger,  she  had  been 
taken  away.  Crossing  the  railway 
track — the  maddening  shriek  of  the 
approaching  train — the  plunging  of 
the  terrified  horse,  that  the  groom  could 
not  manage — a  headlong  rush  and 
plunge — and  all  was  over  for  ever, 
and  sadness  and  sorrow  had  settled  on 
the  little  village  of  Thorndale. 

They  had  laid  her  quietly  to  rest 
beside  the  old  church  which  she  had 
always  loved.  Anewer  marble  gleamed 
white  on  the  old  wall  inside.  A 
newer  one  cut  with  a  clearer  stroke 
than  those  of  by-gone  days,  but  telling 
the  same  tale  of  unutterable  sorrow 
that  had  cut  deep  into  the  marble 
heart  of  this  poor  world  in  all  ages — a 
sorrow  that  cannot  be  healed. 

They  had  left  her  his  sapphire 
ring.  Harry  loved  to  think  of  it  on 
her  hand  still.  As  he  wandered  alone 
under  the  dome  of  deep,  dark,  blue  in 
the  peerless  Italian  nights,  he  used  to 
look  up  at  the  silent  stars,  shining  on 
him  out  of  the  infinite  depths.  Over 
and  over  again  he  counted  the  six 
bright  stars  of  Virgo,  and  thought  as 
he  looked  at  the  beautiful  star  Spica, 
glittering  forever  like  a  dazzling  bril- 
liant on  the  Virgin's  hand,  as  she 
holds  the  sheaf  of  wheat,  how  the  gem 
he  had  given,  was  now,  like  it,  on  his 
lost  one's  hand  forever,  and  she,  too, 
was  in  heaven. 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


41 


The  days  passed  slowly  and  wearily 
for  Harry,  for  nothing  could  comfort 
him,  time  alone  could  heal  the  wound. 
He  had  received  letters  full  of  sympa- 
thy and  comfort  from  Helsingfors  and 
Grace,  and  Helen.  He  had  not  ex- 
pected that  Helen  would  have  written 
to  him,  but  she  had  done  so,  and  he 
prized  the  letter  for  its  kindness  and 
genuine  sympathy. 

The  days  passed  slowly  and  wearily, 
but  the  ceaseless  flow  of  time  kept 
steadily  on,  it  was  now  nearly  two 
years  since  the  melancholy  accident 
which  had  driven  Harry  from  his 
native  shora  had  happened.  He  had 
spent  much  of  his  time  among  the  art 
treasures  of  the  Eternal  City,  and 
though  he  was  himself  no  artist,  he 
would  spend  hours  together,  gazing  at 
the  paintings  by  some  great  master,  or 
stand  before  the  marble  figure  of  some 
great  giant-god  of  old.  One  day 
when  he  was  in  one  of  these  galleries, 
he  strolled  from  room  to  room,  half 
forgetting  where  he  was  till  his  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  two  figures  at 
the  end  of  the  long  corridor  from  him. 
He  moved  slowly  towards  them,  but 
without  any  special  interest.  They 
were  evidently,  from  their  dress  and 
manners,  English  ;  and  Irad  in  all  pro- 
bability been  lately  married.  Harry 
looked  at  them  some  moments,  when 
suddenly  a  well-known  gesture  from 
the  lady  sent  a  thrill  through  his  whole 
frame.  He  could  not  be  mistaken — 
no,  he  would  have  known  that  move- 
ment anywhere.  It  was  Helen  ! 
Harry  did  not  know  whetlier  to  speak 
to  her  or  pass  on.  He  moved  on,  still 
irresolute,  when  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps caused  them  to  turn  round. 

Instantly  Helsingsfors  came  forward 
and  warmly  greeted  his  old  friend, 
and  turning  round  presented  him  to 
his  wife.  Neither  Harry  nor  Helen 
had  ever  met  .since  that  memorable 
night  in  London.  He  had  not  even 
seen  her  since  then.  She  was  very 
little  changed,  at  least  so  Harry 
thought  as  he  looked  at  her  there. 
This  meeting  could  not  fail  to  bring 


forcibly  to  their  minds  the  time  when 
they  had  last  parted.  Though  Harry 
knew  that  her  manner  to  him  that 
night  had  suddenly  changed,  and 
though  he  felt  certain  that  her  refusal 
of  him  had  been  brought  about  Vjy 
some  hidden  cause  whicli  he  had  never 
been  able  to  unravel  ;  he,  neverthe- 
less, had  given  her  up  from  that  night. 
He  thought  that  she  could  not  have 
cared  for  him  very  much,  and  had 
schooled  himself  to  believe  it.  There 
may  have  been  a  tinge  of  sadness  in 
his  gr-eeting  as  the  memory  of  the 
past  came  over  him,  but  he  would  not 
suffer  himself  to  dwell  on  it  now.  It 
was  past  forever. 

Helen  hardly  knew  how  to  meet 
Harry  at  first,  for  she  was  married 
now.  She  had  seen  him  once  in  the 
old  church  at  Thorndale,  but  he  did 
not  know  of  it.  She  had  learned  his 
true  character  then,  only  to  find  he 
had  forgotten  her,  in  the  possession  of 
a  truer  love.  She  was  free  then,  but 
he  was  not ;  now  their  positions  were 
reversed.  Conquering  whatever  feel- 
ings his  sudden  appearance  before  her, 
under  these  altered  circumstances,  had. 
called  forth,  she  frankly  extended  her 
hand.  Harry  took  it,  but  only  as 
a  friend,  for  it  could  never  be  his 
now. 

Helsingfors  and  his  wife  were 
making  some  little  stay  in  Rome. 
There  were  a  good  many  other  English 
families  there  at  the  time,  and  be- 
sides they  were  enjoying  theraselvea 
thoroughly.  Helen  had  always  been 
fond  of  travel,  though  she  had  not 
had  much  opportunity  for  gratifying 
her  taste  in  this  direction.  They 
were  going  to  a  special  service  to  be 
held  in  St.  Peter's  that  same  evening, 
and  Helsingfors  hoped  that  Harry 
would  be  able  to  go  with  them.  It 
seemed  so  like  old  times  as  the  three 
walked  through  the  streets  to  the 
church.  It  seemed  to  Harry  as  if  at 
least  the  long  repressed  wish  of  his 
life  had  been  fulfilled  as  he  knelt 
beside  Helen  under  the  dome  of  that 
grand  old  church.      It  almost  seemed 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


to  be  true  ;  but  that  she  leaned  on 
another's  arm  as  they  came  out, 

Harry  told  them  tliat  he  was  con- 
templating going  out  to  America,  for 
he  was  tired  of  Italy,  and  he  hated 
France.  England,  he  said,  was  out  of 
the  question.  Helsingfors  at  first 
tried  to  rally  him,  thinking  that  he 
was  perhaps  a  little  in  the  blues,  but 
Harry  was  not  to  be  persuaded  out  of 
his  deterniination.  He  intended  to 
visit  his  father  and  mother,  and  sail, 
if  possible,  direct  from  France,  with- 
out going  over  to  England. 

At  last  the  time  of  his  departure 
arrived  ;  Helen  and  her  husband  were 
there  to  see  him  off.  He  was  not 
sorry  when  it  was  all  over,  and  he 
was  off  again.  His  unexpected  meet- 
ing with  Helen  had  perhaps  been  good 
for  him,  but  yet  he  felt  as  if  he  would 
rather  it  had  not  happened.  He  had 
sometimes  indulged  the  hope  that 
some  day  he  might  have  found  out  the  [ 
cause  of  Helen's  strange  treatment  of  j 
him.  He  had  some  way  or  other 
associated  Helsingfors  with  aiding  in 
the  discovery,  hut  he  knew  now  that 
it  could  never  be.  It  was  as  well  for 
him  that  he  did  not  know,  for  it 
would  have  only  added  to  his  vmhap- 
piness,  without  doing  him  any  good. 
Do  what  he  would  he  could  not  help 
dwelling  on  the  past  with  all  its 
gloomy  reminiscences.  He  remem- 
bered so  well  the  first  time  he  had  met 
Helen.  How  he  had  sat  up  half  the 
night  thinking  of  her.  How  he  used 
to  watch  for  her  on  the  street,  and  j 
how  he  felt  fully  repaid  by  only  a  bow  | 
and  a  smile.  He  remembered  it  all, 
and  how  he  was  leaving  her  for  ever, 
and  setting  out  for  another  world. 

Sir  Gannett  and  Lady  Nortliwood 
were  very  much  astonished  to  hear  of 
Harry's  determination  of  going  to 
America,  and  tried  hard  to  dissuade 
him  from  it,  but  nothing  could  make 
Harry  change  his  mind.  Time  flew  on 
and  the  day  for  him  to  embark  had  al- 
most arrived,  when  a  letter  came  from 
his  father's  lawyers  in  London  inform- 
ing them  that  the  tenants  who  were 


now  living  at  'Hartgrave  Manor'  wei-e 
leaving,  and  had  consequently  given 
up  their  option  of  retaining  possession. 
Harry  was  somewhat  put  out  at  the 
news,  and  earnestly  intreated  his 
father  to  go  over  and  take  possession 
of  the  old  homestead.  But  Sir  Gan- 
nett had  settled  down  where  he  was, 
and  could  not  be  moved.  His  wife 
would  have  liked  to  have  i-eturned,  as 
it  would  have  been  a  great  step 
towards  beginning  again  the  life  of 
gaiety  and  fashion  which  she  had  been 
so  reluctant  to  give  up.  After  much 
fruitless  arguments  and  a  few  tears  on 
the  part  of  Lady  North  wood,  Hariy 
was  compelled  to  telegraph  that  he 
would  be  in  London  in  a  few  days. 
He  had,  thei'efore,  much  against  his 
will,  to  give  up  his  passage  to  America 
in  the  French  steamer,  and  start  im- 
mediately for  England. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CONCLUSIOX. 

"TTP  through  France ;  across  the 
LJ  Channel  with  all  its  tediousness 
and  rough  weather,  and  sea-sickness  ; 
whirled  away  up  to  London,  through 
rain,  into  drizzling  fog,  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  Harry  was  a  little 
depi'essed  in  spirit  when  he  reached 
the  great  metropolis.  He  had  been 
wondering  whether  he  would  have 
time  to  go  and  see  Grace  while  in 
England.  Early  the  following  day  he 
appeared  at  the  lawyers'  offices. 

After  business  had  been  concluded, 
Harry  left  the  office,  saying  that  he 
didn't  know  but  he  hardly  thought  he 
would  go  down  to  Hawthorne  in  the  af- 
ternoon. He  had  really  no  time  for  that. 

He  walked  along  the  street  absorbed 
in  thought.  He  would  like  to  see 
'  Hartgrave  Manor '  again,  before  he 
left  England  ;  but  then  he  could  not 
spare  the  time,  he  thought.  He  went 
into  the  office  of  the  Cunard  Steam- 
ship Company  and   secured  a  passage 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


43 


to  New  York  for  as  early  a  date  as 
possible.  He  then  decided  to  spend 
the  remaining  few  days  at  his  disposal 
in  visiting  Thorndale  again.  As  he 
strolled  on,  a  poor  girl  suddenly  came 
up  to  him,  and  asked  him  to  buy  some 
flowers.  He  would  have  passed  on 
without  noticing  her,  but  she  held  up 
the  flowers  before  him,  a  small  bou- 
quet, with  a  pink  rose  bud  in  the  cen- 
tre. Harry  was  startled,  and  looked 
down.  The  pale  face  of  the  girl  at- 
tracted him,  and  he  bought  the  flowers 
from  her.  He  looked  at  them  as  he 
walked  on,  a  pink  rosebud  in  the  cen- 
tre ;  it  reminded  him  of  Grace  Stoc- 
ton.  He  had  not  seen  her  for  so  long, 
and  she  had  written  him  such  a  let- 
ter, full  of  sympathy  and  kindness  in 
the  hour  of  his  heaviest  trial.  He 
would  run  down  to  Hawthorne  that 
afternoon,  and  see  that  everything  was 
right,  and  perhaps,  if  he  had  time,  he 
would  walk  over  to  see  Grace.  He 
suddenly  felt  uneasy  lest  Grace  might 
not  be  living  there  now.  He  turned 
back  and  went  hurriedly  to  his  law- 
yer's office.  He  learnfd  that  Grace 
was  living  in  her  old  home  with  her 
aunt.  Reassured,  he  went  out,  and, 
hailing  a  cab,  desired  to  be  driven  to 
the  railway  station. 

Out  through  the  dark,  dingy  old 
city,  crowded  and  choked  with  pov- 
erty, and  darkness  and  tilth,  glides  the 
train.  Past  the  stone  walls,  behind 
the  high  red-brick  houses,  away  from 
the  crowded  streets,  through  the  black 
tunnels,  the  train  glides  on — out  into 
the  pure  free  country  air.  The  dark 
clouds  seem  to  have  cleared  away,  and 
all  is  sunshine  and  beauty,  as  the  train 
flies  on  in  its  tireless  race.  Harry 
steps  out  on  the  familiar  station  plat- 
form at  Hawthorne  once  more.  Every- 
thing looks  the  .same  as  it  used  to,  ex- 
cept that  a  new  porter  asks  him  if  he 
has  any  baggage.  A  new  porter — old 
Shackels  must  be  dead,  then,  Harry 
thinks,  as  he  walks  up  the  road. 

Harry  remembers  almost  every  stone 
in  the  old  road  as  he  walks  along  ;  all 
his  childhood  comes  back  to  him  again. 


He  catches  sight  of  the  high  chimneys 
of  the  Stocton's  house  through  the 
trees  as  he  goes  on.  At  last  he  passes 
the  house.  No  little  Gracie  runs  down 
the  carriage-drive  now,  and  there  is 
no  one  on  the  verandah,  though  Mr. 
Stocton's  old  rocking-chair,  with  the 
wide  arms  that  he  and  Grace  used  to 
play  on,  is  standing  there.  Harry 
passes  on,  debating  in  his  mind  whe- 
ther or  not  he  has  time  to  call  in  and 
inquire  for  Grace,  after  he  has  seen 
what  he  has  to  see  at  his  old  home. 
He  could  not  tell  what  his  time  would 
be  taken  up  with,  for  he  has  nothing 
to  do  there,  or  why  he  has  not  time  to 
call  and  see  Grace  now,  if  he  wants  to, 
only  he  says  several  times  to  himself 
as  he  goes  along,  that  he  has  not  time 
to  go  in  just  now,  so  he  goes  on  down 
the  road  away  from  her  house. 

'  Hartgrave  Manor'  at  last.  The  old 
lodge-keeper,  the  same  one  that  was 
there  when  he  was  a  boy,  greeted  him 
as  he  came  in,  for  all  the  servants  had 
stayed  at  the  place,  even  after  it  had 
passed  away  from  the  Northwoods. 
The  old  man  was  so  glad  to  see  Master 
Harry  again,  that  Harry  felt  quite  re- 
paid for  having  made  time  to  come 
down  to  Hawthorne.  He  went  into 
the  old  house  and  took  a  hurried  look 
into  the  library  and  dining-^-oom.  The 
old  butler,  too,  was  quite  pleased  to 
see  Master  Harry  after  so  many  years, 
and  Mary  Anne  could  hardly  believe 
her  eyes  seeing  Master  Harry  back 
there  again  in  the  old  house.  Harry 
was  quite  pleased  to  find  that  they 
were  so  very  glad  to  see  him.  He  com- 
plimented Mary  Anne  on  the  very 
tasteful  arrangement  of  a  magnifi- 
cent bunch  of  flowers  that  stood  on 
the  table. 

'  So  very  good  of  you,'  said  Harry, 
'  to  get  those  for  me.' 

'  We  didn't  expect  you  home  till  to- 
morrow, Master  Harry,'  said  Mary 
Anne;  'and,  besides,  it  was  Miss 
Grace  put  them  there ;  she  has  been 
over  to  see  if  everything  was  right 
against  you  came  back,'  she  added, 
with  a  smile. 


44 


CHANGES  AND  CHANCES. 


Harry  thought  that  now  he  must 
really  make  time  to  go  over  aiul  see 
(Trace  before  he  went  away,  but  said 
nothing. 

He  strolled  out  into  the  garden 
alone.  Everything  was  in  order,  and 
looking  as  if  he  had  been  expected.  As 
he  walked  down  the  i)ath  leading 
round  beside  the  house,  he  thought 
he  saw  a  figure  coming  towards  him, 
but  it  was  getting  dusk,  and  Harry 
was  not  sure  about  it.  He  turned  to 
retrace  his  steps,  and  walked  very 
slowly,  but  the  figure  did  not  overtake 
him.  He  became  curious  to  know 
who  it  was,  so  turned  and  went  for- 
ward. In  a  moment  he  came  opposite 
her  ;  it  was  Grace  Stocton. 

After  the  surprise  of  the  meeting 
was  over,  Grace  explained  that  she 
had  not  expected  him  back  till  next  day, 
for  his  lawyer  had  telegraphed  to  Haw- 
thorne, and  had  therefore  come  over 
to  see  that  the  servants  were  getting 
things  to  rights  for  him.  Harry  asked 
Grace  to  come  into  the  house  for  a 
few  minutes,  for  as  it  was  getting 
dark  he  would  walk  back  with  her  to 
her  house.  They  wandered  through 
one  or  two  of  the  rooms,  and  then  in- 
to the  old  library. 

'  Well,  Grace,'  said  Harry  playfully, 
as  they  stood  by  the  window,  '  so  you 
take  enough  interest  in  a  fellow  to  see 
that  they  have  things  all  right  for  him 
when  he  comes  home? ' 

'Yes,'  answered  Grace,  'but  you 
were  not  expected  back  till  to- 
morrow, or  you  would  not  have 
known.' 

*  That  does  not  make  it  any  the  less 
kind  in  you,'  he  said.  '  Oh,  Grace, 
you  take  too  much  trouble  for  a  fellow 
like  me,  I  don't  deserve  it.' 

*  I  have  not  taken  any  trouble,'  she 
said,  '  and  I  must  think  you  de.serve 
ir,  or  I  would  not  do  it.' 

'  Do  you  remember  what  you  once 
said  to  me  about  friendship  1 ' 

'  Yes,'  she  answered,  drawing  back 
into  the  shadow  that  he  might  not  see 
her  face. 

'  Grace,  if  you  go  on  as  you  have, 


you  will  make  my  friendship  change 
ill  one  of  the  ways  you  spoke  of  then/ 
She  did  not  answer,  but  drew  back  a 
little  further.  '  It  will  deepen  into 
something  stronger.'  Still  she  did  not 
answer. 

'Grace,'  he  said,  speaking  more 
quickly  and  looking  at  her  straight  in 
the  face,  'you  know  me  pretty  well  by 
this  time.  Your  sympathy  for  me  in 
my  great  sorrow,  and  your  great  kind- 
ness are  the  only  things  that  have 
cheered  me  these  last  sad  years.  You 
know  my  life  and  what  I  have  gone 
through  ;  oh  let  me  ask  you,  let  me 
say  to  you,  that  if  it  is  possible  that 
any  of  the  old  friendship  you  used  to 
have  for  me  remains,  can  I  dare  to 
ask  if  you  would  trust  your  future 
happiness  to  one  whose  life  of  devotion 
and  love  is  but  a  poor  tribute  to,  and 
will  ill -repay  the  true  hearted  kind- 
ness you  have  always  shown  to  him  ; 
though  all  unworthy  V  He  hands  her 
the  rose-bud, that  he  had  brought  from 
London  ;  the  rose  that  had  brought 
her  so  close  to  him. 

There  in  that  old  library,  with  its 
quaint  old  furniture,  and  its  curious 
old  men  in  armour,  he  surrenders  to 
her  his  castle  and  his  life,  as  he  gives 
her  the  rose.  Her  blue  eyes  were 
moist  with  tears,  as  she  takes  it 
from  him.  They  sit  together,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  curtain,  speaking  of 
happy  days  of  old.  Harry  reminded 
her  of  how  he  had  got  her  shoe  out  of 
the  water  for  her,  one  day  on  the 
beach,  and  Grace  tells  him  how  brave 
she  thought  he  was  then.  Harry 
speaks  of  the  promises  they  made  each 
other,  long  ago,  as  they  were  coming 
home,  and  how  they  were  now  to  be 
fulfilled.  Harry  asked  her  if  she  had 
ever  thought  of  them  afterwards,  and 
Grace  says,  'yes.' 

Harry  wonders  if  Grace  had  ever 
felt  the  same  for  him,  through  the 
long  and  changeful  years  that  have 
intervened,  as  she  did  then,  and  Grace 
falters  : 

'  Always.'  Yes,  she  had  always 
loved  him,  with  a  steady,  unchanging 


THE  KINGFISHER. 


45 


love,  and  that  thonghtsinks  deep,  d(;ep 
into  bis  very  soul. 

He  draws  her  to  tlie  window,  the 
stars  are  out.  Harry  points  to  his 
own  bright  star  looking  down  from 
heaven,  as  they  stand  together  in  its 
light.  '  Ah,  Grace,'  said  liarry,  *  what 
changes  and   chances  this   world  has 


liad  for  us,  since  we  played  in  this  room 
together,  so  many  years  ago.' 

'No,  Hariy,'  she  said  softly,  'with 
an  over-ruling  Providence,  guiding  the 
aifairs  of  this  world,  there  may  have 
been,  and  there  yet  may  be,  many 
and  great  changes,  but  there  are  no 
chances.' 


THE   KINGFISHER. 


BY    CHARLES    LEE   BARNES,    ST.    STEPHEN,    N.  B. 


"TTTHEN  the  summer's  bright  and  tender  sunbeams  fill  the  land  with  splendor, 

V  V       In  his  robes  of  blue  and  purple,  and  his  crown  of  burnished  green, 
Lone  the  kingfisher  sits  dreaming,  with  his  dark  eyes  brightly  gleaming, 
While  he  peers  for  chub  and  minnows  in  the  water's  limpid  sheen. 

And  he  haunts  the  river's  edges,  oozy  flats,  and  rustling  sedges, 
Till  he  sees  his  prey  beneath  him  in  the  waters  clear  and  cool ; 

Then  he  quickly  dashes  nearer,  and  he  breaks  the  polished  mirror 
That  was  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  creek  or  hidden  pool. 

Where  the  nodding  reeds  are  growing,  and  the  yellow  lilies  blowing, 
In  our  little  boat  we  slowly  glide  along  the  placid  stream  ; 

And  we  know  he's  coming  after,  by  the  music  of  his  laughter. 
And  the  flashing  of  his  vesture  in  the  sun's  elTulgent  beam. 

Well  he  knows  the  alder  bushes,  and  the  slender,  slimy  rushes, 

And  the  swamp,  and  pond,  and  lakelet,  and  the  ice-cold  crystal  spring  ; 

And  the  brooklet  oft  he  follows  through  the  meadows  and  the  hollows, 
Far  within  the  shadowy  woodland,  where  the  thrush  and  robin  sing. 

Oh,  he  well  can  flutter  proudly,  and  he  well  can  laugh  so  loudly, 
For  he  lives  within  a  castle  where  he  never  knows  a  care  ! 

And  his  realm  is  on  the  water,  and  his  wife  a  monarch's  daughter. 
And  his  title  undisputed  is  on  earth,  or  sea,  or  air  ! 


40 


THE  TRUE  BASIS  OF  LEGISLATIVE  PROHIBITION. 


THE  TRUE  BASIS  OF  LEGISLATIVE  PROHIBITION.* 


BY    GEORGE    W,    UODGSON. 


AN  article  which  appeared  in  the 
Caxadiak  Monthly  for  Nov- 
ember, on  the  '  T;iboo  of  Strong 
Drink,'  has  ably  presented  the  case 
•  against  prohibition.  But  the  reasons 
for  the  other  side  are  so  many  and  so 
strong,  that  a  weaker  advocate  may 
venture  to  hold  a  brief  in  its  favour. 
The  question  is  certainly  one  which 
will  more  and  more  occupy  public 
attention.  It  is  a  question  that  ought, 
in  the  interests  of  all  parties,  soon  to 
be  decided  in  one  way  or  the  other. 
If  the  liquor  traffic  is  one  that  the 
country  should  and  will  permit  to  con- 
tinue, then  those  who  are  engaged  in 
it  have  a  right  to  demand  that  they  may 
know  where  they  are  and  what  they 
may  do,  and  that  they  shall  not  be 
embarrassed  by  the  feeling  that  their 
business  may  at  any  day  be  declared 
illegal.  On  the  other  hand  the  friends 
of  prohibition  must  feel  that  the  '  Scott 
Act '  is  only  tentative  and  temporary. 
It  is  excellent  as  giving  a  vantage 
ground  from  which,  when  public 
opinion  is  ripe,  to  move  on  to  a  better 
position,  for  a  good  general  may  seize 
a  position  which  he  does  not  expect  to 
hold  very  long,  because  he  knows 
that    from  it  the  very  citadel  of  the 


*  [In  Mr.  Crof ton's  article  on  "  The  Taboo 
of  Strong  Drink,"  to  which  this  paper  is  a 
reply,  a  misprint  occurs,  which  creates  a  false 
sense,  and  may,  therefore,  expose  the  writer 
to  the  imputation  of  flippancy  or  presump- 
tuousness.  "  Is  it  comprehensible,  is  it  cred- 
ible,'' Mr.  Crofton  wrote  (p.  49."))  "  that  Jesus 
should  not  by  one  explanatory  word  have 
prevented,"  etc.  F<jr  the  italicised  word  the 
compositor  substituted  "  creditable,"  and  we 
regret  that  the  error  should  have  been  over- 
looked. The  correction  may  not  be  out  of 
place  here.— Ed.  C.  M.] 


enemy  can  be  successfully  attacked. 
It  is  undeniable  that  a  law  is  incon- 
sistent and  illogical,  which  allows 
breweries  and  distilleries  to  be  in  full 
blast,  and  to  pay  full  taxes,  and  yet 
will  not  permit  them  to  sell  their  man- 
ufactures within,  it  may  be,  a  hundred 
miles  from  where  they  stand.  Local 
oi)tion  is  well  enough,  when  applied 
within  certain  limits,  but  such  a  mat- 
ter as  the  liquor  trade  of  perhaps  a 
whole  province  is  too  important  an 
affair  to  be  arranged  or  disarranged 
piecemeal  by  a  series  of  local  plebis- 
cites ;  and  sooner  or  later  Parliament 
must  decide  the  question  as  a  whole. 
But  the  law  is  excellent  as  a  tempo- 
rary measure.  It  allows  experiments 
to  be  made  on  a  small  scale  and  under 
favourable  circumstances.  If  they 
succeed  they  are  strong  arguments  for 
a  general,  consistent,  logical,  prohibi- 
tory law ;  while  if  prohibition  would 
work  all  the  mischief  its  opponents 
imagine,  better  that  it  should  prove 
its  own  injuriousness  within  limited 
areas. 

But  while  experience  is  solving  the 
question  in  a  practical  way,  it  will  not 
be  useless  to  discuss  it  theoretically  : 
this  paper  is  offered  as  a  contribution 
to  such  discussion.  I  am  quite  pre- 
pared to  agree  with  a  great  deal,  I 
might  say  with  most,  of  what  is  con- 
tained in  Mr.  Ci'ofton's  paper  ;  though 
in  some  important  instances  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  his  analogies  do  not 
hold  good.  But  his  arguments,  how- 
ever sound  in  themselves,  seem  to  me 
quite  to  fail  of  their  effect,  for  they 
are  not  directed  against  the  valid  rea- 
son for  prohibition. 


THE  TRUEBASI  S  OF  LEGISLATIVE  PROHIBITION 


47 


Is  prohibition  a  question  either  of 
morals  or  religion  ?  Exce{)t  in  so  far 
as  morals  and  religion  indirectly  enter 
into  the  decision  of  all  questions,  I 
think  it  is  not.  Let  it  be  granted 
then  that  for  tlie  law  to  forbid  per- 
sonal vices,  which  affect  only  him  who 
commits  them, — that  to  '  protect  a 
man  against  himself — is  'meddling 
legislation,'  and  therefore  inexpedient 
and  hurtful.  Let  it  be  granted  that 
'  it  is  generally  wiser  in  legislation  to 
leave  out  the  consideration  of  the  end- 
less and  complex  indirect  claims  of 
society,'  It  is  also  true  enough 
that  no  moral  improvement  has  been 
effected  in  an  intemperate  man  who 
does  not  get  drunk  only  because  it 
has  been  made  impossible  for  him  to 
do  so. 

Still  further,  the  Christian  religion 
enjoins  upon  all  its  members  temper- 
ance in  all  things,  and  therefore,  of 
necessity,  temperance  in  the  use  of 
intoxicating  liquors.  It  may  be  re 
marked  in  passing,  that  temperance  in 
drink  is  something  more  than  not 
getting  drunk,  and  that  many  a  man 
who  has  never  been  drunk  in  his  life 
may  yet  hereafter  be  condemned  as 
intemperate.  But  let  this  go.  As  for 
total  abstinence,  speaking  with  all 
deference  to  many  earnest  temperance 
workers,  I  cannot  see  that  it  is  any- 
where commanded  ;  but  I  believe  that 
every  Christian  is  at  perfect  liberty  to 
make  it  the  rule  of  his  own  life,  and 
would  act  wisely  in  so  doing  if  he  can. 
But  it  is  a  voluntary  act,  and  he  who 
chooses  this  way  should  not  condemn 
one  who  does  not  choose  it  On  the 
other  hand  some  persons  talk  very 
absurdly  about  the  total  abstainer 
'  giving  up  his  Christian  liberty.'  He 
does  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  exer- 
cises his  Christian  liberty  by  choosing 
to  practise  a  particular  act  of  self- 
denial  either  for  his  own  good  or  for 
the  good  of  others.  He  has  a  perfect 
right  to  do  this,  and  while  he  should 
not  try  to  make  his  acts  or  his  con- 
science a  law  to  others,  he  certainly 
may  resent  the  sneer  about  the  loss  of 


liberty  coming  from  one  who  has  used 
his  liberty  to  choose  the  easier  and 
more  pleasant  way. 

This  admission  makes  it  unneces- 
sary to  discuss  the  biblical  meaning  of 
the  word  '  wine.'  One  would  imagine 
that  '  be  not  drunk  with  wine '  settles 
that,  as  far  as  the  New  Testament  is 
concerned,  even  if  any  could  bring 
themselves  to  suppose  that  Timothy's 
'  often  infirmities '  would  be  much 
helped  by  unfermented  grape-juice. 

If,  then,  prohibition  is  based  upon 
neither  moral  nor  religious  grounds, 
upon  what  does  it  rest?  Is  it  not 
purely  a  question  of  political  expe- 
diency ?  What  is  a  more  legitimate 
consideration  for  a  statesman  than 
whether  any  particular  industry,  any 
particular  trade,  is  on  the  whole 
more  injurious  than  beneficial  to  the 
country ;  and  if  he  decide  that  its  ill 
effects  outweigh  any  possible  good 
effects,  why  should  he  not  prohibit  it? 
If  he  sees  the  resources  of  the  country 
wasted,  its  available  man-power  (if 
one  may  coin  a  term)  enormously 
diminished,  pauperism  and  crime 
greatly  increased  by  a  certain  traffic, 
what  possible  reason  is  there  why  he 
should  not  forbid  it  1  If  the  ill  effects 
were  at  all  confined  to  those  who  do 
wrong,  they  might  be  left  to  enjoy 
their  sorry  liberty  and  have  their 
claim  allowed  that  they  must  not  be 
'  protected  against  themselves.'  If 
the  ills  resulting  to  others  from  the 
intemperate  man's  conduct,  were  in 
any  sense  indirect,  the  statesman  might 
decline  to  meddle  with  the  endless 
complexities  of  indirect  results.  But 
when  he  sees  immediate  consequences 
injurious  to  '  person  and  property  '  and 
hurtful  to  the  whole  common  weal 
directly  resulting  from  a  traffic  which 
has  never  been  free  from  these  conse- 
quences, why  should  he  hesitate  about 
putting  a  stop  to  it  1 

Now  it  may  be  said  this  is  the  usual 
style  of  the  temperance  fanatic.  You 
are  asking  that,  because  a  minority 
aljuse  their  liberty,  the  liberty  of  all 
should  be  curtailed.  Let  it  be  granted 


4S 


THE  TRUE  BASIS  OF  LEGISLATIVE  PROHIBITION. 


tliat  only  a  minorityabuse  tbeirliberty. 
Bufe  if  it  be  a  fact,  that  the  evil  directly 
resulting  to  the  vJioIe  comiiutniti/,  from 
tlie  conduct  of  this  minority,  outweighs 
any  possible  atlvantage  that  the  com- 
munity can  gain  from  unrestricted 
liberty  in  this  particular,  would  it  not 
be  a  wise  act — would  it  not  evi- 
dently be  a  general  gain— that  this 
liberty  should  be  surrendered  by  all  ? 
It  appears  to  me  that  the  question 
narrows  itself  down  to  this  particular 
issue,  or,  at  least,  that  this  is  the  first 
and  main  issue.  If  it  can  be  shewn 
that  the  facts  are  as  above  stated,  then 
prohibition  becomes  an  act  of  enlight- 
ened policy  ;  but  if  this  cannot  be 
proved,  then  the  statesman  is  perfectly 
right  to  relegate  the  matter  back  to 
the  teachers  of  morals  and  religion 
with  a  sharp  re})rimand  to  them  for 
having  tried  to  persuade  him  to  do 
their  work. 

But,  now,  how  can  a  proof  of  this 
be  reached'?  Chiefly  by  observation 
and,  to  some  extent,  by  induction. 

What  then  do  we  see  1  It  is  un- 
necessary to  dwell  upon  the  terrible 
evils  in  the  train  of  drink  :  it  would 
be  hard  to  exaggerate  them.  The 
blighted  hopes,  the  wasted,  ruined  lives 
of  the  victims  ;  the  keen  agony,  or  the 
dull  heart-broken  despair  of  mothers, 
fathers,  wives,  children  ;  the  heartless 
neglect  or  the  brutal  cruelty  of  the 
drunkard — these,  too  common  as  they 
are,  need  no  rhetoric  to  describe  their 
horrors.  And  it  is  not  the  intensity 
alone  of  these  evils  that  startles  us. 
How  wide-spread  they  are  ?  What 
town,  what  village,  what  country-side 
is  free  from  them  ?  How  hard ,  th  rough- 
out  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land, 
to  find  a  family  to  which  shame  and 
sorrow  have  not  been  brought  by  the 
drunkenness  of,  at  least,  one  of  its 
members. 

Now,  make  the  most  liberal  allow- 
ance that  any  reasonable  man  can  ask, 
for  whatever  of  comfort  and  pleasure 
the  moderate  use  of  intoxicatingdrinks 
can  give  to  the  temperate.  Place  in 
one  balance  all  the  good  that  can  be 


claimed  for  strong  drink  ;  in  the  other, 
all  its  terrible,  well-known  evils.  We 
may  leave  the  decision,  as  to  which  is 
the  heavier,  as  safely  to  a  non-prohi- 
bitionist as  to  a  prohibitionist. 

Or  put  the  case  in  another  way. 
Suppose  that  prohibition  could  be  fully 
and  completely  enforced  throughout 
the  whole  country.  Its  opponents  will 
say  that  this  is  impossible  ;  but  grant 
it  for  the  sake  of  argument,  and  sup- 
pose that  w^ord  were  to  go  out  to-mor- 
row that  a  prohibitory  law,  certain  of 
enforcement,  would  at  once  go  into 
operation.  Would  not  that  announce- 
ment cause  more  joy  and  happiness 
from  one  end  of  the  land  to  the  other 
than  almost  any  other  conceivable 
news  1  It  is  difficult — nay,  impossible, 
— to  imagine  the  result.  The  intense 
relief  the  country  would  experience 
would  be  such  as  one  feels  who  awakes 
to  the  consciousness  of  safety  after  a 
horrible  nightmare. 

Why  then  should  not  a  statesman 
give  the  country  this  relief  1  What 
law  of  political  economy  forbids  him 
to  banish  a  trade  whose  evils  so  far 
outweigh  all  its  possible  good  ? 

It  has  been  admitted  that  this  is 
not  directly  a  question  of  religion. 
But  here  the  statesman  might  well 
appeal  to  the  force  of  Christian  pre- 
cej)t.  He  might,  pointing  to  the  mass 
of  evil  which  he  is  striving  to  destroy, 
ask  every  Christian  man^not  to  give 
up  his  liberty — but  to  use  that  liberty 
for  the  noble  purpose  of  willingly  sacri- 
ficing a  pleasure  (innocent  it  may  be) 
of  his  own,  for  the  sake  of  conferring 
so  great  a  benefit  upon  so  many  others. 
But,  supposing  a  prohibitory  law 
expedient,  can  it  be  enforced  1  This 
is,  certainly,  an  important  question. 
But  we  are  not  going  to  be  caught  by 
Mr.  Crof  ton's  dilemma.  It  is  necessary 
to  distinguish  between  two  kinds  of  law, 
A  cursoiy  glance  at  the  statute-book 
wnll  shew  that  some  things  are  forbid- 
den because  they  are  wrong,  others 
are  wrong  only  because  they  are  for- 
bidden. Blackstone  clearly  points  out 
this  distinction   shortly  after  he  has 


THE  TRUE  BASIS  OF  LEGISLATIVE  PROHIBITION. 


49 


given  the  tlefinitioii  rj noted  by  Mr. 
Crofton  ;  he  says,  speaking  of  things 
in  themselves  indiHerent  :  *  These  be- 
come either  right  or  wrong,  just  or 
unjust,  duties  or  misdemeanors,  ac- 
cording as  a  municipal  legislature  sees 
proper,  for  promoting  the  welfare  of 
society  and  more  effectually  carrying 
on  the  purposes  of  civil  life.'  As  he 
afterwards  says,  there  are  mala  in  se 
and  m((/a  proliihita.  Now  it  is  an 
exaggerated  use  of  language  to  speak 
oi  positive  laws  as  always  '  constituting 
crimes.'  Murder,  arson,  and  theft  are 
forbidden  and  punished  because  they 
are  crimes.  But  to  catch  fish  out  of 
season,  to  light  fires  in  the  woods  at 
certain  times  of  the  year,  to  allow 
one's  cattle  to  roam  at  large,  such 
matters  as  these,  some  of  greater, 
some  of  less  importance,  are  offences 
against  law,  yet  it  would  be  strained 
language  to  speak  of  any  punished 
for  one  of  them  as  '  convicted  of  a 
crime.'  The  more  highly  organized 
society  becomes,  the  larger  becomes 
the  number  of  *  indifferent '  ac- 
tions which  are  regulated  or  for- 
bidden for  the  public  convenience. 
A  good  citizen  would  obey  the  law 
about  these  for  conscience'  sake,  even 
though  he  may  not  see  their  necessity 
and  may  be  striving  for  their  repeal ; 
they  are  not  matters  of  criminal  law. 
It  concerns  our  subject  to  observe 
another  great  difference  between  natu- 
ral and  positive  laws.  Difficulty  of 
enforcement  can  never  be  an  objection 
to  the  former  ;  it  may  be  to  the  latter. 
If  society  is  to  hold  together  it  dare 
not  repeal  its  laws  against  murder  or 
theft,  even  though  murderers  and 
thieves  should  be  often  unconvicted. 
Quite  otherwise  is  it  with  e  positive 
law.  If  there  is  no  probability  of  its 
enforcement,  do  not  pass  it ;  if  when 
j)assed  it  proves  powerless,  repeal  it. 
But  it  does  not  by  any  means  follow, 
that  were  it  passed  and  enforced,  it 
would  '  sap  the  sanctity  and  majesty 
of  the  law  '  because  conviction  under 
it  would  not  involve  the  same  conse- 
quences that  a  conviction  for  an  un- 
4 


disputed  crime  involves.  If  this  is 
to  be  a  rule,  many  most  useful  laws 
with  penalties  annexed  must  be  swept 
from  the  statute  book. 

But  to  return  to  tlie  question,  can 
prohibition  be  enforced.     Well,  it  has 
never  yet  had  a  fair  trial.     No  coun- 
try as  a  whole  has  ever  enacted  prohi- 
bition ;  particular  localities  of  a  coun- 
try have  tried  it  with  a  greater  or  less 
measure  of  success.     But  then  liquor 
was   being  legally   imported  into  and 
I    manufactured  in  the    greater  part  of 
I    that  countiy.     What   could   or  could 
[    not    be    done    by    absolute    prohibi 
I    tion  (of  course  the   necessary  excep- 
tions for    medicinal  and  other  purpo- 
ses are  assumed)  has  never  yet  been 
tested.     Is  not  the  possible  gain  worth 
the  risk  of  the  experiment  1     Prohi- 
bitionists believe  that  it  is. 

If  a  prohibitory  law  should  be  the 
genuine  expression  of  the  convictions 
of  the  great  majority  of  the  people,  it 
could  be  enforced,  otherwise  it  could 
not  be,  and  would  do  more  harm  than 
good.  There  are  not  wanting  symj)- 
toms  that  the  tide  of  public  opinion  is 
setting  strongly  in  the  direction  of 
prohibition.  The  tendency  of  the 
legislation  of  the  past  twenty  years 
(I  speak  with  reference  chiefly  to  the 
eastern  part  of  the  Dominion)  has 
been  in  the  direction  of  making  the  li- 
cense laws  more  and  more  stringent. 
It  is  not  improbable  that,  in  Quebec, 
the  great  influence  of  the  hierarchy 
may  be  thi'own  in  favour  of  prohibi- 
tion. The  large  majorities  obtained 
in  many  districts  in  favour  of  the 
Scott  Act  have  their  .significance, 
though  undoubtedly  this  significance 
is  diminished  by  the  fact  of  so  many 
voters  having  in  some  districts  kept 
away  from  the  polls.  But  it  is  a  very 
strong  assumption  (I  think  a  very  un- 
likely one)  that  the  greater  part  of 
the  '  inert  majority '  were  anti-pro- 
hibitionists. Had  they  had  any 
strong  feeling  about  their  liberty 
being  taken  away  they  would  not  have 
been  inert.  In  some  cases  (I  speak  of 
this  from  personal  knowledge)  the  very 


50 


THE  TRUE  BASIS  OF  LEGISLATIVE  PROHIBITION: 


absence  of  opposition  made  it  difficult 
to  awaken  enough  interest  to  induce 
voters  to  come  forward.  Many  then 
canvassed  replied  in  etlect,  '  I  would 
go  and  vote  for  the  Act  if  I  thought 
my  vote  was  wanted,  but  you  are  sure 
to  carry  it  without  me.'  Tlie  strong 
presumption  is  that  a  considerable 
]iroportion  of  the  *  inert  majority  '  do 
not  feel  that  a  prohibitoiy  law  would 
in  any  way  harrass  or  trouble  them. 
Tliey  either  are  total  abstainers  or 
would  have  no  objection  to  become  so. 
"With  the  liquor  dealers  as  a  class 
they  have  no  sympathy.  They  will 
obey  the  law  if  passed,  though  they 
may  not  give  themselves  much  trou- 
ble to  put  it  in  force,  particularly 
when  they  are  quite  sure  that  it  can 
be  carried  without  their  help. 

It  must  not  be  foigotten  that  the 
struggle  for  the  abolition  of  every 
abuse  has  been  carried  on  in  spite  of 
many  prophets  who  foretold  the  failure 
of  the  attempt.  The  slave  trade  and 
duelling  (may  bribery  at  elections  be 
put  in  the  list  of  past  abuses  !)  were  at 
one  time  thought  necessary  and  good, 
afterwards  objectionable  but  necessary 
still,  always  impossible  to  be  abolished. 
They  disappeared  and  left  the  dodrln- 
aires  busy  demonstrating  the  impossi- 
bility of  their  disappearance.  Time 
plays  sad  havoc  with  many  well- 
balanced  theories.  In  view  of  the 
fact  of  so  many  asserted  impossibilities 
having  proved  quite  possible,  prohibi- 
tionists will  not  be  wise  if  by  prophe- 
cies of  failure  they  allow  themselves 
to  be  frightened  from  a  bold  attempt 
to  overthrow  a  giant  evil.  The  experi- 
ment of  prohibition  may  fail,  but  the 
rewards  of  success  are  so  many  and  so 
great  as  to  make  us  willing  to  run  the 
risk  of  what,  at  the  worst,  would  be  a 
noble  failure. 

Certain  other  objections  need  not 
detain  us  long.  The  fear  that  to  re- 
move this  temptation  from  among  us 
would  make  our  morality  limp  and 
nervless  is  surely  a  very  idle  fear. 
Whatever  it  may  once  have  been,  tliis 
world  is  now  no  Garden  of  Eden  with 


but  one  forbidden  fruit.  If  the  vice 
of  drunkenness  were  made  impossible 
to-morrow  there  would  still  be  left  an 
ample  supply  of  wickedness  to  exercise 
all  the  virtue  of  the  most  vigorous 
moral  athlete. 

The  asserted  analogies  between  pro- 
hibition, sumptuary  laws,  and  religious 
persecution,  will  hardly  bear  examina- 
tion. Their  superticial  likeness  sug- 
gests a  misleading  comparison. 

Religious  {»ersecution  when  not  di- 
rected against  opinion  alone,  deals 
with  conduct  on  account  of  the  spirit- 
ual or  eternal  consequences  supposed 
to  result  from  it.  These  consequences 
being  wholly  outside  of  the  range  of 
the  legislator's  action,  his  interference 
is  unjustifiable.  Prohibition  is  an 
attempt  to  prevent  temporal  ills.  To 
discuss  whether  it  can  or  cannot  pre- 
vent them  is  perfectly  fair,  but  to  rule 
it  out  of  court  by  putting  it  in  the  list 
with  religious  persecution  is  mani- 
festly unfair.  Would  anyone  call  the 
suppression  of  Thuggism  or  the  Suttee 
or  polygamy  religious  persecution  1  If 
they  were  interfered  with  because  they 
sprang  from  false  beliefs,  the  charge 
might  be  made.  But  when  the  legis- 
lator says  these  practices  are  to  be 
stopped  on  account  of  the  injury  they 
do  the  country,  they  are  to  be  forbid- 
den to  the  Christian  and  the  non- 
Christian  alike,  on  grounds  wholly 
unconnected  with  the  religious  belief 
of  either,  he  frees  himself  from  the 
charge  of  religious  persecution.  If, 
then,  practices  which  spring  from  re- 
ligious beliefs  may  yet  without  the 
odium  of  religious  persecution  be  pro- 
hibited, providing  such  prohibition  is 
on  the  ground  of  the  temporal  injury 
they  cause,  a  fortiori,  as  the  liquor 
traffic  certainly  does  not  spring  from 
any  religious  belief,  its  prohibition  on 
account  of  the  injuries  it  causes  to  the 
community  is  as  unlike  religious  per- 
secution as  an\  thing  can  well  be. 

Sumptuary  laws  attempted  to  deal 
with  one  particular  evil,  extravagant 
expenditure.  Enormous  as  is  the 
waste  of  money  caused  by  drink,  this. 


THE  TRUE  BASIS  OF  LEGISLATIVE  PROHIBITION. 


51 


is  the  least  of  its  resulting  evil  ;  were 
it  the  only  one,  the  prohibitionist  had 
better  cease  his  efforts.  But,  unfor- 
tunately, he  knows  too  well  that  the 
vast  amount  of  money  wasted  is  as 
nothing  in  comparison  with  the  waste 
of  that  which  no  money  can  buy. 
There  is  much  temporal  good  and  evil 
incommensurable  with  money. 

Besides  the  general  questions  of  the 
expediency  and  possibility  of  prohi- 
bition, Canadian  legislators  must  con- 
sider what  special  elements  are  brought 
into  the  problem  from  any  special  cir- 
cumstances of  our  own  country,  and 
they  will  not  allow  themselves  to  be 
misled  by  arguments  drawn  from  the 
experience  of  countries  quite  differently 
circumstanced  from  our  own.  That  there 
is  little  drunkenness  in  Southern  coun- 
tries may  be  true,  but  it  by  no  means 
follows  that  this  is  so  because  wine  is 
freely  used  ;  nor  will  it  do  to  conclude 
that  if  you  can  get  the  inhabitants  of 
a  Northern  country  to  drink  wine  or 
beer,  it  will  ensure  or  promote  their 
sobriety.  I  have  not  within  reach  the 
evidence  taken  before  the  House  of 
Lords  Committee  on  this  subject,  and 
it  is  some  years  since  I  have  read  ex- 
tracts from  it ;  but,  unless  my  memory 
fails  me,  the  evidence  there  given  as 
to  the  effects  of  beer  shops  in  English 
villages  would  dispel  the  illusion  that 
some  well-meaning  people  cherish,  that 
where  nothing  but  beer  is  drunk  no 
harm  can  be  done.  It  is  with  us  as 
with  all  Northern  nations,  the  most  of 
our  drinking  is  of  distilled,  not  of  fer- 
mented, liquors.  Would  it  be  too 
much  to  say  that,  leaving  out  a  small 
wealthy  cia.ss,  of  those  of  our  people 
who  drink  anything  intoxicating, 
eighty  per  cent,  drink  only  spirits,  and 
of  the  remainder,  fifteen  per  cent,  drink 
more  spirits  than  fermented  liquors  ? 
Is  it  not  true  that  in  ninety-nine  ca.ses 
out  of  a  hundred,  the  man  who  begins 
with  anything  like  a  free  use  of  fer- 
mented liquors  ends  with  the  free,  if 
not  the  exclusive,  use  of  distilled 
spirits  ?  If  this  is  so,  the  question  is 
for  U8  very  much  simplified.    The  pro- 


portion of  those  confining  themselves  ta 
fermented  liquors  is  so  small  as  scarcely 
to  affect  the  question.  It  seems  hardly 
worth  while  to  try,  as  Senator  Al- 
mon's  amendment  would  attempt,  t<5 
legislate  such  a  class  into  existenee. 
Allusion  has  been  made  above  to  the 
habits  of  the  wealthier  classes ;  it  is 
quite  too  much  to  assume  that  they 
occupy  an  exceptionally  high  position 
as  regards  sobriety.  Mr.  Crofton 
speaks  of  *  the  proscription  of  intem- 
])erate  drinkers  among  the  upper  class- 
es,' it  is  fair  to  say  that  he  adds  *  and 
self-respecting  people  of  all  classes.' 
But  even  still,  special  prominence  and 
credit  are  given  to  the  upper  classes. 
Now  how  far  these  may  be  their  due 
in  England  few  of  us  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  judging.  If  society  novels 
and  society  newspapers  give  (which 
may  well  be  doubted)  a  fair  picture  of 
their  habits,  there  is  plenty  of  room 
for  improvement  among  them.  But 
looking  at  our  own  country,  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  be  a  friend  of  the 
upper  classes  who  would  flatter  them 
into  a  belief  of  their  own  sobriety  ; 
and  if  those  below  aim  at  no  higher 
degi-ee  of  temperance  than  what  they 
see  above  them,  their  standard  will  be 
low  enough.  It  is  not  merely  that  in 
every  profession,  in  the  highest  ranks 
of  society,  men  are  to  be  seen  whose 
intemperance  is  evident  and  extreme, 
and  yet  who  are  far  from  being  there- 
fore proscribed  ;  but  that  form,  that 
worst  form,  of  intemperance  which 
shews  itself  by  habitual  drinking  and 
treating  at  all  times  and  on  all  occa- 
sions is  as  common  with  high  as  with 
low.  That  the  circumstances  are 
somewhat  more  refined  in  one  case 
j  than  in  the  other  does  not  affect  the 
real  question.  Intemperance  is  as 
discreditable  a  vice,  is  as  great  a  sin, 
in  the  men  who  drink  Chateau  Mar- 
gaux  at  $.5,  as  in  those  who  have  to 
be  content  with  kill-sodger  at  20  cents 
a  bottle.  If,  which  is  very  question- 
able, the  members  of  the  upper  class, 
have,  as  a  class,  done  anything  for 
temperance,   they  have  done  and  are 


52 


doing  far  more  against  it  by  encourag- 
ing the  false  opinion  that  intoxicating 
drinks  are  a  necessary  accompaniment 
of  a  high  class  social  entertainment. 
All  honour  to  the  men,  who  in  high  posi- 
tion, having  the  courage  of  their  opin- 
ions, brave  the  social  discredit  and  en- 
dure the  social  inconvenience  of  refus- 
ing to  countenance  this  false  idea. 

But  these  are  side  issues  apart  from 
the  main  one  :  let  us  come  back  to 
that.  Grant  that  no  man  can  be  made 
moral  by  an  Act  of  Parliament ;  that 
religion  does  not  enjoin  total -abstin- 
ence ;  that  men  are  not  to  be  protected 
by  laws  from  the  consequences  of 
their  own  misconduct ;  that  the  abuse 
of  anything  by  the  few  is  not  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  interdicting  its  use  to 
all ;  that  indirect  consequences  are  not 
to  be  guarded  against  by  special  legis- 
lation ;  grant  all  these,  and  there  still 
remains  the  question — Does  the  evil  di- 
rectly resulting  to  the  whole  community 
from  the  liquor  traffic  outweigh  any 
possible  good  coming  from  it?  If  this 
question  can  be  answered  in  the  affii'- 
mative,  it  gives  the  true  basis  for  pro- 


IN  THE  ORCHAKD. 


hibition,  and  the  statesman  may  say 
that  it  is  expedient  and  right  that  a 
prohibitory  law  should  be  passed,  and 
the  possibility  of  its  enforcement  be 
tested  in  the  only  satisfactory  way — 
by  experiment. 

Meanwhile,  the  advocates  of  prohi- 
bition will  take  the  Scott  Act  as 
an  instalment  of  what  is  due  to  the 
country.  They  will  put  it  in  force 
where  they  can,  and  work  it  as  effect- 
ively as  they  can.  They  expect  that 
time  will  show  that  what  good  it  may 
do  is  owing  to  the  measure  of  prohi- 
bition it  gives;  that  where  it  may  fail, 
such  failures  will  be  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  principle  of  prohibition  is  not 
logically  carried  out  They  do  not  in- 
tend to  remain  always  where  they  now 
are.  Ihit  they  will  not,  if  they  can  help 
it,  allow  their  position  to  be  carried  by 
assault,  or  undermined  by  Boultbee  or 
Almon  amendments.  When  they  move 
it  shall  be  at  their  own  time  in  battle 
array,  with  colours  flying,  and  it  shall 
be  to  rush  to  the  attack  which  will  give 
them  secure  possession  of  the  very  cita- 
del itself—  Complete  Prohibition. 


IN  THE  ORCHARD. 

BY  ESPERANCE,   YORKVILLK 

I  lay  down  in  the  orchard  grass, 
Where  stranger  footsteps  could  not  pass, 
Beneath  the  bending  trees  ; 
The  laden  apple-boughs  o'erhead. 
The  grass  of  emerald  for  a  bed 
On  which  I  lay  at  ease. 

Lulled  by  the  murmuring  of  the  breeze 
That  swayed  the  unresisting  trees 

With  gentle  hand, 
I  lay  and  watched  the  western  sky, 
Where  snow-capped  clouds  were  drifting  by 

In  ether-land, 

Till  o'er  my  slothful  brain  and  eye 
A  drowsy  sense  of  lethargy 
Began  to  creep  ; 


7.V  THE  ORCHARD.  53 

Down  fell  my  eyelids  o'er  my  eyes, 
Shut  out  the  smiling  summer  skies 
And — did  I  sleep  ] 

Some  subtle  sense  of  someone  near — 
Oh,  who  can  make  the  mystery  clear, 

Or  who  explain  ? 
Warred  with  my  sleepiness  until, 
Against  my  comfort  and  my  will, 

I  woke  again. 

The  boughs  were  silent  overhead, 
The  western  sky  was  flushing  red 

With  sunset  light, 
Between  me  and  the  blushing  blue, 
A  stalwart  form  shut  out  the  view 
Of  coming  night. 

No  need  to  tell  me  lolio  !     The  name 
Immediate  into  utterance  came. 

And  up  I  sprang  ; 
Blushing  that  he  had  caught  me  so  ; 
When  through  the  silence,  sweet  and  low, 

His  laughter  rang. 

Before  his  blue  eyes  smiling  light 
Vexation  had  to  take  its  flight. 

And  I  laughed  too  ; 
And  then  he  paid  me  with  a  kiss 
For  all  that  he  had  done  amiss. 

With  interest  too. 

The  western  sky  had  paled  to  gray, 
The  sunset  flush  had  passed  away. 

As  homeward  bound, 
Beneath  the  bending  apple-trees, 
Where  he  had  found  me  stretched  at  ease, 

Our  way  we  wound. 

The  western  sky  had  paled  to  gray. 
And  night  had  superseded  day. 

But  what  cared  I  ! 
The  dearest  sunshine  that  I  knew 
Shone  still  within  his  eyes  of  blue  ; 

My  brightest  sky. 

And,  with  his  presence,  all  content, 
I  had  not  mourned  the  banishment 

Of  all  beside  ! 
His  loss  alone  could  move  my  tears ; 
My  hope  of  hopes  for  future  years  : 

To  be  his  bride. 


54 


STB  AY  THOUGHTS  AT  liAA'DOM  STBUNG. 


STRAY  THOUGHTS  AT  EANDOM  STRUNG. 


BY   J.    E.    COLLINS,    TORONTO, 


INTRODUCTION. 

IT  is  now  about  three  years  ago 
since  I  was  present  at  a  meeting 
held  by  a  dozen  or  more  of  those  who 
*  loved  literature  for  its  own  sweet 
sake,'  which  meeting  resolved,  there 
and  then,  to  found  a  club,  whose  ob- 
ject would  be  to  concentrate  the  lead- 
ing thought  of  the  community  in  which 
they  lived  and  shed  it  back  again  on 
all  who  sought  it.  Correspondence 
was  at  once  invited,  and  with  a  bene- 
volence worthy  of  the  Pickwick  Club, 
we  advertised  in  the  newspapei's  that 
our  club  should  consider  it  a  favour  to  re- 
ceive questions  on  literary  subjects  and 
answer  the  same  without  charge.  We 
furnished  the  answers,  the  stamps  and 
the  paper.  The  arms  of  our  club  was 
a  sprig  of  bay,  gathered  on  the  top  of 
Mount  Olympus ;  the  motto  was  Sa- 
pereaude.  I  was  secretary,  and  through 
my  hands  came  all  the  letters  addressed 
to  the  club.  We  held  meetings  twice 
in  the  week  and  discussed  these  ques- 
tions, the  chairman  putting  each  to 
the  club  as  I  read  it ;  a  discussion  fol- 
lowing in  such  lines  as  to  bring  out 
the  opinions  or  the  information  sought. 
When  the  discussion  ended,  the  ques- 
tion was  given  to  some  member,  or  two 
members,  of  the  club  to  answer  and  to 
forward  to  the  inquirer.  The  know- 
ledge we  had,  whatever  its  extent  or 
its  character,  seemed  like  unto  a  se- 
cret that  worries  the  possessor  while 
he  keeps  it,  and  only  gives  pleasure  as 
he  tells  it.  So  constituted  was  our 
club,  that  I  believe,  like  Malebranche, 
had  it  all  the  knowledge  of  the  world 


in  its  hand,  it  would  elect  to  let  it  go 
for  the  pleasure  and  the  longing  of  the 
chase.  Next  to  the  pleasure  we  had 
in  gathering  knowledge  was  that  of 
spreading  it  abroad  again.  Questions 
came  from  every  part  of  Canada,  and 
upon  every  current  topic  in  the  world 
of  thought  and  letters ;  and  when  I 
left  the  club  the  questions  had  reached 
many  hundreds,  of  every  one  of  which 
I  had  kept  a  copy.  These  questions 
now  lie  before  me,  and  I  have  pro- 
posed to  answer  them  according  to  my 
feeble  light,  to  print  the  question  and 
the  answer,  and,  from  several  of  such, 
to  make  a  paper,  and  to  furnish  a 
series  of  these  papers  to  the  Canadian 
Monthly  :  for,  imbued  with  the  spirit 
of  my  Sa^yere  aude,  I  wish  to  let  the 
little  I  know  he  known,  or,  to  borrow 
a  phrase  from  Addison,  to  *  print  my- 
self out '  before  I  cease.  Therefore, 
without  further  ado,  I  shall  commence 
my  series  under  the  title  of 

STRAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM 
STRUNG. 

WAS   HAMLET   MAD? 

(a)  To  Saperc  aude  Club :—  Would  you  please 
state  lohcther  you  think  Hamlet  ivas  essentially 
mad,  or  mad  only  in  craft  ?  (b)  What  proof  can 
you  offer  for  either  contention?  .  .  .  .  C.  F., 
Halifax. 

It  is  quite  clear  that  Hamlet  was 
not  essentially  mad,  and  that  he  is  a 
mere  actor  in  the  play.  It  is  like- 
wise clear  that  there  was  a  purpose 
for  this  madness.  Hamlet's  father 
had  suddenly  died,  and  strange  ru- 
mours about  his  death  were  whispered 
among  the  people.  Then,  immediately 


STBAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


55 


after  the  king's  death,  Hamlet's 
mother  marries  the  new  king,  young 
Hamlet's  uncle.  A  suspicion  of  foul 
play  is  now  strong  in  the  prince's 
mind,  and  he  credits  not  the  story 
about  his  father's  death, that,  slee|)ing 
in  the  orchard  a  serpent  stung  him. 
In  the  midst  of  his  speculation  he  is 
informed  by  the  guards  that  his 
father's  spirit  has  left  its  tomb,  and 
in  the  dead  of  night  walks  abroad 
through  the  castle.  He  watches  for 
the  hour  the  ghost  appears,  and  sees 
it.  From  the  ghost  he  hears  the 
story  of  the  murder ;  and  it  asks  him 
to  avenge  his  death.  He,  therefore, 
vows  revenge,  but  the  road  to  ven- 
geance bristled  with  royal  daggers. 
Thenceforth  young  Hamlet's  ruling 
thought  seems  to  be  to  avenge  his 
father's  *  most  foul  and  unnatural ' 
deatii ;  but  does  it  not  occur  to  him 
who  has  read  between  the  lines  that 
Hamlet  "was  ambitious  ?  and  that  he 
felt  the  crown  his  uncle  wore  belonged 
to  him  1  And  Hamlet  knew  that  the 
rival  of  a  crown  is  never  safe  near  the 
poignards  of  the  king.  Yet  the  two- 
fold incentive  of  revenge  and  right 
was  strong,  and  Hamlet  saw  that  the 
same  stroke  which  would  avenge  his 
father's  death  would  give  him  the 
crown.  He  therefore  hid  himself  in 
the  madman's  guise,  in  his  own  words 
'  put  an  antic  disposition  on,'  and 
brooded  over  his  course  of  action. 

These  are,  however,  mere  assertions 
of  the  facts,  and  may  not  gratify  the 
sceptical  who  have  no  belief  in  any 
other  than  internal  evidence.  That  is 
easily  furnished,  but  before  giving  it 
let  us  look  at  Hamlet  in  the  two 
aspects,  the  one — where  it  is  impera- 
tive for  his  own  sake,  and  the  sake  of 
the  ends  he  seeks  that  he  should  be 
'  mad  ;'  and  the  other  where  there  is 
nothing  to  gain  by  this  counterfeit- 
ing :  and  if  we  i3nd  him  only  and 
always  in  the  former  mad,  and  only 
and  always  in  the  latter  sane,  then  is 
his  sanity  proven  beyond  a  question. 
But  we  find  him  in  the  former  case 
amonsc  the  king's  friends,  who  were  his 


enemies, and  he  is  mad, always  mad  ;  in 
the  latter  case  we  find  him  communing 
with  himself  or  talking  to  his  trusty 
friend  Horatio,  and  he  is  not  alone 
sane,  but  a  sound  philosoi)her,  with  a 
rare  and  accurate  conception  of  things, 
an  exquisite  fancy,  a  warm  and  poetic 
imagination.  Let  us  take  his  own 
words  to  his  tried  and  true  friend, 
Horatio,  by  whom  he  would  not  be 
misunderstood,  for  proof  : 

'  Swear.' 
'  Here  as  before,  never,  so  help  your  mercy. 
How  strant^e  or  odd  soe'er  I  bear  myself, 
As  T,  perchance,  hereafter  shall  think  meet 
To  put  an  antic  disposition  on — 
That  yon  at  such  times    seeing  me  never 

shall' 
etc.,  etc. 

And  lest  the  sceptical  doubt  even 
Hamlet's  own  asseverations  of  his 
sanity,  let  us  take  his  converse  where 
he  is  off  his  guard.  Who  has  not 
treasured  up,  that  has  ever  read  those 
words  of  his  to  Horatio,  when  the  lat- 
ter, overpowered  by  his  affection,  ex- 
claims for  want  of  something  else  to 
say  :— 

'0,my  dear  Lord,' 
'  Nav,  do  not  think  T  flatter; 
For   what  advancement    may  I   hope  from 

thee 
That  no   revenue  hast,  but  thy  good  spirits 
To  feed  and  clothe  thee?    Why  should  the 

poor  be  flattered  ? 
No,  let  the  candied  tongue  lick  absurd  pomp; 
And   crook  the  pregnant  hinges  of  the  knee, 
Where  thrift  may    follow   fawning.      Dost 

thou  hear? 
Since  my  dear  soul  was  mistress  of  her  choice. 
And  could  of  men  distinguish  her  election, 
She  hath  sealed  thee  for  herself;  for  thou  hast 

been,  etc.,  etc. 

*  *  *  *  * 

And  blessed  are  those 
Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  com- 
mingled 
That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  finger 
To  sound  what  stop  she  please  :  give  me  that 

man 
That  is  not  passion's  slave  and  I  will  wear 

him 
In  my  heart's  core,  aye,  in  my  heart  of  hearts 
As  I  do  thee.' 

And  who  has  not  stood  in  reverence 
before  the  almost  god-like  conception 
of  the  very  depths  of  human  charac- 
ter, and  human  passions,  with  all 
its  loves  and  weaknesses,  that  has  read 
this  soliloquy  : — 


oG 


STJiAY  TMOUOHTS  AT  BA^^DOM  STRUNG. 


'  To  be,  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question  ,— 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune  ; 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles. 
And,  by  opposing,  end  them?— To  die,— to 

sleep,— 
Xo  more  :-  and  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The   heart-ache,  and  the   thousand  natural 

shocks 
That  fle.-li  is  heir  to,— "tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wisli'd.     To  die,— to  sleep  ;— 
To  sleep !  perchance  to  dream ;— ay,  there's 

the  rub ; 
For  in  that  sleep  of  death  \s  hat  dreams  may 

come, 
■\Vhen  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil. 
Must  give  us  jiause  :  there's  the  respect, 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life  : 
For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of 
time, 
•        The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  con- 
tumely. 
The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthj^  takes, 
AVhen  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
"With  a  bare  bodkin  ?  who  would  fardels  bear, 
To  grunt  and  sweat  uiuler  a  weary  life  ; 
But  that  the  di-ead  of  something  after  death — 
The  imdiscover'd  country,  from  whose  bourn 
Xo  traveller  returns. — puzzles  the  will ; 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 
Then  fly  to  others  we  know  not  of  ? 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all ; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprise  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action.' 

If  this  indeed  be  madness,  we 
should  like  to  see  the  printed  soliloquy 
of  him  who  says  so.  We  all  know 
this  passage,  when  his  emotions  and 
his  thirst  for  revenge  wrought  them- 
selves into  a  fantasy. 

'  "Tis  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night    ; 
When    churchyards    yawn,   and  hell  itself 

breathes  out 
Contagion  to  the  world.     Now,  could  I  drink 

hot  blood,  etc' 

But  these  are  not  all ;  read  every  line 
he  utters  in  soliloquy,  and  before  those 
he  trusts,  and  you  have  the  great  griefs 
of  agreat  mind,  and  the  pungent  truths 
of  a  deep  thinker  and  a  close  observer. 
Before  his  foes,  while  his  intentions  lie 
beneath  the  surface,  his  talk  is  often 
incomprehensible,  though  one  admits 
that  if  what  he  says  is  madness,  there 
is  'method  in  it.'  Once,  indeed,  he 
found  it  to  his  purpose  to  throw  off 
his  guise,  and  that  before  his  mother. 
His  appeal  to  her  better  nature  is  not 


more  piteous  than   his  own  plea  for 

sanity. 

'  Ecstasy ! 

My  pulse,  as  yours,  doth  temperately  keep 
time. 

And  makes  as  healthful  music  ;  it  is  not  mad- 
ness 

That  I  have  uttered  ;  bring  me  to  the  test 

And  I  the  matter  will  reword,  which  mad- 
ness 

Would  gambol  from.     Mother,   for  love    of 
grace 

Lay  not  the  flattering  unction  to  your  soul. 

That    not  your  trespass    but  my  madness 
speaks.' 

The  other  portion  of  the  question 
asked  is  this  : 

What  are  the  main-springs  of  Shakefpeare's 
(/cnius,  and  ichat  is  the  lead inr;  idea  in  the  plat/ 
of  Hamlet/ 

!  Shakespeare  was  a  close  observer  of 
I  the  numerous  phases  of  human  nature, 
and  hence  in  a  fit  of  ecstasy  a  great 
admirer  has  applied  to  him  the  un- 
metaphysical  term  of  *  the  Myriad- 
minded.'  Shakespeai-e  dropt  his  plum- 
met to  the  bottom  of  every  passion, 
gauged  every  emotion  and  took  the 
exact  measure  of  the  most  insignifi- 
cant foible.  When  he  wrote  of  eclipses 
he  dipt  his  pen  in  the  gloom  of  the 
universe,  and  he  caught  and  reproduced 
the  speech  of  the  elements.  The 
babble  of  the  brook  was  a  language 
he  understood,  and  the  flower  on  the 
way-side  and  the  trees  of  the  forest 
were  friends  with  whom  he  had  a  ' 
community  of  sentiment.  When  he 
wrote,  myriad  conceptions  begotten  of 
the  realities  of  his  observations  came 
trooping  up  before  him,  and  waited 
till  he  fettered  them  in  his  magic  lines. 
His  mastery  of  expression  was  abso- 
lute and  illimitable ;  he  seemed  to 
know  words  by  intuition,  which  ap- 
peared to  tit  into  their  places  of  their 
own  accoi-d  ;  and  above  all  he  had  a 
wealth  of  imagination,  to  one  side  of 
which  was  a  faultless  philosophy  and 
to  the  other  side  a  store  of  richest 
poesy  and  sentiment.  As  an  observer 
Shakespeare  differs  from  and  excels 
any  other  poet  that  has  ever  been 
born  ;  and  taking  one  not  so  great  as 
himself,  yet  hardly  less,  the  immortal 
author  of  Childe  Harold,    we  find  the 


STB  AY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


57 


distinction  widely  drawn.  When 
Byron  wished  to  paint  a  being  full  of 
woes,  and  on  the  abyss  of  despair,  he 
sought  out  himself  in  his  solitude  and 
])ainted  a  Manfred  on  the  brink  of  the 
Jungfrau.  Byron  found  all  his  ma- 
terials within  himself  ;  his  own  chai-- 
acter  was  as  a  box  of  paints  for  his 
brush.  He  found  the  gloom  of  the 
misanthrope,  the  gaiety  of  the  moun- 
tain boy,  the  philosophy  of  the  sage, 
the  dark  passions  of  the  Corsair,  and 
the  vices  and  virtues  of  a  Don  Juan. 
But  while  Shakespeare  often  drew 
from  his  own  feelings,  and  though 
his  *  matter  nature  be,'  he  went 
abroad  and  studied  character  in  all  its 
phases.  His  mind  was  as  the  glass 
in  the  artist's  camera  that  seizes  and 
reproduces  to  nature's  perfection  the 
image  before  it.  Shakespeare's  mind 
was  a  great  store-house  of  ideas,  be- 
gotten of  nature,  outside  himself,  and 
it  was  out  of  these  ideas  he  wrought 
his  immortal  plays. 

The  person  in  his  play  is  the  mere 
dress  of  his  idea  ;  he  clothes  Political 
Cunning  in  a  Cassius,  Jealousy  in  an 
Othello,  Avarice  in  a  Shylock,  Ambi- 
tion and  Remorse  in  a  Lady  Macbeth, 
and  Hesitation  in  a  Hamlet.  This 
hesitation  is  the  core  of  the  play  of 
Hamlet ;  a  great  dreamer,  a  deep 
thinker,  but  no  actor  ;  an  unfinished 
character,  always  going  to  do,  but 
never  doing,  and  letting  this  tide  pass, 
resolving  to  take  the  next.  It  is  we 
who  put  oS  till  to-morrow  what  we 
should  do  to-day,  who  are  Hamlet ; 
and  to  rebuke  Procrastination  the 
'  Royal  Dane '  twice  '  burst  '  his  cere- 
ments, and  Shakespeare  wrote  the 
play  of  Hamlet. 

INDIAN    SUMMER. 

To  Sapere  aude  Club  .—Could  you  explain 
to  me  what  w  meant  hy  Indian  Summer,  when 
it  comes,  and  the  causes  /or  t<  .'—Sylvan L's, 
Frederictvn  Subui-bs. 

It  is  just  three  years  ago  since  a 
member  of  Sapere  Aude  and  myself 
left  our  city  abode  for  a  few  days' 
shooting.     Late  in   the   afternoon   of 


the  second  day  after  setting  out,  foot- 
sore and  weary,  we  came  upon  an 
Indian  village  situate  in  a  small  clear- 
ing a  short  way  in  from  the  edge  of  a 
forest,  and  near  the  bank  of  a  beauti- 
ful river.  The  sky  looked  unpropi- 
tious.  Huge  banks  of  surly,  leaden- 
coloured  cloud  gathered  all  over  the 
sky,  and  a  cold,  gloomy  wind  began 
to  pipe  from  the  east.  We  })itched 
our  tent  on  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and 
in  front  of  the  door  built  a  fire  of 
huge  pine  logs.  As  we  lay  in  our 
tent,  after  night  had  fallen,  listening 
to  the  too  hoo,  too  hoo,  of  the  night 
owl  and  the  peculiar  storm-presaging 
song  of  the  '  saw-whet,'  and  heard  the 
sorrowful  soughing  of  the  wind  in  the 
pines,  two  dusky  forms  slid  noiselessly 
into  our  camp.  They  belonged  to  the 
village,  and  were  Milicite  Indians. 
They  asked  us  for  tobacco,  which  we 
gave  them,  and  with  a  grunt  of  satis- 
faction each  filled  his  pipe  and  began 
to  smoke  in  silence.  My  companion 
broke  the  stillness  of  the  camp.  '  This,' 
said  he  ,  '  is  a  dismal  night  in  the 
wood  ;  '  why  do  the  owl  and  the  saw- 
whet  cry  ] ' 

'  Storm  come,'  said  the  Indian ; 
'snow  to-morrow,  so  much,'  pointing 
to  his  ankle  to  indicate  its  depth. 

'  Bad  weather  to  shoot,  I  sui)pose  ?  ' 
said  I. 

'  Not  much  ;  to-morrow  come  In- 
gen  Summer  ;  four  or  five  days  very 
fine  now.' 

*  What  is  Indian  Summer  ] '  I  said,, 
determined  to  get  the  Indian's  own 
definition  of  it. 

'  First,  long  summer,'  with  much 
stress  on  the  word  in  italics,  '  then 
fall,  then  cold  weather,  then  some 
snow,  and  then  Ingen  Summer,'  said 
the  Indian.  '  Must  be  cold  some  days, 
snow  one  day  before  Ingen  Summer,' 
he  added  by  way  of  further  explana- 
tion. And  then,  in  the  laconic  form 
which  Indian  narrative  always  takes, 
one  of  them  related  that  long  ago^ 
before  the  white  man  came  and  took 
their  lands,  the  Indians  speared  fish 
through    the    summer    months,    and 


58 


STIiAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


when  the  cold  and  blustering  days 
came  on,  when  the  wind  piped  and  the 
snow  fell,  the  Indian  restrung  his 
bow  and  repaired  his  arrows.  On 
the  morning  after  the  snow-fall  he 
sallied  out  for  game  of  bii*d  and 
"beast.  His  '  Summer  '  then  had  come, 
and  calling  it  in  white-man's  phrase, 
summer,  long  after  the  invader  had 
come,  the  latter  adopted  the  term  and 
called  the  spell  of  fine  weather  in  the 
late  fall  '  Indian  Summer.'  And 
before  Samuel  de  Champlain  landed 
on  these  shores  it  was  customary 
among  many  Indian  tribes  to  marry 
the  dusky  maiden  only  just  as  Indian 
Summer  was  ushered  in,  and  to  cele- 
brate the  marriage  by  a  hunt  through 
the  forest,  and  by  a  feast  on  the  first 
spoils  of  the  chase.  The  Indian  talked 
for  how  long,  I  know  not,  but  both  slid 
out  of  the  camp  after  we  had  dropped 
asleep  ;  and  when  I  awoke  our  fire  had 
gone  out,  the  wind  piped  louderthrough 
the  forest,  and  the  ground  and  ti'ees 
wei-e  white  with  snow.  I  gathered 
my  blanket  closer  about  me  and  slept 
again,  and  was  only  awakened  by  my 
companion  when  the  sun  was  an  hour 
in  the  heavens.  As  the  Indian  had 
foretold,  snow  had  come,  and  Indian 
summer  had  followed  it;  the  trees  were 
dripping,  and,  as  the  Indian  had  also 
said,  the  snow-fall  was  about  to  the 
ankle.  Three  or  four  days  of  delicious 
weather  followed,  and  when  the  hea- 
vens began  to  look  surly  again, we  hast- 
ened home,  and  related,  among  other 
things,  to  the  club  what  we  had  learnt 
about  Indian  summer.  A  little  con- 
sideration of  the  subject  explained  the 
phenomenon  readily.  It  is  well  known 
that  as  solids  change  into  liquids,  a 
<iuantity  of  heat  is  consumed  which  is 
not  annihilated,  but  becomes  latent  in 
the  liquid  body,  or  is,  in  other  words, 
the  force  which  keeps  the  body  in 
liquid  form.  Put  a  pot  of  snow  upon 
the  stove  and  you  convert  it  into 
water,  only  after  the  expenliture  of  a 
certain  quantity  of  heat.  This  heat 
is  not  lost,  but  becomes  latent  in  the 
water.   Xow,  if  that  water  be  changed 


back  again  to  snow,  it  follows  that  the 
heat  stored  up  in  it  is  again  released. 
Take  another  example  :    Throw  water 
into  unslaked  lime,  and  intense  heat  is 
at    once    given    forth,    for   the   water 
uniting  with  the  lime,  and  becoming  a 
solid,  gives  off  the  heat  stored  within 
it.       In   the  late   autumn    the   air  is 
saturated  with  water-vapour  ;  but  with 
j    the  first  snow-fall  this  water- vapour  is 
changed  into  snow,  and  at  once  all  the 
;    heat    within  it  is    released.     If    every 
j    ton  of  snow  that   falls  sends  as  much 
!    free    heat   into  the    air  as  would  be 
j    evolved  from   the   consumption  of  an 
'    eighth  of  a  ton  of  coal,  fancy  the  quan* 
I    tity  free  in  the  air  of  a  district  in  the 
{    autumn,  in  which  there   is  a  snow-fall 
of  five  inches.     This,  then,  is  why  the 
!    air  is  usually  so  warm  after  an  autumn 
snow-fall,  and  this  accounts  for   '  In- 
dian summer.'     It  may  be  added  that, 
conversely,  in  the    spring,   we   have 
'  raw  and  gusty '   days  when  we  look 
for  more  genial  weather,  because  the 
ice  and  snow  are  changing  into  liquid 
and  robbing  the  air  of  its  heat. 

LONGFELLOW   OR  TENNYSON?  ETC. 

To  Sajjerz  aude  Club  :  Which  is  the  greater 
poet,  Longfellow  or  Tennyson  ?  and  wherein  do 
they  differ?  .  .  .  Clara,  St.  John,  N.B. 

The  first  portion  of  this  question  is 
unfair,  because  it  is  unanswerable. 
There  is  no  way  of  estimating  which 
is  the  greater,  because  the  one  is  as 
different  from  the  other  as  sunshine  is 
from  darkness.  It  would  be  unfair  to 
ask  which  is  the  more  beautiful,  the 
vale  of  Chamouni  or  some  '  full-fed 
river  winding  slow  by  herds  upon  an 
endless  plain  1 '  Both  are  unlike,  and 
there  is  no  scale  in  which  you  could 
throw  the  two  that  would  indicate 
which  has  the  greater  absolute  beauty. 
You  can  only  compare  like  with  like  ; 
you  cannot  compare  Tennyson  with 
Longfellow  any  more  than  you  could 
a  balmy  autumn  evening  witli  a  black- 
winged  thunder  storm.  One  enjoys 
the  one  most,  another  enjoys  the  other. 
Comparison  is  out  of  the  question,  un- 
less there  be  some   standard  indepen- 


STRAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


59 


dent  of  botli,  to  which  both  may  be 
compared.  Some  like  'Maud  '  well,  but 
others  like  '  Evangeline  '  better  ;  but 
such  whims  of  fancy  are  not  even  con- 
stant. Fancy  is  like  the  restless  sea, 
now  revelling  in  the  storm  and  again 
lolling  drowsily  in  the  calm.  Variety  is 
the  spice  of  life,  and  gloom  brings  sun- 
shine, as  sunshine  brings  gloom.  What 
pleases  us  to-day  will  pall  upon  our 
senses  to-morrow.  We  blow  hot  in 
one  breath  and  cold  in  another.  The 
same  immortal  writer,  in  two  of  the 
sweetest  little  rills  of  song  in  the  Eng- 
lish language,  says  : 

'  Hence  loathed  melancholy,' 
and 

'  Hail  divinest  melancholy.' 

We  want  both  the  poets,  because  we 
love  them  both.  We  want  the  sun- 
shine now  from  the  one,  and  then  we 
want  the  '  dreary  gleams  about  the 
moorland  '  from  the  other.  We  turn 
from  book  to  book  as  we  change  from 
mood  to  mood  Take  '  The  Bridge  ' 
and  read  it,  and  then  look  back  into 
the  vanished  pleasures,  and  even  the 
cares  which  are  golden  fringed,  of  your 
own  life,  and  say  if  it  be  in  the  power 
of  song  to  write  another  '  Bridge.' 
The  charm  that  is  in  its  opening  lines 
is  without  a  name  : 

'  I  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, . 

As  the  clocks  were  striking  the  hour, 
And  the  moon  rose  o'er  the  city, 
Behind  the  dark  church  tower.' 

Read  the  '  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,' 
and,  thinking  of  the  mariner  upon  the 
stormy  main  '  in  the  midnight  and  in 
the  snow,'  tell  us  who  has  ever,  or  who 
can  ever,  put  more  nature  into  an- 
other shipwreck  ?  Or,  standing  on  the 
shore  when  the  storm  rages,  tell  who 
can  excell  these  lines  : 

*  She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 
Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks  they  gored  her  sides 
Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull.' 

And  it  is  like  coming  in  from  the 
scene  of  the  storm  and  the  shipwreck, 
and  finding  a  peaceful  haven,  to  read 
the  concluding  lines  : 


*  Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 
In  the  midnight  and  in  the  snow  ; 
Christ  save  lis  all  from  a  death  like  this, 
On  the  Keef  of  Norman's  Woe.' 

We  all  have  in  our  lives  some  rainy 
days,  as  we  have  those  gloomy  ones  in 
autumn,  when  the  moaning  winds 
send  a  shiver  through  the  house,  and 
strip  the  trees  of  their  foliage.  But 
what  hand  that  has  ever  touched  the 
lyre  has  exceeded,  upon  this  subject, 
these  lines  of  Longfellow] 

The  day  is  cold  and  dark  and  dreary, 
It  rains  and  the  wind  is  never  weary. 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
And  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall. 

Be  still  fond  heart,  and  cease  repining 
Be3'ond  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining.' 

Who  that  has  ever  felt  his  bosom  full 
to  overbursting  of  an  indefinable  grief, 
and  filled  with  a  yearning  for  some 
nameless  balm,  does  not  see  himself  in 
this  delicious  gem  1 

'  I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist, 
And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me, 
That  my  soul  cannot  resist : 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing. 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain. 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 
As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 

Come  read  to  me  some  poem, 
Some  simple  and  heartfelt  lay 

That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling 
And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care 
And  come  like  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music 
And  the  cai-es  that  infest  the  day 

Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs 
And  as  quietly  steal  away.' 

But  a  score  of  others  might  be  cited 
at  random,  each  peerless  in  its  own 
realm  ;  each  song  being  like  unto  a 
little  flower  that  is  the  perfection  of 
its  kind.  No ;  in  the  departments 
where  Longfellow  labours,  no  poet 
from  Homer  down  has  excelled  him. 
He  that  has  written  must  be  judged 
by  what  he  has  written,  as  he  who 
does  not  write  is  to  be  judged  by  what 
he  has  not  written.  It  does  not  be- 
long to  the  answer  which  I  am  endea- 


GO 


STRAY  THOUGHTS  AT  EAyDOM  STRUXG. 


vouring  to  give  to  say  how  Longfellow 
woukl  have  fared  in  deeper  waters. 
It  is  enough  to  know  he  has  never 
been  seen  beyond  his  depth. 

So,  too,  with  Tennyson.  In  his 
own  realm  of  song  he  is  without  a 
rival.  His  book  is  like  a  casket  of 
gems,  each  gem  priceless  and  without 
peer.  To  take  examples  we  draw  at 
random.  Where  has  ever  the  hauteur 
and  pride  which  has  naught  but  birth 
to  boast  of  been  more  effectively  re- 
linked than  in  '  Lady  Clara  Vera  de 
Vere  V  It  is  the  yeoman  who  tells 
the  Lady — 

'  Howe'er  it  be  it  seems  to  me 
"Tis  only  noble  to  be  j,'oocl ! 
Kind  liearts  are  more  than  coronets, 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. ' 

Tennyson  retires  out  of  the  world 
while  he  sings  many  songs,  and  he 
brings  you  to  where  the  converse  of 
the  soul  runs  like  a  smooth  stream  ; 
you  hear  sweet  voices,  and  see  spirit- 
ual creatures.  If  your  mood  be  a 
'  dreamful  drowse,'  a  happy  expression 
for  this  state  which  I  borrow  from  a 
little  gem  by  the  gifted  young  author 
of  '  Orion,'  list  you  to  the  songs  of  his 
*  Lotos  Eaters '  whom  you  do  not  see, 
but  whose  strains  seem  to  come  to  you 
as  distilled  music  from  over  the  lan- 
guid sea.  Where  is  there  more  pas- 
sionate, heart-felt  repining  than  that 
of  him  who  wanders  around  Locksley 
Hall  in  the  '  early  morn,'  brooding 
over  the  past  1  And  what  in  song  has 
ever  better  shown  the  bootless  woe  of 
him  who  bemoans  whs-t  fate  has  fixed 
and  the  long  years  have  sealed,  or  who 
tries  to  quell  the  fever-flame  of  passion 
by  philosophy  1  He  is  one  moment  a 
stoic,  the  next  an  abject.  Now  he 
will  tear  out  the  passion  though  his 
heart  be  at  the  root,  and  then  he 
bursts  out  when  a  voice  whispers  com- 
fort— 

'  Comfort  I     Scorned  of  devils  ;  this  is  truth 

the  jjoet  sings 
That  a  sorrows  crown  of  sorrow  is  remem- 

V>ering  happier  things.' 

Who  has  ever  read  the  '  Talking 
Oak  '  and  not  come  away  smitten  with 


its  grace  and  beauty,  no  less  than  with 
its  pathos  ?  When  was  ever  so  beau- 
tiful a  benediction  invoked  on  man  or 
tree,  in  Dryad-days  or  modern  times, 
than  that  which  Walter  bestows  on 
the  oak  after  it  has  told  him  him  tid- 
ings of  his  love  ? 

'  O,  rock,  upon  thy  towery  top 
All  throats  that  i,'urgle  sweet ! 
All  starry  culmination  drop 
Balm-dews  to  bathe  thy  feet  ! 

All  grass  of  silky  feather  grow— 
And  while  he  sinks  or  swells 

The  full  south-breeze  around  thee  blow 
The  sound  of  minster  bells. 

The  fat  earth  feed  thy  branchy  root, 

'J'hat  under  deeply  strikes  ! 
The  northern  morning  o'er  thee  shoot. 

High  up,  in  silver  sj^ikes  ! 

Nor  ever  lightning  char  thy  grain, 

But,  rolling  as  in  slee}), 
Low  thunders  bring  the  mellow  rain, 

That  makes  thee  broad  and  deep  ! ' 

Had  ever  monk,  even  in  the  days 
when  through  the  cloister  groves  an- 
gels were  seen  bearing  the  Holy 
Grail,  such  a  conception  of  that '  bless- 
ed vision '  as  has  our  poet  1  What 
other  pen  could  draw  another  such 
Sir  Galahad  or  breathe  such  imagery 
as  this  1 

'When  down  the  stormy  crescent  goes, 

A  light  before  me  swims 
Between  dark  stems  the  forest  glows, 

I  hear  a  noise  of  hymns  : 
Then  by  some  secre    shrine  I  ride  : 

I  hear  a  voice,  but  none  are  there ; 
The  stalls  are  void,  the  doors  are  wide, 

The  tapers  burning  fair. 
Fair  gleams  the  snowy  altar-cloth. 

The  silver  vessels  sparkle  clean. 
The  shrill  bell  rin'^s,  the  censer  swings, 

And  solemn  chants  resound  between.' 

Or  anything  so  mysteriously,  inde- 
finitely lovely  as  the  ministrations  to 
the  wandering  knight  ? 

'Sometimes  on  lonely  mountain -meres 

I  find  a  magic  bark  ; 
I  leap  on  board  :  no  helmsman  steers  : 

I  float  till  all  is  dark. 
A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light ! 

Three  angels  bear  the   holy  Grail : 
With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white, 

On  sleeping  wings  they  sail. 

The  poet  stands  in  solitude  in  pre- 
sence of  the  mighty  sea,  and  a  tide  of 
emotional    grief     swells    his    bosom. 


IVjyTEi:  TH OUGHTS. 


01 


His  story  were  lon^  to  tell,  but  here 
is  the  matchless,  iiuiiersonal  way  he 
tells  it  : 

'  O  well  for  the  tisherinan's  boy, 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play  ! 
O  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 
That  he  sings  iu  his  boat  on  the  bay  ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 
To  the  haven  under  their  hill  ; 

But  O  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand. 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still  I 

Break,  break,  break. 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  0  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  giace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me.' 

But  I  must  stop ;  my  answer  is 
swelling  out  to  a  volume.  From  the 
quotations  made,  this  is  shown  :  that 
every  subject  each  has  touched,  each  has 
adorned  ;  but,  as  I  have  already  stated, 
the  roads  of  the  two  lie  in  different 
directions.  The  nearest  answer  to  the 
qiiestion  asked  is,  that,  according  to 
the  weight  of  opinion,  Tennyson  has 
more  power  than  Longfellow ;  that 
his  imagery  is  often  more  gorgeous  ; 
his  thought  of  greater  depth,  and  his 
subjects  more  subtle.  But  nature  is 
not  the  less  nature  when  the  zephyrs 
whisper  than  when  the  thunders  roar, 
or  less  seen  in 

'  The  meanest  weed 
That  blows  upon  its  mountain,' 

than  in  the  lofty  oak.     Many  super- 


ficial critics  of  Longfellow  flippantly 
talk  of  the  weakness  of  his  verse,  as 
if  they  would  have  him,  like  Dr.  John- 
son, make  his  '  little  tihhos  talk  like 
whales,'  or  make  a  little  Ijrook  thun- 
der like  Niagara.  Longfellow  has  not 
often  dealt  with  the  stronger  passions, 
but  nature  in  her  simple,  charming 
attire  he  has  wooed,  and  won  too ; 
while  some  of  his  ballads  on  slavery 
are  unmatched  for  their  touching 
and  beautiful  sympathy.  Many  of 
Longfellow's  songs  are  legends  and 
translations,  and  many  of  them  de- 
scriptive, while  Teiniyson's  are  often 
concerned  with  some  complex  or 
subtle  phase  of  human  character.  It 
is  true,  next  to  Byron,  and  Pope,  and 
Shakespeare,  Tennyson's  volumes  fur- 
nish already  more  current  and  apt 
quotations  than  any  other  ;  but  this 
is  because  the  poet,  in  uttering  world- 
wide truths,  is  dealing  with  those 
phases  of  human  action  which  the 
world  every  day  recognises.  Yet 
the  circle  that  reads  Tennyson  is  small 
indeed  to  that  which  reads  Longfel- 
low, though  some  will  consider  this  a 
compliment  rather  than  otherwise  to 
the  Laureate.  Be  all  this  as  it  may, 
the  one  wears  the  laurel  with  credit 
to  this  New  World  of  ours,  and  the 
other  maintains  poesy  at  high-water 
mark  in  England. 


WINTER    THOUGHTS. 


BY    MRS.    A.    MAC    GILLIS,    WINNirEG,    MANITOBA. 


ONCE  more  our  earth  is  white  and  cleon, 
Once  more  are  hid  the  green  and  rt  se 
The  verdant  fields,  the  flowers  we  loved, 
Are  underneath  the  winter's  snows. 


62 


WINTER  THOUGHTS. 

And  hid  are  all  unsightly  things  ; 

The  city's  streets  and  lanes  are  fair ; 
And  pleasantly  the  sleigh-bells  ring 

Out  on  this  icy  Northern  air. 

The  kindly  snow  hath  covered  up 

The  bare  brown  earth  to  keep  her  warm  ; 

Wliile  in  her  mighty  breast  asleep, 
The  seeds  of  life  lie  safe  from  harm. 

Down  in  deep  dells  where  violets  hide 
On  little  graves  but  newly  made, 

Where  some  dear  lambs  lie  side  by  side, 
The  pure  white  snow  is  softly  spread. 

One  vast  white  plain  the  prairie  shines, 

Almost  too  dazzling  to  behold, 
Till  sunset  falls,  then  are  its  snows 

Alight  with  crimson,  blent  with  gold. 

Now  speed  the  skaters  o'er  the  ice, 
On  shining  steels  they  seem  to  fly. 

Now  here,  now  there,  they  glide  and  dart, 
And  so  the  happy  hours  go  by. 

While  those  who  love  the  snow-shoe  tramp, 
In  merry  parties  scour  the  plain, 

The  early  moon  her  silver  lamp 
Hath  lighted  e'er  they  turn  again. 

But,  hark  !  what  sweet  far  sounds  are  those  ? 

Which  to  the  happy  tired  ones  tell 
The  hour  has  come  to  seek  repose — 

St.  Boniface's  vesper  bell. 

Now  home  they  hie,  and,  welcome  sight, 
The  well-filled  board  and  smoking  urn, 

The  glowing  fire  and  cheerful  light. 
All  greet  the  loved  ones'  safe  return. 

0  golden  hours  of  sunny  youth, 
Too  swift  ye  speed  beyond  recall  ; 

'Tis  well,  thou  Hope,  and  Love,  and  Truth, 
Eemain  a  heritage  for  all, 

To  cheer  our  wintry  age,  and  gild 
With  sunset  gleams  life's  fading  ray. 

Till  breaks  the  morn  that  knows  no  night, 
Resplendent  ever  shining  day. 


RUNNING-WATER  NOTES. 


63 


RUNNING- WATER  NOTES. 


BY    EDITH    M.    THOMAS, 


I  DOUBT  if  it  were  a  magic  bird,  as 
told  in  the  legend,  that  sang  Saint 
Felix  out  of  the  memory  of  his  gene- 
ration :  it  is  quite  as  likely  that, 
having  traced  some  river  or  small 
stream  to  its  head-waters,  he  lingered 
listening  to  the  drop  that  wears  away 
the  stone,  and  so  fell  into  a  half- 
century  reverie.  Running  water  is 
the  only  true  flowing  philosophei-, — 
the  smoothest  ai-guer  of  the  perpetual 
flux  and  transition  of  all  created  things, 
saying  : — 

'  All  things  are  as  they  seem  to  all, 
And  all  things  flow  as  a  stream.' 

It  is  itself  a  current  paradox.  It  is 
now  here  at  your  feet,  gossiping  over 
sand  and  pebble  :  it  is  there,  slipping 
softly  around  a  rushy  cape  ;  and  it  is 
yonder,  just  blending  with  the  crisp 
spray  of  the  last  wave  on  the  beach  of 
the  lake.  Its  form  and  colour  are  but 
circumstances  ;  the  one  due  to  margi- 
nal accident  and  the  momentary  ca- 
price of  the  wind ;  the  other,  to  the 
complexion  of  the  sky  or  to  overhang- 
ing umbrage.  "Who  can  say  but  that 
its  beginning  and  its  ending  are  one, 
—  the  water-drop  in  the  bosom  of  the 
cloud  1 

We  readily  consent  that  the  Muses 
had  their  birth  and  rearing  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  certain  springs  and 
streams.  This  was  a  wise  pi'ovision 
for  their  subsequent  musical  educa- 
tion, since  it  was  intended,  no  doubt, 
that  they  should  gather  the  rudiments 
from  such  congenial  sources.  The 
Greeks  left  us  no  account  (as  they  well 
might  have  done)  of  the  technical  drill 


pursued  by  the  nine  sisters.  How- 
ever, we  may  suppose  that  they  wrote 
off"  their  scores  from  the  fluent  dicta- 
tion of  their  favourite  cascades  and 
streams,  and  that  they  scanned,  or 
'  sang,'  all  such  exercises  by  the  laws 
of  liquid  quantity  and  accent.  Per- 
haps at  the  same  time,  the  better  to 
measure  the  feet  and  mark  the  caesu- 
ral  pauses,  they  danced,  as  they  sang, 
over  the  rippled  surface  of  the  stream. 
Nor  did  the  Muses  alone  love  springs 
and  running-watei^,  but  it  would  seem 
that  the  philharmonic  societies  of  their 
descendants  have  had  their  haunts  in 
like  localities  :  or  was  it  mere  chance 
that  Homer  shou'd  have  lived  by  the 
river  Meles  (hence  Melesigenes)  :  that 
Plato  should  have  had  his  retirement 

'  where  Ilissus  rolls 
His  whisijering  stream  ;  ' 

or  that  Shakespeare,  to  all  time,  should 
be  '  the  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon  1  ' 

Consider  the  vocality  and  vocabu- 
lary of  the  water  :  it  has  its  open 
vowels,  its  mutes,  labials,  and  sub- 
vocals,  and,  if  one  listen  attentively, 
its  little  repretend  of  favourite  sylla- 
bles and  alliterations.  Like  Demos- 
thenes, it  knows  the  use  and  advan- 
tage of  pebbles,  and  has,  by  this  sim- 
ple experiment,  so  purified  its  utter- 
ance that  nowhere  else  is  Nature's 
idiom  spoken  so  finely.  What  a  list 
of  onomatopoetic  words  we  have  caught 
from  its  talkative  lips  !  Babbling, 
jyurling,  murmuring,  gurgling,  or  some 
of  the  adjectives  borrowed  from  this 
vernacular  ;  and  some  have  even  heard 
the    *  chuckling  brooks,' — an   expres- 


64 


E UKNING-  WA TER  NOTES. 


sion  which  well  describes  a  certain, 
confidential,  sotto  vote  gayety  and  self- 
content  I  have  often  heard  in  the  par- 
ley of  the  water. 

From  time  to  time,  musical  virtuo- 
sos and  composers,  fancying  they  had 
discovered  the   key-note   of   Niagara, 
have  given   us   symphonious  snatches 
of  its  eternal  organ  harmonies.     Some 
time,  it  may  be  that  all  these  scattered 
arias,    with  many   more   which   have 
never  been  published,  will  be  collected 
and  edited   as   the  complete  opera  of 
the  great  cataract !     Less   ambitious, 
I  have  often  tried  to   unravel  the  me- 
lodious vagaries  of  a  summer  stream  ; 
to  classify  its  sounds,  and  report  their 
sequence  and  recurrence.     I  shall  not 
forget  how  once,  when  I  was  thus  oc- 
cupied, a  small  bird  flew  far  out  on  a 
branch  overhanging  the  water,  turned 
its  arch  eye  on  me,  then  on  the  danc- 
ing  notes   of    my  music   lesson,  and 
j)Oured  out   a  rippling    similitude   of 
song   that    was  plainly    meant  as  an 
seolian  rendition  of  the  theme,  or  mo- 
tive, running  through   the  water.     I 
was  under  double   obligation    to  the 
little   musician,  since,  in   addition  to 
its  sweet  and  clever  charity,  it  put  me 
in  possession  of  the  discovery  that  all 
of   Natux-e's  minstrels  are   under  the 
same  orchestra  drill,  and  capable,  at 
pleasure,  of  exchanging  parts.     There 
was  once  a  naiad  (own  daughter  of 
celestial  Aquarius),  who,  as  often  as 
the    rain     fell    and    the   eave-spouts 
frothed  and  overran,  used  to  come  and 
dance  under  a  poet's  roof.     It  was  a 
part  of  her  pretty  jugglery  to  imitate 
the  liquid  warble  of  the  wood-thrush, 
bobolink,  and  other  pleasing  wild-bird 
notes.   No  matter  how  far  inland,  any 
one  who  lives  by  the  '  great  deep '  of 
a  dense  wood  may  hear  the  roar  of  the 
sea  when  the  tide  of  the  wind  sweeps 
in  on  his  coast.      Shutting  my  eyes,  I 
could    always     readily    hear     in    the 
crackling  of  a  brush   fire  in  the  gar- 
den, the  quick  and  sharp  accentuation 
of  rain  on  the  roof. 

There  are  certain  English  and  Old 
English  appellatives  of  running  water 


which  one  would  fain  transplant  to 
local  usage  on  this  side  the  Atlantic. 
How  suitable  that  a  swift,  boiling 
stream,  surcharged  with  spring  rain, 
should  V)e  called  a  brawl,  or  a  fine  sun- 
lit thread  of  a  rill  embroidering  green 
meadows  affoss,  or  any  other  small, 
unconsidered  stream  a  beck  !  In  New 
England  you  shall  hear  only  of  the 
brook,  and  past  an  indeterminate  meri- 
dian westward,  only  of  the  creeh  (col- 
loquially deformed  into  'crick').  In- 
dian Creek  is  a  sort  of  John  Smith  in 
the  nomenclature  of  Western  streams. 
Rocky  Rivers  and  Rocky  Runs  are 
also  frequent  enough. 

Where  streams  abound,  there,  for 
the  most  part,  will  be  found  sylvan 
amenity  and  kindly,  cultivated  soil. 
The  Nile  alone  saves  Egypt  from  being 
an  extension  of  Sahara.  Without  some 
water-power  at  hand,  cities  may  not 
be  built,  nor  industries  and  arts  be 
pushed  forwai-d  :  yet  I  should  say  no 
site  is  hopelessly  inland  if  there  runs 
past  it  a  stream  of  sufficient  current 
to  carry  a  raft.  There  is  maritime 
promise  in  the  smallest  rivulet :  trust 
it  ;  in  time  it  will  bear  your  wares 
and  commodities  to  the  sea  and  the 
highways  of  commerce.  The  course 
of  a  river,  or  of  a  river  tributary,  sug- 
gests a  journey  of  pleasure.  Notice 
how  it  selects  the  choicest  neighbour- 
hoods in  its  course,  the  richest  fields, 
the  suavest  parts  of  the  woods.  If  it 
winds  about  a  country  village,  with 
picturesque  white  spire  and  houses  hid 
to  the  I'oof  in  greenery,  it  seems  to 
have  made  this  deflection  out  of  its 
own  affable  and  social  spirit.  The  dam 
and  the  mill-wheel  it  imderstands  as  a 
challenge  of  its  speed  and  agility,  and 
so  leaps  and  caracoles  nimbly  over 
them.  All  bridges  which  it  passes  un- 
der, it  takes  as  wickets  set  up  in  sport. 
The  motion  of  water,  whether  of  the 
ocean  billow  or  of  the  brook's  ripple,  is 
only  an  endless  prolongation  or  repro- 
duction of  the  line  of  beauty.  There 
are  no  right  angles  in  the  profile  of  the 
sea-coast  or  river  margin  ;  no  rectan- 
gular pebbles  on  the  beach  or  in  the  bed 


E  UNNING-  WA  TER  NO  TES. 


G5 


of  a  stream.  The  hollow  chamber  in 
which  the  oyster  is  lodged  might  have 
been  formed  Ijy  the  union  of  two  waves, 
magically  hardened  at  the  moment  of 
contact ;  coloured  witliout  like  the  ooze 
of  the  earth,  within  like  the  deep  sea 
pearl.  The  fish  conforms  in  shape  and 
symmetry  to  its  living  element,  and  is, 
in  this  respect,  scarcely  more  than  a 
wave,  or  combination  of  waves.  It 
moves  in  curves  and  ripples,  in  little 
whirls  and  eddies,  faithfully  repeating 
all  the  inflections  of  the  water.  Even 
in  the  least  detail  it  is  homogeneous  ; 
else,  why  should  the  scale  of  the  fish 
be  scalloped  rather  than  serrate  ?  As 
to  colour,  has  it  not  the  vanishing  tints 
of  the  rainbow  ;  or  might  it  not  be 
thought  the  thinnest  lamina  pared 
away  from  a  pearl,  a  transparent  rose 
petal,  the  finger-nail  of  Venus  1 

It  is  not  improbable  that  the  fish 
furnished  the  first  shipwright  with 
some  excellent  suggestions  about  nau- 
tical architecture.  This  shipwright, 
who  was  both  idealist  and  utilitarian, 
had  observed  the  length  and  slender- 
less  of  the  fish  ;  its  curved  sides  and 
tapering  extremities,  corresponding 
with  the  stern  and  prow  of  his  subse- 
quent invention  ;  also,  the  fins,  which 
he  at  first  reproduced  in  rough-hewn 
paddles,  prototypical  of  genuine  oars. 
Then,  perhaps,  a  paradoxical  notion 
dawning  upon  his  mind  that  aerial 
swimming  and  aquatic  flying  were 
much  the  same  things,  he  added  to  his 
floating  craft  the  wings  of  the  bird  as 
well  as  the  fins  of  the  fish  ;  and  soon 
thereafter  began  to  take  the  winds  in- 
to account,  to  venture  out  on  the  broad 
seas ;  and  finally  discovered 

'  India  and  the  golden  Chersonese, 
And  utmost  Indian  isle,  Taprobane.' 

The  scaly  appearance  of  a  sheet  of 
'vater  wrinkled  by  the  wind  has  al- 
ready been  noticed  by  another.  It 
needed  only  this  slight  suggestion  to 
point  out  to  me  the  glistening  broad- 
side of  an  old  gray  dragon  sunning 
himself  between  the  banks.  Do  Dol- 
phins inhabit  fresh  water  'J  Just  under 
5 


the  surface,  at  the  bend  of  the  creek, 
I  see  a  quivering  opalescent  or  irides- 
cent mass,  which  I  take  to  be  a  speci- 
men of  this  rare  fi.sh,  unless,  indeed,  it 
should  prove  only  a  large  flat  stone, 
veined  and  mottled  by  sunbeams 
shot  through  the  thin  veil  of  hurrying 
waters.  Equally  suggestive  are  those 
luminous  reflections  of  ripples  cast  on 
that  smooth  clay  bank.  Narrow  shim- 
mering lines  in  constant  wavy  motion, 
they  seem  the  web  which  some  spider 
is  vainly  trying  to  pin  to  the  bank. 
They  are,  properly,  '  netted  sunbeams.' 
Water  oozing  from  between  two  ob- 
structing stones,  and  slowly  spreading 
out  into  the  current,  has  the  appear- 
ance of  a  tress  of  some  colourless  water- 
I  grass  floating  under  the  surface.  I 
was  once  pleased  to  see  how  a  drift  of 
soft  brown  sand  gently  sloping  to  the 
water's  edge,  with  its  reflection  directly 
beneath,  presented  to  the  perfect  fig- 
ure of  a  tight-shut  clam-shell, — a  de- 
sign peculiarly  suited  to  the  locality. 

In  cooler  and  deeper  retirement,  on 
languid  summer  afternoons,  this  flow- 
ing philosopher  sometimes  geometrizes. 
It  is  always  of  circles, — circles  inter- 
secting, tangent,  or  inclusive.  A  fish 
dai-ting  to  the  surface  affords  the  cen- 
tral starting  point  of  a  circle  whose  ra- 
dius and  circiimference  are  incalculable 
since  the  eye  fails  to  detect  where  it 
fades  into  nothingness.  Multiplied  in- 
tersections there  may  be,  but  without 
one  curve  marring  the  smooth  expan- 
sion of  another.  There  are  hints  of 
infinity  to  be  gathered  from  this  tran- 
sient water  ring,  as  well  as  from  the 
orb  of  the  horizon  at  sea. 

Sometimes  I  bait  the  fish,  but  with- 
out rod  or  hook,  and  merely  to  coax 
them  together  in  small  inquisitive 
schools,  that  I  may  study  their  beha- 
viour and  their  medium  of  communi- 
cation. In  this  way  I  enjoy  the  same 
opportunities  for  reverie  and  specula- 
tion as  the  angler,  without  indulging 
in  his  cruelty  or  forerelish  of  the  table. 
I  discover  that  the  amusements  of  the 
minnows  and  those  of  the  small  birds 
are  quite  similar,  with  only  this  diflfer- 


66 


RUNIflNG-WATEJt  NOTES. 


ence :  that  the  former,  in  darting  and 
girding  at  one  another,  make  their  re- 
trt-at  bt'hind  stones  and  under  little 
sand  burs,  instead  of  hiding  among  the 
bushes  and  tilting  over  thistle  tops. 
It  would  seem  that  fish  are  no  less 
quick  in  the  senses  of  hearing  and 
seeing  than  the  birds  themselves. 
They  start  at  your  shadow  thrown 
over  the  bank,  at  your  voice,  or  at  the 
slightest  agitation  of  the  water. 

'  If  you  but  scantily  hold  out  the  hand, 
That  very  instant  not  one  will  remain  ; 
But   tiirii    your   eye,    and    they    are  there 
a^'ain.' 

When  they  first  came  up  in  the 
spring,  I  thought  they  looked  unusual- 
ly lean  :ind  shadowy,  as  though  having 
struggled  through  a  hungry  hiberna- 
tion. They  were  readily  voracious  of 
anything  1  might  throw  to  them. 

There  were  tish  taken  luider  my  ob- 
servation,  though  not  by  line  or   net. 
1  did  not  tish,  yet  1  felt  warranted  in 
sharing    the    triumphs  of    the    sport 
when,  for  the  space  of  ten  minutes  or 
more,  I  had  maintained  most  cautious 
silence,while  that  accomplished  angler, 
the   kingfisher,  perched   on  a  sightly 
elm  branch  over  the   water,  was   pa- 
tiently waiting  the  chance  of  an  eligi- 
ble haul.      1  had,  meanwhile,    a  good 
opportunity  for  observing  this  to  me 
wholly  wild  and  unrelated  adventur- 
ous bird.     Its  great  head  and  mobile 
crest,    like  a  helmet   of    featheis,  its 
dark-blue  glossy  coat  and  white  neck- 
cloth,  make  it  a  sufficiently  striking 
individual  anywhere.     Ko  wonder  the 
kingfisher  is   specially    honoured    by 
poetic    legend.      1    must    admit    that 
■whenever  1  chanced   to   see  this  bird 
about  the  stream  it  was  faultless,  hal- 
cyon -weather.     I    occasionally  saw  a 
sandpiper     (familiarly,   '  walk-up-the- 
creek')  bunting  a  solitary  meal  along 
the  margin.     I  had  good  reason,  also, 
to  suspect  that    even    the    blackbird 
now  and  then  helped  himself  to  a  horme 
bovche  from   the   water.      Then,  did  I 
not  see  the  fish,  acting  on  the  '  law  of 
talons,'  come  to  the  surface,  and  take 
their  \  rey  from   the  life   of   the  air  ? 


This  was  the  fate  in  store  for  many  a 
luxurious  water-fly  skimming  about 
the  sunshiny  pools,  like  a  drop  or  bead 
of  animated  (piicksilver.  The  insect 
races  born  of  the  water,  and  leading  a 
hovering  existence  above  it,  had  al- 
ways a  curious  interest  for  me.  What, 
for  instance,  can  be  more  piquing  to  a 
speculative  eye  than  to  watch  the 
ceaseless  shiftings  or  pourings  of  a 
swarm  of  gnats  1  Is  there  any  rally- 
ing point  or  centre  in  this  filmy  sys- 
tem 1  Apparently  there  are  no  odds 
between  the  attraction  and  repulsion 
governing  the  movements  of  the  mid- 
get nebula,  and  I  could  never  be  satis- 
j  tied  as  to  whether  unanimity  or  dis- 
I  sent  were  implied.  Nor  could  I  quite 
justify  by  my  ear  the  verse  which  says, 

'  Then,  in  a  wailful  choir,  the   email  gnats 
mourn 
J        Amony  the  river  sallows,' 

j  since,  although  I  could  vouch  for  the 
I  vocal  powers  of  a  single  gnat  humming 
!  with  unpleasant  familiarity,  I  have 
never  detected  any  proof  of  concerted 
musical  sound  among  a  swarm  of  these 
motes.  Yet  1  doubt  not  the  poet  is 
right. 

There  is  a  larger  species  of  mosquito 
(not  the  common  pest),  which  1  should 
ihink  might  some  time  have  enjoyed 
religiouslionours,  since,when  it  drinks, 
it  falls  upon  its  knees!  A  flight  of 
these  gauzy- winged  creatures  through 
a  shaft  of  sunlight  might  conjure  up 
for  any  fanciful  eye  the  vision  of  '  pert 
fairies  and  dapper  elves.'  Of  the 
dragon  fly  (which  might  be  the  inlaid 
jihantasm  of  some  insect  that  flourished 
summers  ago),  I  know  of  no  descrip- 
tion so  delicately  apt  as  the  follow- 
ing :— 

'  A  wind-born  blossom,  blown  about, 
Drojjs  quiveringly  down  as  though  to  die  ; 
\    Then  lifts  and  wavers  on,  as  if  in  doubt 
i        Whether  to  fan  its  wings  or  fly  without.' 

j  Where  is  the  stream  so  hunted  down 
I  by  civilization  that  it  cannot  affoi'd 
I  hospitality  to  at  least  one  hermit  musk- 
j  rat  i  The  only  water  animal  extant 
of  the  wild  fauna  that  was  here  in  the 
!    red  man's  day,  he  will  eventually  have 


R UNNINO-  WA  TER  NOTES. 


to  follow  in  the  oblivious  wake  of  the    | 
beaver  and  otter.   It  is  no  small  satis- 
faction that  I  am  occasionally  favoured    1 
with  a  j^limpse  of  this  now  rare  '  oldest    | 
inhaliitaut.'    Swimming  leisurely  with    ; 
the  current,  and  carrying  in  his  mouth    j 
a  ted  of  grass   for  thatching  purposes,    I 
or  a    bunch    of   greens   for  dinner,  he 
disappears   under  the   bank.      So  un- 
wieldy are  his  motions,  and  so   lazily 
does  the  water  draw  after  him,  that  I 
am  half  inclined  to  believe  him  a  pyg- 
mean copy  of  some  long  extinct  river 
mammoth.      Oftener  at  night  I  hear 
him  splashing  a\)Out  in  the  dark  and 
cool  stream,  safe  from  discovery  and 
molestation. 

Hot,  white  days  of  drought  there 
were  in  the  middle  of  the  summer, 
when,  in  places,  the  bed  of  the  creek 
was  as  dry  as  the  highway ;  vacant, 
except  for  a  ghostly  semblance  of  rip- 
ples running  above  its  yellow  clay  and 
stones.  The  fountain  of  this  stream 
was  in  the  sun  and  lieated  air.  Walk- 
ing along  the  abandoned  water-road,  I 
speculated  idly  about  the  fate  of  the 
minnows  and  trout.  Had  they  been 
able,  in  season,  to  take  a  short  cut  to 
the  lake  or  to  deeper  streams,  as  is  re- 
lated, in  a  pretty  but  apocry{)hal  story, 
of  a  species  of  tish  in  China,  fitted  by 
nature  to  take  short  overland  jour- 
neys ? 

Much  might  justly  be  said  in  praise 
of  the  willow.  Its  graceful,  undulating 
lines  show  that  it  has  not  in  vain  been 
associated  with  the  stream.  It  prac- 
tises and  poses  over  its  glass  as  though 
it  hoped  some  time  to  become  a  water 
nymph.  Summer  heat  cannot  imj)air 
its  fresh  and  vivid  green, —  only  the 
sharp  edge  of  the  frost  can  do  that  ; 
and  even  when  the  leaves  have  fallen 
away  there  remains  a  beautiful  ana- 
tomy of  stems  and  branches,  whose 
warm  brown  affords  a  pleasing  relief 
to  NovemV)er  grayness. 

At  intervals  I  met  the  genius  of 
decorative  art  (a  fine,  mincing  lady) 
hunting  about  the  weedy  margin  for 
botanical  patterns  suitable  for  repro- 
duction in  aesthetic  fabrics  and  paper 


67 

hangings.  She  chose  willow  catkins, 
cat-tail  Hag  ;  the  (lowers  and  feathery 
afterbloom  of  the  clematis,  golden-rod, 
and  aster,  and  showed  great  anxiety 
to  procure  some  lily  pads  and  buds 
that  grew  in  a  sluggish  cove  ;  but  for 
some  reason,  unknown  to  me  as  well 
as  to  the  genii  li)ci,  she  slighted  a  host 
of  j)lants  as  suggestive  for  ornate  de- 
signs as  any  .she  accepted.  She  took 
no  notice  of  the  jewel  weed  (which  the 
stream  was  not  ashamed  to  reflect,  in 
its  velvet,  leopard-like  magnificence) ; 
nor  had  she  any  eyes  for  the  roving 
intricacies  of  the  green-l)rier  and  wild- 
b  tlsam  apple.  She  also  left  untouched 
whole  families  of  curious  beaked 
grasses  and  sedges,  with  spindles  full 
of  flax  or  silk  unwinding  to  the  breeze. 
It  is  nothing  strange  that  the  earlier 
races  of  men  should  have  believed  in 
loreleis  and  undines,  nixies  and  helpies. 
I  cannot  say  that  I  have  not,  myself, 
hadglirnpsiis  of  all  these  witer-sprites. 
But  the  watered  green  silk  in  which 
the  lorelei  and  the  undine  were  dress- 
ed was  almost  indistinguishable  in 
colour  and  texture  from  the  willow's 
reflection  ;  and  the  nixie  was  so  often, 
hidden  under  a  crumbling  bank  and 
net-work  of  black  roots  that  I  could 
not  be  sure  whether  J  caught  the  gleam 
of  his  malicious  eye,  or  whether  it  was 
only  a  fleck  of  sunshine  I  saw  explor- 
ing the  watery  shade.  About  the  kel- 
pie T  am  more  positive.  When  the 
creek  was  high  and  wrathful  under  the 
scourge  of  the  '  lime  storm,'  it  could 
have  been  nothing  else  than  the  kel- 
pie's wild,  shaggy  njane  that  I  saw  ; 
nothing  else  that  I  heard  but  his 
hoarse,  ill-boding  roar. 

In  this  season  of  the  year,  I  became 
aware  that  our  stream,  like  the  Nile, 
had  its  mysterious  floating  islands,  lux- 
uriant plots  set  with  grass  and  fern 
and  mint  (instead  of  lotus  and  papy- 
rus), and  lodged  upon  pieces  of  drift 
washed  down  by  the  sj)ring  floods.  All 
summer  securely  moored  in  the  shal- 
low water,  they  were  now  rent  up  by 
the  roots,  and  swept  out  of  all  geo- 
graphical   account.      Snow-like  accu- 


08 


TO  THE  NEW  YEAR. 


mulatioiisof  wliipped-upfoam  gathered 
in  lee-side  nooks  where  the  current 
ran  less  strong,  remaining  there  for 
many  hours  together,  like  some  fairy 
fleet  riding  at  anchor.  When  the 
stream  had  fallen,  I  often  found  this 
accumulation  deposited  on  the  sand  in 
a  grayish-white  drift,  dry  and  volatile 
as  ashes,  dispei-sing  at  the  slightest 
gust  It  suggested  that  some  strange, 
unwitnessed  Vite  of  incineration  had 
been  performed  there, 

When  the  winter  had  come  in  all 
power,  and   had  driven  nature  down 


into  her  garrison  of  clods,  and  had  laid 
siege  thereto  with  frost-tire  and  sword, 
the  j)hilosopher  of  whom  I  have  spoken 
could  still,  at  times,  be  heard  in  the 
drear  silence  of  snowy  fields  and  snowy 
air.  He  had  nothing  to  say  that  could 
not  fitly  have  been  said  in  the  ear  of 
summer.  Moreover,  there  was  nearly 
always  one  clear  crystal  window  of 
his  dwelling  open  sunward,  looking 
through  which  I  could  see  his  bright 
and  mobile  countenance,  unperplexed 
by  weather  changes.  —  Atlantic 
Monthly. 


TO   THE  NEW  YEAE. 


BY   GOWAN    LEA,    MONTREAL. 


Hark  !  is't  thy  step.  New  Year  1 
With  sure  but  stealthy  pace  thou  aye  dost  come  ; 
And  in  thy  train  are  gladdening  gifts  for  some  ; 

0  haste  thee,  glad  New  Year  ! 

Too  swift  thy  step.  New  Year  ! 
The  past  had  gathered  friends  from  many  lands. 
And  thou  dost  come  to  i)art  their  clasped  hands 

Alas,  so  near,  New  Year  ! 


'  0  haste  ! '  *  Delay  ! '  New  Year ; — 
Two  prayers  together  rising  up  to  Heaven : 
Trust  in  the  answer  ;  is  it  not  God-given  ? 

Meet  bravely  the  New  Year  ! 

Welcome  the  new.  New  Year  ! 
0  clear-voiced  Truth,  lead  in  the  coming  morn 
And  gentle  Charity,  our  lives  adorn  : 

Hope  lives  in  the  New  Year  ! 


THE  DAWN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


69 


THE  DAWN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


BY   JULIA   ALEYNE,    BURLINGTON,  VT. 


PART    II UOGAKTU. 


XN  the  last  paper  we  endeavoured 
to  show  what  was  the  condition 
of  the  Art  world  of  Great  Britain 
at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. But  the  closing  years  of  the 
previous  one  produced  a  genius  of  such 
originality  and  power  as  to  render,  in 
succeeding  ages,  the  name  of  British 
Art  an  epithet  of  most  honourable  im- 
port. For  the  first  time  an  English 
painter  had  taken  brush  in  hand  to  mark 
out  a  path  of  his  own,  instead  of  emulat- 
ing the  achievements  of  Yerrio  and 
Laguerre  aa  his  predecessors  had  done. 
For  the  first  time  an  attempt  was 
made  to  break  through  the  conventions 
of  traditions  and  imitations,  and  to 
efctablish  a  genuine  and  national  style 
of  art  in  England;  when,  following  these 
connoisseurs  of  the  beginning  of  the 
art,  all  at  once  *  from  among  these 
painters  of  ceilings  and  manufacturers 
of  goddesses  arose  a  prophet,  with  a 
commission  to  deliver — urgent,  violent 
and  terrible — to  the  dissolute,  careless 
world,  then  rolling  so  fast  on  its 
downward  way.' 

To  Hogarth  therefore  belongs  thehon- 
our  of  having  been  the  founder  of  Eng- 
lish painting,  as  he  was  the  first  great 
original  master,  *  who,'  we  are  told, 
'  re-opened  the  obstructed  path  to  nature 
for  his  cotemporaries  and  successors, 
and  down  this  cleax'ed  path  so  long 
hidden  by  a  growth  of  sham  sentiment 
and  honest  incapacity,  he  was  fol- 
lowed more  or  less  intelligently  by  all 
the  great  English  masters  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  who,  however,  instead 
of  treading  directly   in  his  footsteps, 


turned  from  side  to  side,  garnering 
new  truths,  and  observing  fresh  Ijeau- 
ties,  which  each  recorded  in  his  own 
peculiar  language.  He  filled  the  jjlace 
in  English  art  which  Fielding  and  Smol- 
lett filled  in  English  literature.  Al- 
though by  some  considered  a  mere  car- 
icaturist, we  know  that  he  was  in  real- 
ity a  powerfulpreacher  of  great  truths, 
a  rebuker  of  folly,  and  a  commender  of 
virtue  and  modesty.'  Horace  Walpole 
says,  if  catching  the  manners  and 
follies  of  an  age,  as  they  rise,  if 
general  satire  on  vices,  and  ridicule 
familiarized  by  strokes  of  nature  and 
heightened  by  wit,  and  the  whole  an- 
imated by  proper  and  just  expressions 
of  the  passions,  be  comedy,  Hogarth 
composed  comedies  as  much  as  Mo- 
li6re.  It  was  character,  the  passions, 
the  soul  that  his  genius  was  given 
him  to  copy  ;  his  strength  lay  in  ex- 
pression, not  in  colour  and  chiaro-os- 
curo.  He  knew  well  the  truth  of 
Horace's  maxim,  *  ridiculum  acri  for- 
tuis  ac  melius  plurimumque  secat  res,' 
and  he  made  ridicule  of  his  vocation. 
There  was  nothing  harsh  or  misan- 
throjjic  in  it,  *  It  was  the  ridicule  of 
Addison,  kindly  rebuking  faults  which 
it  half  excused,'  He  himself  tells  us, 
that  he  deliberately  chose  the  path  in 
art  that  lay  between  the  sublime  and 
the  grotesque,  and  in  this  wide  region  he 
has  certainly  achieved  an  unparalleled 
success.  '  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  goes 
beyond  hisaim,'  says  Dr.  Trusler, '  and 
in  the  earnestness  of  passion  reaches 
the  height  of  the  sublime  ;  but  often 
on  the  other  hand,  he  falls  into  carl  - 


THE  DAWN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


cature,  from  the  fact  that  lie  seems  to 
have  an  especial  attraction  towards 
the  grotesque  forms  of  the  hu- 
man face.'  A  celebrated  authoress 
has  pertinently  remarked,  that  Ho- 
garth was  horn  in  an  age  which 
needed  moral  icarhiinj  above  all  other 
needs.  The  contviry  was  ill  at  ease ; 
the  epoch  of  fashionable  folly,  town 
scandal,  wits,  coflee-houses  and  thea- 
tres had  just  set  in,  after  the  stormy 
political  "struggles,  by  which  English 
society  had  been  convulsetl  during  the 
beginning  and  middle  of  the  seven- 
teeth  century.  The  Georges  were 
sitting  upon  the  English  throne, 
blustering  and  storming,  and  losing 
no  opportunity  of  asserting  their  inde- 
pendence, while  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
stood  steadily  at  the  helm  of  state, 
reallv  governing  both  the  king  and 
his  kingdom. 

But  although  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
was  a  most  elhcient  statesman,  and  his 
general  course  liberal  and  enlightened, 
yet  in  character  he  was  most  unprin- 
cipled. There  never  was  a  period  of 
greater  political  corruption  than  dur- 
ing the  administration  of  this  minister. 
Sycophancy,  meanness,  and  hypocrisy 
were  resorted  to  by  the  statesmen  of 
the  age,  who  generally  sought  their 
own  interests  rather  than  the  welfare 
of  the  nation.  Louis  XIV.  was  dead, 
and  the  Regent  and  the  Abbe  Dubois 
were  making  history  one  long  scandal 
in  Paris,  and  freely  squandering  the 
people's  money  for  their  own  purposes. 
The  wits  of  Queen  Anne's  reii;n  were 
as  usual  congregating  at  Bu  ton's 
Coffee-house.  Addison,  Steele,  Boling- 
broke.  Swift,  Gay,  Pope,  and  Con- 
greve,  were  the  leading  spirits  of  the 
age.  Addison  was  writing  'Jlie  Spec- 
tator and  satirizing  the  fashionable 
follies  and  bad  taste  of  the  age, 
while  the  London  world  was  on  tip- 
toe of  expectation  about  these  remark- 
able papers.  Bolingbroke,  as  usual,  the 
great  leader  of  the  Tory  party,  was 
charming  London  society  with  his 
brilliant  conversation  and  fascinating 
manners.     Gay   was  making  himself 


distinguished,  writing  his  '  Fables'  and 
his  '  Beggar's  Opera.'  Swift  was  con- 
vulsing his  circle  of  admirers  by  his 
wit  and  sarcasm.  CoUey  Gibber  was 
])rinting  his  works  on  royal  paper. 
Pope  was  living  in  his  beautiful 
villa  at  Twickenham,  the  friend  and 
companion  of  Bolingbroke,  occa- 
sionally dabbling  a  little  in  South  Sea 
Stock,  the  exj)losion  of  which  too  soon 
put  an  end  to  his  visionary  schemes 
of  wealth  ;  while  Prior  was  busy  satir- 
izing Dryden  in  his  charming  fable  of 
'  A  City  Mouse  and  a  Country  Mouse.' 
But,  although  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant epochs  in  English  history  i7itel- 
lectuaUij,  yet  the  state  of  corruption 
into  which  the  English  people  had  sunk 
moraUji  was  something  fearful. 

Wickedness  had  got  to  be  rampant ; 
vice  and  profligacy  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  stern  simplicity  and  vir- 
tue of  the  Roundheads.  As  we  have 
said,  the  century  was  ill  at  ease,  and 
what  ailed  it  most  was  vice.  The 
very  thoughts  of  the  virtuous  were 
tinctured  in  spite  of  themselves  by  the 
phraseology  and  usages  of  pollution.* 
The  age  was  depraved,  and  not  only 
depraved — it  was  openly  unclean,  we 
are  told.  Even  the  innocent  and  virtu- 
ous used  language  and  were  cogni- 
zant of  facts  which  the  most  depraved 
have  nowadays  the  grace  to  hide  from 
the  world.  Good  women  and  innocent 
maidens  discussed  without  any  scru- 
ple of  delicacy  or  attempt  at  secrecy 
the  shocking  adventures  going  on 
around  them.  Morality,  as  we  under- 
stand it  nowadays,  does  not  seem  to 
have  had  any  existence.  Most  people 
behaved  badly,  and  never  thought  of 
being  ashamed  of  it. 

To  stay  this  tide  of  corruption ,  to 
battle  against  the   profligacy  and  de- 
generacy of  the  age,. was  the  work  of 
this   great    master  mind.     This  man, 
!    William   Hogarth,   on   whom    such  a 
j    singular  oflice  devolved,  '  the  only  pro- 
,    phet-painter   ever    produced,'    we   are 
told, '  was  not  a  person  whose  character 

'        *  Mr.s.  Oliphaat. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


71 


would  have  made  such  au  office  prob- 
able.' Born  in  London  in  1 097,  of  an 
honest  but  obscure  fainily,  this  son  of 
a  Westmoreland  schoolmaster,  whohad 
settled  in  the  metropolis  as  :i  corrector 
of  the  i)ress,  and  had  lived  chiefly  by 
his  wits,  William  Hogarth  grew  up  — 
his  biographer  tells  us — a  gay,  care- 
less, good-natured  sort  of  a  fellow, 
without  any  great  delicacy  of  percep- 
tion or  fineness  of  feeling,  but  with 
eyes  wide  open,  that  could  not  help 
seeing  the  evil  around  him  ;  with  a 
strict  sense  of  morality,  and  with  re- 
markable powers  of  observation  ;  and 
combined  with  these  a  faculty  of  faith- 
fully rendering  what  he  saw  equal  to 
the  power.  A  man  of  such  a  character, 
with  a  mind  strongly  prepossessed 
in  favour  of  a  rigorous  morality ; 
quick-sighted,  shrewd  and  practical  ; 
not  so  much  shocked  by  the  wicked- 
ness around  him  as  practically  con- 
vinced of  the  necessity  of  putting  a 
stop  to  it,  in  the  interest  of  humanity, 
might  be  supposed  to  find  work  readily 
to  his  hand.  He  saw  what  there  was 
to  be  seen,  and  it  was  his  work  to 
scourge  it,  which  he  did  so  effectually 
that  generations  since  have  thanked 
him  for  the  service  he  did  to  morality. 
He  knew  that  the  vice  and  folly  of  his 
day  were  very  shameful  vice  and  folly, 
and  not  caring  whether  he  gave  offence 
or  forfeited  favour,  he  never  faltered, 
nor  palliated  guilt  among  the  aristo- 
cracy, '  but  came  down  with  the  blow 
of  a  sledge-hammer  on  the  profligacy 
of  the  times.'  The  incident  which 
first,  revealed  the  bent  of  his  genius 
was  quite  amusing  !  One  day,  during 
his  api)renticeship  to  Ellis  Gamble,  he 
went  with  two  or  three  of  his  com- 
panions to  Highgate  on  a  little  excur- 
sion. The  weather  was  warm,  and 
they  went  into  a  roadside  ale-house 
and  called  for  beer.  Some  persons  who 
had  previously  entered  were  already 
growing  quarrelsome  over  their  cups. 
One  of  them  received  so  sharp  a  blow 
upon  the  head  from  a  quart  cup  that 
he  put  on  an  awfully  rueful  counte- 
nance, which  Hogarth  sketched  on  his 


thumb  nail  on  the  spot.  The  result 
was  a  most  amusing  caricature,  which 
when  handed  around  the  room  re- 
stored all  parties  to  good  humour. 
Upon  another  occasion,  a  wonian  who 
was  quarrelling  with  one  of  her  com- 
panions in  a  cellar,  filled  her  mouth 
with  brandy  and  dexterously  squirted 
it  into  her  antagonist's  eye,  in  the 
presence  of  Hogarth,  who  immediately 
sketched  the  scene.  The  cleverness 
with  which  he  turned  these  incidents 
to  account  sufficiently  indicate  the  line 
of  art  in  which  he  was  likely  to  suc- 
ceed. 

When  still  quite  young,  Hogarth 
was  apprenticed  to  the  silver-j)late 
engraver,  Ellis  Gamble,  and  was  prin- 
cipally employed  in  engraving  armsand 
monograms.  But  this  kind  of  life  did 
not  suit  him  by  any  means,  for  all  this 
time  his  head  was  filled  with  the  allego- 
rical paintings  of  Thornhill  andL  iguer- 
re,  at  Greenwich  and  at  St.  Paul's,  and 
his  utmost  ambition  was  to  become  a 
'  historico-allegorico-scriptural  painter, 
and  make  angels  sprawl  on  covered 
ceilings  and  fawns  blare  their  trum- 
pets on  grand  staircases.'  However, 
he  remained  with  Ellis  Gamble  till  he 
was  about  twenty  one,  when  he  I'e- 
nounced  .silver  engraving  for  engraving 
on  copper.  With  Gamble  he  learned  to 
draw,  and  fired  by  the  ambition  of  emu- 
lating Laguerre  he  acquired  the  use  of 
the  graver  and  pencil.  While  still  an 
apprentice  he  amused  himself  and 
others  by  drawing  caricatures.  These 
sketches  were  probably  oftener  mons- 
trosities than  caricatures,  but  they  were 
the  stepping-stones  to  a  facility  and 
power  which  ranks  his  name  with  the 
greatest  satirists  of  modern  times. 

About  this  time  Sir  James  Thorn- 
hill  opened  an  academy  at  St.  Martin's 
Lane,  for  studying  from  life,  and  Ho- 
I    garth  became  one  of  the  earliest  pupils 
of   the  King's  sergeant-painter.      His 
1    proficiency    was    not    so    great   as  to 
t    cause    his    fellow-students   any   pangs 
of  jealousy  ;  iudeed  it  was  below  me- 
diocrity at   first ;  nor  would  he  ever 
liave  attained  to  much  eminence  as  a 


THE  DAWN  OF  EJSGLISH  ART. 


painter,  says  Dr.  Trusler,  if  he  bad 
not  learned  to  penetiwte  througli  ex- 
ternal form  to  character  and  manners. 
His  progress  was  fair,  however, 
although  it  did  lack  brilliancy.  Do- 
mcnichino  is  said  to  have  been  called 
by  his  companions  '  the  ox,'  and  yet 
he  proved  in  the  end  that  an  ox  even 
might  have  suthcient  talent  to  eclipse 
every  scholar  in  the  school.  Hogarth 
says,  '  as  soon  as  I  became  master  of 
my  own  time  I  determined  to  qualify 
mvself  for  engraving  on  copper,'  and 
one  of  his  biographers  tells  us  that  he 
supported  himself  at  tliis  early  period 
of  his  life  '  by  engraving  arms  and 
shoiibills.'  For  some  time  he  worked 
for  booksellei-s,  and  engraved  plates 
and  illustrations  for  books.  An  edi- 
tion of  Hudibras  aflbrded  him  tlie  first 
subject  suited  to  his  genius  ;  his  illus- 
trations of  that  and  of  Don  Quixote 
are  still  preserved,  though  both  works 
are  far  inferior  to  those  that  were  to 
come.  In  the  meantime  he  had  learned 
to  use  the  brush  as  well  as  the  pencil 
and  graver,  and  he  soon  acquired  con- 
siderable employment  as  a  portrait 
painter.  He  possessed  great  facility 
in  seizing  a  likeness  ;  the  only  draw- 
back was  in  the  fidelity  with  which  he 
painted. 

An  amusing  anecdote  is  told  of  his 
painting  the  portrait  of  a  nobleman 
remarkable  for  his  ugly  features  and 
deformity.  The  picture  was  a  triumph, 
and  not  only  expressed  the  outward 
hideousness  of  the  peer  with  remark- 
able fidelity,  but  also,  probably,  the 
groveling  soul  within.  Disgusted  with 
the  picture  the  nobleman  refused  to 
pay  for  it.  Hogarth  insisted  in  vain, 
and  after  numerous  unsuccessful  appli- 
cations had  been  made  for  payment, 
the  painter  resorted  to  an  expedient 
which  he  knew  must  arouse  the  noble- 
man's pride.  He  sent  him  the  follow- 
ing   card  : — '  Mr.     Hogarth's    dutiful 

respects  to  Lord ;  finding  that 

he  does  not  mean  to  have  the  picture 
which  was  arouse  for  him,  he  is  in- 
formed again  of  Mr.  Hogarth's  pressing 
necessities  for  the  money.     If,  there- 


I  fore,  his  Lordship  does  not  send  for  it 
in  three  days  it  will  be  disposed  of, 
with  the  addition  of  a  tail  and  some 
other  appendages,  to  Mr.  Hare,  the 
famous  loild  beast  man,  Mr.  H.  having 
given  that  gentleman  a  conditional 
promise  on  his  Lordship's  refusal.' 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that 
the  picture  was  immediately  paid  for, 
and  committed  to  the  flames.*  To 
Hogarth  his  sitter  was  a  character 
whose  oddities  or  eccentricities  he 
could  not  help  seizing.  '  I  found  by 
mortifying  experience,'  he  says,  '  that 
whoever  would  succeed  in  portrait- 
painting  must  adopt  the  mode  recom- 
mended in  one  of  (iray's  fables,  and 
make  divinities  of  all  who  sit  to  him.' 
The  first  print  he  published  was  one 
called  '  the  Taste  of  the  Town'  or 
'  Burlington  Gate,'  which  is  simply  a 
satire  upon  the  times,  and  shows  the 
disgust  of  the  artist  at  the  fashion- 
able follies  and  at  the  taste  of  the  Eng- 
lish peoj>le  in  running  after  Italian 
artists  and  singers. 

But  before  proceeding  to  describe 
this  print,  we  must  say  a  few  words 
about  some  of  the  connoisseurs  of  the 
age.  In  those  days  there  flourished 
two  now  nearly  forgotten  celebrities, 
Kent,  the  architect,  painter,  decorator, 
upholsterer,  landscape-gardener  and 
friend  of  '  the  aristocracy ' ;  and  Sir 
James  Thornhill,  art-referee  in  gener- 
al. Sir  James  was  a  worthy,  pompous, 
magnifico,  who  had  wit  enough  to  dis- 
cern the  young  painter's  capacity,  and 
condescended  to  patronize  him.  Kent 
was  considered  qiiite  a  Don  in  the  art 
world,  and  he  became  so  remarkably 
popular,  and  acquii-ed  such  a  reputa- 
tion for  taste,  that  he  was  consulted 
on  almost  eveiy  topic,  and  was  urged 
to  furnish  designs  for  the  most  incon- 
gruous objects.  He  was  consulted  about 
picture-frames,  looking-glasses,  barges, 
dining-room  tables,  garden  chairs, 
cradles ;  and  so  imperious  was  fashion 
that  two  great  ladies  prevailed  on  him 
to    make    designs   for  their  birihda,y- 

•Dr,  Trusler. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


73 


gowns.  One  he  dressed  in  a  petticoat, 
decorated  with  cohimns  of  the  five 
orders  ;  the  other  like  a  bronze  in  a  cop- 
per-coloured satin  with  gold  ornaments. 

His  celebrated  monument  of  Shake- 
speare, in  the  Abl)ey  at  llichmond,  is 
said  to  be  preposterous.  Lord  Bur- 
lington became  his  patron,  gave  him 
apartments  in  his  own  house,  and 
through  his  interest  procured  the 
artist  employment  in  various  works. 
Through  the  favour  of  Lord  liurling- 
ton,  and  the  patronage  of  the  Queen, 
he  was  made  master  carpenter,  archi- 
tect, keeper  of  the  pictures,  and,  after 
the  death  of  Jervas,  principal  painter 
to  the  crown.  Yet  his  paintings  wei-e 
mere  daubs  :  his  portraits  bore  little 
resemblance  to  the  persons  who  sat  for 
them,  and  the  colouring  was  worse 
than  that  of  the  most  errant  journey- 
man to  the  profession.  In  most  of  his 
ceilings  his  drawing  was  as  defective 
as  the  colouring  of  his  portraits  and 
equally  void  of  merit.  ^  He  was  at 
best  best  but  a  '  wretched  sciolist';  but, 
as  we  have  said,  for  a  long  time  he  di- 
rected the  taste  of  the  town.  He  had 
at  last  the  presumption  to  paint  an 
altar-piece  for  the  church  of  St.  Cle- 
ment Danes. 

The  good  parishioners — men  of  no 
taste  at  all — burst  into  a  shout  of  de- 
rision and  astonishment  at  this  remark- 
able performance.  Hogarth,  happen- 
ing to  see  the  picture,  forthwith  saw  a 
subject  for  his  pencil,  and  proceeded 
to  '  take  off"  the  daub.  He  came  out 
with  an  engraving  of  Kent's  master- 
piece, which  was  generally  considered 
an  unmerciful  caricature,  but  which 
he  himself  declared  to  be  a  perfect 
copy  of  the  picture. 

It  was  Hogarth's  first  declaration 
of  war  against  the  connoisseurs. 
The  caricature  made  a  noise  in  the 
world  ;  the  parishioners  grew  more 
and  more  indignant  at  such  a  daub 
being  imposed  upon  them,  till  at  last 
the  Bishop  of  London  interfered  and 
ordered  the  removal  of  the  obnoxious 

*  Horace  Walpole. 


picture.  Kent's  masterpiece  descended 
into  an  ornament  for  a  tavern.  For 
many  years  it  was  to  be  seen  at  the 
*  Crown  and  Anchor'  in  the  Strand  : 
then  it  disa[)peared  and  faded  away 
from  the  visible  things  extant.*  In 
his  prints  for  Spenser's  'Fairy  Queen,' 
also,  Kent's  faults  are  glaring.  There 
are  figures  issuing  from  cottages  not 
so  high  as  their  shoulders  ;  castles,  in 
which  the  towers  could  not  contain 
an  infant,  and  trees  which  are  mostly 
young  beeches,  to  which  Kent,  as  a 
))lanter  was  accustomed,  says  Horace 
Walpole.  To  compensate  for  his  bad 
])aintings,  however,  he  was  a  good 
architect,  and  the  inventor  of  land- 
scape gardening.  Walpole  says  'Maho- 
met imagined  an  elysium,  but  Kent 
created  many.'  The  partiality  of  Lord 
Burlington,  however, — who  was  con- 
sidered a  man  of  taste  in  painting  and 
architecture — gained  Kent  many  fav- 
ours, which  of  course  excited  the 
jealousy  and  envy  of  his  brother  ar- 
tists— especially  of  Sir  James  Thorn- 
hill.  Sir  James  was  also  greatly  the 
fashion ;  he  was  the  successor  of 
Yerrio,  and  the  rival  of  Laguerre  in 
the  decoration  of  the  palaces  and  pub- 
lic buildings  of  England — for  which 
mural  decorations  he  was  paid  by  the 
square  yard.  Sir  James's  greatest 
work  is  the  ceiling  of  the  Painted 
Hall  of  Greenwich  Hospital.  In  this 
great  hall  designed  by  Sir  Christopher 
Wren,  we  can  look  on  a  cloudy  Olympus 
extensively  furnished  with  gods  and 
goddesses  crouching  round  William 
and  Mary,  Anne  and  Prince  George. 
His  demands  for  painting  the  hall,  how- 
ever, were  contested,  and  although  La 
Fosse  received  £3,000  for  his  work 
at  Montague  House,  the  old  British 
Museum,  Sir  James,  besides  his  dig- 
nity as  member  of  Parliament  for  his 
native  town  of  Weymouth,  could  ob- 
tain but  the  forty  shillings  a  square 
yard  for  painting  the  cupola  of  St. 
Paul's.  Thus  he  did  not  grow  rich 
through  the  patronage  afibrded  native 

*  Mr.  Ireland. 


74 


THE  DAWN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


talent.  However  he  received  a  great 
price  for  painting  the  Hall  at  Blen- 
heim, and,  for  the  embellishment  of 
Moor  Park,  he  received  £4,000.  He 
was  descended  from  an  aristocratic 
family,  and  in  time  was  enabled  to 
buy  back  the  family  estate  at  Wey- 
mouth. He  was  knighted  by  George 
I.,  and  stood  in  high  favour  for  many 
years.  Sir  James  and  Kent  were 
rivals,  each  considering  himself  a  con- 
noisseur in  the  art  world ;  and  '  if 
extent  of  surface  is  to  be  taken  as  a 
test  of  ability  in  painting,  Thornhill 
certainly  excelled  both  Kent  and  Sir 
Godfrey  in  his  mural  decorations.' 
This  prosperous  school  of  art  has  long 
been  in  hopeless  decay.  One  sees  the 
remains  of  it  only  in  hair-dressers 
toilet  saloons,  and  provincial  music 
halls.  Old  Montague  House  is  no 
more ;  Timon's  villa  has  vanished ; 
Doctor  Misaubin's  house  in  St.  Mar- 
tin's lane,  the  staircase  of  which  was 
painted  by  Clermont,  the  Frenchman, 
who  asked  500  guineas  for  his  work, 
is  not  now  in  existence.  '  Examples 
of  this  florid,  truculent  style  are  be- 
coming rarer  and  rarer  every  day. 
Painted  ceilings  and  stall-cases  yet 
remain  in  some  grand  old  half-deserted 
country  mansions,  and  in  a  fewonce gor- 
geous merchants'  houses,  in  Fenchurch 
and  Leadenhall,  now  let  out  in  flats  as 
ofiices  and  chambei-s.'  One  can  still 
feast  one's  eyes  on  the  painted  ceilings 
of  Marlborough  House  and  tl-impton 
Court  Palace  staircase,  and  in  Green- 
wich Hall,  as  we  have  before  re- 
marked ;  but  stucco  and  stencilled 
paper-hangings  have  taken  the  place 
almost  entirely  of  those  allegorical  de- 
corations. Even  the  French,  who  are 
so  fond  of  ornament,  and  who  still  oc- 
casionally paint  the  ceilings  of  their 
palaces,  seem  to  have  given  up  almost 
entirely  such  excessive  decorations, 
and  '  merely  paint  a  picture,'  we  learn, 
'  in  which  the  figures  are  attenuated 
vertically  instead  of  sprawling  down 
upon  you  isoraetrically  upside  down.' 
But  it  was  at  this  time — during  the 
reign  of  George  II. — that  architecture 


revived  in  antique  purity.  Horace 
Walpole  rates  Kent  highly  as  an  arch- 
itect, and  calls  him  '  the  restorer  of 
the  science.' 

The  Queen  employed  Kent,  and  sat 
to  Zincke.  The  King,  it  is  true,  cared 
little  for  refined  pleasures,  but  Queen 
Caroline  was  ever  i-eady  to  reward 
merit,  and  wished  to  have  her  reign 
illustrated  by  monuments  of  genius. 
She  enshrined  Newton,  Boyle  and 
Locke.  Pope  might  have  had  her 
favour,  and  Swift  did  have  it  till  inso- 
lent, under  the  mask  of  independence, 
and  not  content  without  domineering 
over  her  politics,  she  abandoned  bim 
to  his  ill  humour.* 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  art  world  ' 
in  1727,  when  Hogarth  came  out  with 
his  celebrated  satires  ;  the  first  of 
which,  '  The  Taste  of  the  Town,'  or 
'  Burlington  Gate,'  we  have  alluded  to 
above.  This  print  appeared  in  1723, 
and  was  the  satirist's  first  essay  in  that 
branch  of  art — in  which  he  afterwards 
achieved  such  success.  On  a  show- 
cloth,  on  one  side  of  the  print,  is  the 
portrait  of  George  II.  and  also  that  of 
the  Earl  of  Peterborough,  who  offers 
Cuzzoni,  the  Italian  singer,  X8,000, 
and  she  spurns  at  him.  Had  Cuzzoni 
and  the  other  performers  been  English 
instead  of  Italian,  it  is  probable  that 
they  would  not  have  called  forth  so 
strongly  the  painter's  wrath,  since  it 
was  more  the  fact  of  foreignei's  being 
preferred  to  Englishmen  that  seemed 
to  annoy  him.t  A  celebrated  authoress 
has  told  us  '  that  these  were  the  days 
of  rampant  nationality,  when  an  Eng- 
lishman thought  himself  equal  to  three 
Frenchmen,  and  when  even  so  impar- 
tial a  mind  as  that  of  Hume  recognised 
with  surprise  and  benevolent  satisfac- 
tion that  Germany  was  a  habitable 
country.' 

While  crowds  are  pouring  to-  mas- 
querades and  opera,  in  thir,  print,  a 
waste-paper  dealer  wheels  across  the 
foreground  of  the  i)icture  a  wheelbar- 
row   full    of    the    neglected  works  of 


Horace  Walpole. 


t  Dr.  Trusler. 


THE  DAWN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


75 


English  dramatists,  in  which  Shake- 
speare ranks  no  higher  than  Con^reve. 
The  state  of  art  is  symbolized  behind 
by  a  statue  of  Kent,  who  stands  erect 
on  the  summit  of  Burlington  Gate, 
supported  by  reclining  figures  of 
Michael  Angclo  and  Raphael  ! 

This  print  took  the  fancy  of  the 
public,  and  became  so  popular  that  it 
was  pirated,  and  Hogarth  lost  the 
large  sum  he  should  have  received.  It 
was  probably  to  conciliate  the  favour 
of  Sir  James  Thornhill,  whose  academy 
he  was  attending  at  the  time,  and 
whose  young  daughter  he  was  so  much 
interested  in,  that  Hogarth  had  so 
severely  ridiculed  his  rival,  Kent.  He 
had  pilloried  '  the  Corinthian  petticoat 
man '  in  the  parody  of  the  wretched 
'  St.  Clement  Dane's  altar-piece,'  and 
thus  had  a  fling  at  him  besides  in 
Burlington  Gate,  which  was  probably 
the  most  acceptable  compliment  he 
could  pay  a  vain  pompous  man  like 
Sir  James  Thornhill.* 

It  was  while  attending  the  academy 
of  Sir  James  that  he  saw  and  fell  in 
love  with  the  pretty  daughter  of  that 
artist.  As  the  young  lady  returned 
his  affection,  the  result  was  that  Jane 
Thornhill  ran  away  with  the  painter, 
and  they  were  secretly  married  in  the 
year  1730.  Hogarth  was  a  poor  artist 
at  this  time,  struggling  on  in  compara- 
tive obscurity,  working  hard  to  get  a 
living,  and  naturally  Sir  James  was 
very  angry  at  this  imprudent  step,  and 
refused  to  be  I'econciled  to  his  daughter. 
Her  mother,  however,  was  their  friend 
during  this  trying  period,  and  by  her 
advice  Hogarth  placed  some  of  the 
pictures  of  his  first  great  series — the 
'  Harlot's  Progress  ' — where  Sir  James 
would  see  them.  Sir  James  was  much 
intex-ested,  but  learning  by  whom  they 
were  painted  remarked  :  '  The  man 
who  can  produce  such  pictures  as  these 


*  Dr.  Trusler  says  :  That  this  satirical  per- 
formance, Burlington  Gate,  was  drawn  at  the 
instigation  of  Sir  James  Thornhill,  out  of 
jealousy,  because  Lord  Burlington  had  given 
Kent  the  preference  in  jaainting  Kensington 
Palace. 


can  also  maintain  a  wife  without  a 
portion.'  The  battle  was  nearly  gained, 
however,  for  soon  after  he  took  the 
young  couple  to  his  heart  and  home, 
and  lived  happily  with  them  until  his 
death.  .  Before  Hogarth's  marriage  his 
conversation  pieces  had  begun ;  he 
could  not  depend  entirely  upon  book 
illustrating  or  uncertain  portrait- 
painting,  and  while  casting  about  for 
his  fit  work — with  dim  suggestions  of 
it  floating  in  his  brain — the  ambitious 
project  crossed  his  mind  of  attempting 
hiscoric  painting.  He  tells  us,  '  with- 
out having  had  a  stroke  of  this  grand 
business  before,  I  painted  small  por- 
traits and  familiar  conversations,  and 
with  a  smile  at  my  own  temerity  com- 
menced history-painting.  On  the  great 
staircase  at  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital 
I  painted  two  scriptural  stories,  the 
"  Pool  of  Bethesda  "  and  the  "  Good 
Samaritan,"  with  figures  seven  feet 
high.'  The  result  of  this  attempt  by 
no  means  fulfilled  his  expectations. 

These  vast  compositions  served  to 
show  that  sacred  art  was  not  in  Ho- 
garth's line,  and  that  he  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  grand  and  heroic.  He 
saw  that  some  new  attempt  must  be 
made  to  strike  out  an  individual  path  ; 
he  felt  himself  thrill  with  power  and 
the  capacity  for  doing  something  origi- 
nal, and  in  this  state  of  doubt  his 
attention  v/as  attracted  by  a  novel 
idea.  '  I  thought  both  writers  and 
painters  had,  in  the  historical  style,' 
he  says,  '  totally  overlooked  that  inter- 
mediate species  of  subjects  which  iiiay 
be  placed  between  the  sublime  and  the 
grotesque.  I,  therefore,  wished  to  com- 
pose pictures  on  canvas  similar  to 
representations  on  the  stage ;  and 
further,  hope  that  they  will  be  tried 
by  the  same  tests  and  criticised  by  the 
same  criterion.  Let  it  be  observed  that 
I  mean  to  speak  only  of  those  scenes 
where  the  human  species  are  actors, 
and  these,  I  think,  have  not  oftenheen 
delineated  in  a  way  of  which  they  are 
worthy  and  capable.'  The  painter, 
we  may  suppose,  saw  a  new  open- 
ing for  his  power    '  which    men    not 


76 


THE  DA  WN  OF  ENGLISH  ART. 


trained  to  the  heights  of  the 
nymphs  and  goddesses '  could  appre- 
ciate, and  therefore  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  novel  idea  of  painting 
and  engraving  modern  moral  subjects, 
'  a  field  not  broken  up  in  any  country 
or  age,'  he  says.  This  resolution  pro- 
duced 'The  Harlot's  Progress,'  'The 
Rake's  Progress,'  and  '  The  Marriage  a- 
la-Mode,'  all  of  tliem  very  remark- 
able and  origiual  works. 

It  was  soon  after  his  marriage  that 
Hogarth  commenced  his  lirst  great 
series,  '  The  Harlot's  Progress,'  which 
brought  him  before  the  public  as  a 
man  of  remarkable  genius.  When 
the  prints  a})peared  they  were  beheld 
with  astonishment ;  a  subject  so  novel 
in  the  idea,  so  marked  with  genius  in 
the  execution,  excited  the  most  eager 
attention  of  the  public.  The  third 
scene  in  these  remarkable  paintings 
proved  a  decided  hit,  and  at  a  Board 
of  Treasury  held  a  day  or  two  after  its 
appearance,  one  of  the  Lords  exhibited 
a  copy  of  it,  calling  attention  at  the 
same  time  to  a  striking  likeness  of  Sir 
James  Gonson,  a  celebrated  magistrate 
of  that  day,  well  kaown  for  his  vigour 
in  the  suppression  of  brothels.  *  From 
the  Treasury  each  Lord  repaired  to  the 
print-shop  for  a  copy  of  the  picture,  and 
Hogarth  rose  into  high  fame.  Over 
1200  subscribers  entered  their  names 
for  the  plates  immediately,  accordingto 
Dr.  Trusler.  So  popular  was  the  series 
that  a  pantomime  founded  on  them, 
was  represented  at  one  of  the  theatres, 
and  imitations  were  copied  on  fans 
and  other  equally  indispensable  articles 
of  coquetry  and  fashion.  It  was  also 
represented  in  a  ballad  opera,  entitled 
'The  Jew  Decoyed.'  At  a  time  when 
England  was  very  inattentive  to  every- 
thing relating  to  art,  so  anxious  were 
all  ranks  of  people  to  see  how  this  little 
story  was  delineated,  that  there  were 
eight  piratical  imitations,  besides  two 
copies  in  a  smaller  size  than  the  origi- 

*  Sir  James  Gonson  is  now  forsrotten,  hut 
in  those  days  the  stern  Middlesex  Justice  was 
a>  man  greatly  feared  by  the  dissipated  rioters 
and  debauchees  of  the  times. 


ginal  published  by  permission  of  the 
author  for  Thomas  Bakewell.  '  The 
Harlot's  Progress '  is  a  story  in  picture- 
writing  of  exceeding  interest.  It  car- 
ries us  step  by  step  through  the  history 
of  a  fair  young  girl,  from  the  time  she 
is  first  tempted,  gi-adually  through  the 
various  scenes  of  her  disgraceful  and 
wicked  career,  to  the  time  of  he: 
death.  The  story  commences  with  her 
arrival  in  London,  where  •  she  is  intro- 
duced to  Colonel  Francis  Chartres,* 
the  debauchee  in  the  first  painting  of 
the  series  already  distinguished  by 
Pope.  He  leads  on  by  artful  flattery 
and  liberal  promises,  till  becoming  in- 
toxicated with  dreams  of  imaginary 
greatness,  she  falls  an  easy  victim.  A 
short  time  convinces  her  of  how  light 
a  breath  these  promises  were  made ; 
deserted  by  her  lovers,  and  terrified 
by  threats  of  an  immediate  arrest  for 
debt,  after  being  for  a  time  protected 
by  one  of  the  tribe  of  Levi,  she  is  re- 
duced to  the  liard  necessity  of  wander- 
ing the  streets.  Chilled  by  biting 
frost  and  midnight  rain,  the  repentant 
tear  trickling  down  her  cheeks,  she 
endeavours  to  drown  reflection  in 
draughts  of  intoxicating  liquors.  This, 
added  to  the  contagion  of  low  company, 
completely  eradicates  every  seed  of 
virtue,  t  Her  death  is  simple  tragedy, 
dreadful — not  pathetic ;  we  pity  and 
are  horrified,  but  cannot  weep  over 
her  sad  fate.  The  funeral  is  also  full 
of  interest,  and  in  the  white  neck- 
clothed  clergyman,  Hogarth  has  sati- 
rized the  profligacy  of  the  clergy, 
with  the  intention  of  showing  that 
'  though  many  go  forth,  few  are 
sent.'  Hogarth  has  been  called  the 
biographical    dramatist    of    domestic 


*  That  Chartres  was  a  monster  of  avarice 
and  a  marvel  of  impudence  ;  that  he  was  con- 
demned to  death  for  a  dreadful  crime,  and 
only  escaped  the  halter  through  the  interest 
of  friends  ;  that  he  was  a  cheat,  a  gambler,  a 
usurer,  and  a  profligate  ;  that  he  was  accursed 
while  living,  and  that  the  populace^  almost 
tore  his  body  from  his  remote  grave  in  Scot- 
land, are  facts  too  well  known  to  be  recapitu- 
lated. 

t  Dr.  Tnxsler. 


life,  in  all  these  scenes  we  see  such  a 
close  regard  paid  to  things  as  they 
then  were,  so  that  his  prints  became 
a'  sort  of  historical  record  of  the 
manners  of  the  age.  Charles  Lamb 
says,  '  his  pictures  are  not  so  much 
painted,  as  they  are  ivritten  ivith  the 
brush,  in  strong  plain  characters,  often 
conveying  terrible  meanings.'     '  Other 


CONFESSIONS.  77 

pictures,'  he  says,  '  we  look  at  ;  his 
prints  we  read.'  •  The  Harlot's  Pro- 
gress' was  followed  by  another  se- 
ries, 'The  Rake's  Progress,'  but  this 
was  not  so  popular  as  the  first,  al- 
though in  many  respects  it  was  said 
to  have  been  superior  in  interest  and 
in  artistic  skill. 

{To  be  continued.) 


CONFESSIONS. 

A    SERIES    OF    SONNETS, 
BY    '  SERANUS,'    OTTAWA. 


YOUR  hair  is  brown  o'erlaid  with  gold,  I  know. 
On  the  right  side  a  wave,  a  droop  divine, 

Tempts  my  fond  fingers  rashly  to  entwine 
Their  longing  in  its  warmth  and  bronze-hued  glow. 
I  know,  too,  the  quick  toss  with  which  you  throw 

That  weight  of  wavy  brownness  back — the  sign 

That  you  are  tired — and  whiter  far  than  mine 
(Tho'  I'm  not  dark),  your  forehead's  mount  of  snow 

Appears.     0  marks  of  wormwood  and  of  gall  ! 
I  know  them,  too, — five  furrows  made  by  Care 

And  travail  of  high  thought  and  all  unrest ; 

(You  were  not  happy  on  your  mother's  breast) 
.'.  ;  this  I  know  of  you,  and  yet — I  swear 

I  never  looked  at  you  to  learn  it  all. 


I  never  looked  that  you  could  see^ — but  yet 

(You  have  forgotten)  once  you  stooped  to  find 
My  thread  and  thimble — O,  I  have  no  mind 
For  sewing — have  no  patience — and  forget 
To  keep  the  things  upon  my  lap — Please  let 
Me  help  you — you  should  have  a  bag  rose-lined 
To  hold  such  stuff — you  knelt  and  tried  to  wind 

The  cotton  you  condemned  ;  our  shoulders  met, 
I  flamed,  and  feasted  with  my  eyes,  for  there, 
One  moment  burnt  into  my  consciousness, 
I  saw  the  weary  beauty  of  your  brow, 
I  saw  the  brown  tints  radiant,  and  now 
I  know  I  shall  not  rest  until  I  press 

My  face  against  the  glory  of  that  hair. 


78 


CONFESSIONS. 
III. 

I  shall  not  try  to  write  about  your  eyes. 

I  have  not  thought  about  them.     I  have  heard 
That  they  are  brown,  and  now  my  heart  is  stirred 

To  quicker  beating— 0,  I  must  be  wise, 

I  cannot  think  about  them.     But  the  prize 

That  most  I  long  for,  more  than  loving  word, 
(Though  that  I  pray  for,  too,  why  he,  your  bird, 

Lives  on  your  daily  petting,  and  the  song  dies 
Within  his  little  throat  if  you  refuse 

Your  notice  or  caress),  yea,  more  than  bliss 

Of  loving  word  and  more  than  hand-pressed  hand, 
Far  more  than  clasped  in  arms  of  love  to  stand — 
Is  once  to  find  you  sleeping  and  to  kiss 

Your  sleeping  eyelids.     This  prize  do  I  choose. 

IV. 

0  for  the  magic  of  some  Grecian  girl  ! 

Simantha-like  to  melt  a  waxen  ball 

And  with  wild  words  and  whirling  wheels  to  call 
Upon  my  lover  !     0  for  length  of  curl, 
For  satin  shoulders  and  for  teeth  of  pearl, 

For  warm  white  breasts  that  softly  rise  and  fall 

Like  her's — that  Vivien's — who  did  creep  with  all 
Her  sweetness  into  Merlin'  arms  and  furl 

His  beard  around  her  beauty — I  forget. 
We  are  not  lovers.     What  should  magic  do 

For  me  who  hardly  dare  to  call  you  friend  1 
Nor  will  I  be  your  Vivien,  but  defend 

Myself  from  my  rash  self  and  sadly  go 
Through  life  as  in  the  days  before  we  met. 

V. 

And  are  you  sorry  to  have  known  me  ?    So 

You  spake  one  evening.     I  could  not  say  Ye^. 

I  could  not  tell  whether  to  curse  or  bless 
My  life  you  came.     I  think  I  told  you  No  ; 
Which  did  not  mean  that  I  was  glad,  although 

You  thought  I  meant  some  gladness  to  confess. 

Not  sorry  is  not  glad.     A  sweet  distress 
Is  in  my  heart  ;  I  am  not  happy.     No, 

And  yet  I  were  unhappier  without 
Your  friendship.     Better  too  1  must  have  been 

Since  I  have  known  you  ;  we  are  told  to  crush, 

Deny,  and  mortify  ourselves — no  blush 
Of  love  must  ever  on  my  face  be  seen — 

My  portion,  Love,  in  love  to  love,  yet  doubt. 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


79 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


BY  REV.  ROBT,  CAMPBELL,  M.A.,  MONTREAL. 


THE   recent    publication    of    Mr. 
Rattray's  '  Scot  in  British  North 
America  '  affords  fresh  evidence  of  the 
eminent  adaptedness  of  the  people  of 
North  Britain  for  colonial  life.    Surly 
Samuel     Johnson —  '  Ursa    Major  ' — 
thought  he  was  hitting  the  Scot,  for 
whom  he  had  no  very  strong  partiali- 
ty, hard,  when  he  said  '  that  the  high 
road  to  London  was  the  finest  view  a 
Scotchman  ever  saw.'  Other  ill-natured 
persons  have  sought  to   poke   fun  at 
*  the  land   of  the  mountain   and  the 
flood  '  and  its  inhabitants,  by  remark- 
ing that  '  it  is  a  tine  country  to  leave.' 
Such  innuendos  are  meant  to  reproach 
the  Scot   for   the   ease    and  readiness 
with  which  he  is  able  to  tear  himself 
away  from  his  native  land.      Yet  it  is 
not  every  man  that  makes  a  good  emi- 
grant :  certain  high  qualities  are  de- 
manded to  fit  one  tor  becoming  a  citi- 
zen of  any  country  in  which  his  lot  is 
cast.      Mental  hospitality  is  the  first 
of  these  requisites,  and  it  is  found  in 
an    eminent    degree    in     '  the    Scot 
abroad.'     My  object  in  this  paper  is 
to  endeavour  to  make  this  point  clear. 
A  man's  trying  to  lift  himself  by 
his  own  waistband  is  the   stock  illus- 
tration of  futility.      It  may  seem  an 
equally  impossible  task  for  a  Scot  to 
attempt  the  diagnosis  of  the  character- 
istics of  the   Scot.     The  undertaking 
would  appear  more  proper  to  a  repre- 
sentative of  another  nationality,  from 
whose  point  of  view   the  Scot  would 
be  entirely  objective.      I  might,   per- 
haps, plead  that  though  descended  in 
a  double  line  from  Diarmid  O'Duine, 
I  am  so  far  qualified  to  perform  the 
part  of  an  outside  observer,  since  I 


was  born  *  furth  '  of  Scotland.  Any 
one  with  a  head  on  his  shoulders  who 
has  been  brought  up  in  the  clear  at- 
mosphere of  Canada,  where  so  many 
races  are  found  side  by  side,  and  are, 
therefore,  easily  contrasted,  ought  to 
be  able  to  discriminate  between  them 
and  hit  off  the  salient  qualities  of  each. 
It  is  not  necessary,  however,  to  con- 
cede that  a  Scot  is  disqualified  for  ana- 
lyzing the  peculiarities  of  his  country- 
men on  account  of  his  inability  to  get 
beyond  himself.  A  man  may  be  in- 
spected from  within  as  well  as  from 
without ;  and  I  have  the  warrant  of 
Scottish  Philosophy  for  claiming  that 
consciousness  may  take  note  of  what 
is  purely  mental.  Buckle  falls  foul 
of  this  characteristic  of  the  school  of 
thought  of  Hutcheson  and  Reid.  He 
charges  it  with  being  '  Deductive,'  as 
if  it  was  pui-ely  speculative,  as  opposed 
to  the  Baconian  method  of  induction 
from  observed  facts.  The  champions 
of  '  the  Philosophy  of  Common  Sense' 
are  far  from  accepting  the  English- 
man's description  of  it  as  correct.  They 
claim  that  their  system  does  rest  on 
facts,  but  then  these  facts  are  gathered 
by  consciousness — are  to  be  discovered 
by  inquiring  after  the  internal  opera- 
tions of  the  mind  itself, — rather  than 
by  forming  conclusions  from  its  ex- 
ternal products.  Backed  up,  then,  by 
Scottish  Philosophy,  myself  a  Canadian 
Scot,  and  so  qualified  to  look  at  the 
question  half  subjectively  and  half 
objectively,  I  proceed  with  my  ven- 
tui'e. 

The  fii'st  thing  demanded  by  a  severe 
logic  would  be,  '  Who  is  the  Scot  ? ' 
And  it  must  be  confessed  that  when 


80 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


we  consult  history  and  ethnology,  we 
axe  very  much  at  sea  for  an  answer. 

There  was  an  admixture  of  peoples 
going  on  for  centuries  to  produce  the 
Scots  of  to-day.  We  have  in  them  a 
blending  of  the  Ana;lo-Saxon,  the 
Norseman,  the  Gael,  the  Teuton,  the 
Fleming,  and  the  Welshman,  Our 
countrymen  have  derived  something 
from  each  of  the  elements  which  have 
gone  to  compose  the  nation  as  we 
know  it  The  Scottish  people  are  com- 
posite, not  homogeneous,  and  this  fact 
accounts  for  many  of  their  peculiari- 
ties. They  unite  the  fervour  of  the 
Welshman  with  the  sturdy  indepen- 
dence of  the  Dane ;  the  poetic  sensi- 
bility of  the  Celt  with  the  common 
sense  of  the  Anglo-Saxon — the  loyalty 
of  the  Highlander  with  the  love  of 
freedom  that  characterized  the  Briton. 
These  component  elements,  hidden  in 
the  organization  of  the  Scot, sometimes 
discover  themselves  in  the  most  aston- 
ishing ways.  Hence  the  singular  phe- 
nomena of  a  ploughman  poet,  a  shoe- 
maker botanist,  a  stonemason  geolo- 
gist and  journalist,  and  a  weaver  phi- 
losopher, and  each  of  them  among  the 
^.rst  of  his  age.  The  several  elements 
named  were  thrown  into  the  caldron 
of  time  together,  and  the  product  has 
been  the  Scotsman  who  resembles  no 
one  of  the  parent  stocks  more  than  the 
others,  but  is  a  new  type  of  man.  The 
process  was  a  fusing,  not  a  forging 
one.  The  miscegenation  has  been  com- 
plete. Diiferent  races  cast  into  the 
mint  of  Scotland  have  come  out  of  it 
with  a  stamp  that  is  distinct  from 
that  of  any  other  people.  The  typical 
Scotchman  has  not  only  physical  fea- 
tures by  which  he  is  easily  known,  but 
he  has  also  mental  and  moral  qualities 
that  mark  him  clearly  out  from  other 
nations.  He  is  a  stalwart  man  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  Possessed  of 
physical  energy,  he  is  equally  active 
in  mind  and  in  body,  joining  to  an  in- 
tense love  of  freedom  a  high  moral 
feeling. 

Facts  show  that  the  Scottish  race  is, 
perhaps,  the  Jew  alone  excepted,  the 


most  cosmopolitan  in  the  world.  The 
Scot  has  a  capacity  for  accommodating 
himself  to  his  surroundings,  that  is 
shown  in  no  other  nationality.  This 
may  be  in  part  traceable  to  the  heter- 
ogeneous elements  that  have  united  in 
his  production  ;  he  is  kin  to  so  many 
races  that  he  is  at  home  wherever  he 
goes.  But  it  is  probably  his  mental 
constitution,  chiefly,  that  qualifies  him 
for  becoming  a  citizen  of  the  world, 
rather  than  his  physical  organization 
—  if,  indeed,  the  two  things  do  not 
mutually  imply  each  other,  and,  there- 
fore, ought  not  to  be  separated.  Men- 
tal hospitality  is  a  distinguishing 
characteristic  of  the  Scot.  Any  in- 
tellectual greatness  which  he  has 
achieved  has  been  owing  to  his  re- 
ceptiveness.  He  has  been  as  ready  to 
admit  ideas  from  without,  and  impress 
upon  them  the  mint  of  his  own  mind, 
as  he  has  been  to  absorb  the  different 
stray  representatives  of  the  several 
races  that  have  at  various  times  taken 
up  their  residence  in  his  neighbour- 
hood. He  has  not  refused  entei'tain- 
ment  to  truth,  come  to  him  in  what 
guise  it  might,  or  from  whatever  quar- 
ter. This  is  the  mental  quality  which 
has  made  him  a  welcome  citizen  of  all 
countries.  He  has  intellectual  as  well 
as  industrial  tljrift,  gathering  food  for 
thought  on  all  hands  ;  and  his  mental 
digestion  is  good,  so  that  he  assimilates 
that  which  he  takes  into  his  under- 
standing, and  turns  it  out  of  his  mind 
new-coined  and  stamped  Scottish.  His 
attitude,  indeed,  seems  occasionally  in- 
consistent with  this  mental  hospitality 
which  is  claimed  for  him.  He  may  be 
questioning  and  debating  with  those 
from  whom  he  is  gathering  the  raw 
material  of  his  thought ;  but  that  is 
his  method  of  getting  at  and  testing 
the  truth  :  while  apparently  resisting, 
he  is  absorbing  all  the  time.  Now,  I 
believe,  he  has  not  got  credit  for  this 
marked  characteristic — susceptibility 
to  all  currents  of  thought  that  are 
moving  in  the  atmosphere  in  which  he 
dwells.  To  those  who  do  not  know 
him  intimately,  but  come  across  him 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


81 


only  casually,  the  true  inwardness  of 
his  nature  does  not  appear.      His  air 
of  rugged  independence,  his  assertive 
self-respect,  hi^  want   of  gush,  make 
him   seem  to  the  undiBC<?rning  a  dis- 
agreeable fellow  ;  and  withal  a  narrow 
bigot,full  of  conceited pi-ejudices,who'i3 
unwilling  to  be  taught.      It  was  some 
such  estimate  of  him  that  was  formed 
by  Buckle,  a  man  utterly  incapable  of 
understanding    him — indeed,    utterly 
destitute  of  insight  into  human  cha- 
racter—  and,  therefore,   the  last  man 
that   should    have  attempted  to  deal 
with  questions  involving  the  exercise 
of  the  true  historical  faculty.      Very 
different  was    the  conception    of  the 
Scot    which    the    late    Dean    Stanley 
held  ;  a  man  as  well  qualified  by  those 
historical  instincts  which  he  possessed 
in  so  eminent  a  degree,  and  by  sym- 
pathies which  put  him  en  rapport  with 
his  subject,  as  Buckle  was  ill-qualified. 
To  him  the  Scot  was  an  interesting 
study  :  those  sermons  and  books  and 
kirk-session  proceedings,  the  reading 
of   which    the    matter-of-fact   Buckle 
avers  was  so  distressing  to  him,  afford- 
ed vast  enter  tainment  to  the  more  dis- 
cerning and  humorous  Dean.  The  his- 
torian   of    '  Civilization,'    whose    pet 
aversion  was  the  Scottish  ecclesiastic, 
wished  to  convey  the  notion  that  the 
people  of  the  north  were  a  priest  ridden 
and  ignorant  rabble,  in  the  middle  of 
the  seventeenth  century.    There  never 
was  a  greater  mistake.   At  least,  from 
the  days  of  the  Reformation  onwards, 
the  ecclesiastics   of  Scotland  reflected 
the  minds    of   the  people,  instead  of 
ruling  them  with  a  rod  of  iron.   Never 
was  there  a  sermon  [jreached  that  was 
not  severely   criticized.      John  Knox 
made  the  Scots  a  nation  of  readers  and 
thinkers ;  and  the  prerogatives  which 
a  democratic  church  government  gave 
them  they  made  use  of  to  the  utmost. 
They  asserted  always  their  right    to 
judge  of  the  quality  of  the  preaching 
which  their  ministers  delivered.    And 
no  tougher  reasoners  could  anywhere 
be  found  than  among  the  peasantry  of 
Scotland ;  so  that  they  were  the  last 
6 


people  who  were  to   be  pitied  on  ac- 
count of  the  oppression  under  which 
they  laboured  from  the  dominancy  of 
tlie   clergy.      The  clergy  were  of  the 
people,  did  what  the  people  demanded 
of  them — in  the  matter  of  long  prayers 
and  sermons  and  severe  discipline  as  in 
other  things.     That  the  Scottish  peo- 
ple could  handle  skilfully,  in  private, 
the  themes  which  they  heard  discussed 
from  their  pulpits  even   Mr.    Buckle 
admits,  when  he  says  that  after  1725, 
'  the    spirit   of    trade  became  so  rife 
that  it  began  to  encroach  on  the  old 
theological    spirit     which    had    long 
reigned  supreme.   Hitherto  the  Scotch 
had  cared  for  little   except    religious 
polemics.      In  every  society  these  had 
been    the    subject    of    conversation.' 
They  were  and  are  a  people  of  intense 
convictions.    What  they  believe,  they 
believe  with  their  whole  heart.     They 
held  the  divine  authority  of  the  Scrip- 
tures,   and  certain  prominent  princi- 
ples which  lie  on  the  surface  of  the 
Bilile,  and  which  the  common  people 
called  'fundamentals.'  '  Gang  o'er  the 
fundamentals,'   said  the  auld    Scotch 
U.  P.    wife    to   the   genial    Norman 
MacLeod,  before  she  would  hold  fur- 
ther parley  with  him.      But  they  de- 
bated every   inch    of  ground   beyond 
those  lines.  Any  superstructure  reared 
on  these   '  fundamentals  '  had  need  to 
hang  well  together,  or  their  inexorable 
logic   would   pull  it   to    pieces.      The 
sneer  of  Buckle  is  therefore  quite  out 
of  place   when  he  says  :   '  The  bigotry 
of  Scotland  is  ill-suited  to  Protestant- 
ism.'    But  in  j)ropurtion  as  they  were 
wide-awake  against  fallacies  and  fol- 
lies,    they     welcomed     truth,     come 
whence  it  might,  whenever  they  recog- 
nised it.     Cousin  somewhere  charges 
British  philosophy  with  being  insular. 
Tills  may  be  true  of  the  southern  por- 
tion of  the  Island,  but  it  is  certainly 
not  true  of  Scotland.  John  Bull  is  apt 
to  think  that  he  has  nothing  to  learn 
from  other  people.     Buckle  was  the 
very    impersonation    of    this    feeling. 
He  began  his  work  by  assuming  that 
the  standard  of  civilization  was  to  be 


82 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


found  in  England.  '  In  England,'  be 
remarks,  '  civilization  lias  followed  a 
course  more  orderly  and  less  disturbed 
tban  in  any  otber country; '  and, again, 
'our civilization  bas  been  preserved  in 
a  more  natural  and  bealtby  state.' 
One  reason  of  tlie  difference  in  tbe 
temperament  of  tbe  two  nations  is  tbat 
tbe  Englisb  bad,  for  bundreds  of  years, 
little  to  do  witli  tbe  continental  races, 
except  wben  tbey  went  to  war  witb 
tbem.  But  tbe  Scots  bad  a  friendly 
intercourse  witb  tbe  European  nations 
for  centuries,and  drew  no  small  amount 
of  inspiration,  especially  from  France, 
wbich  was  long  ber  ally.  Learned 
Scotsmen  were  to  be  found  wander- 
ing over  tbe  continent  visiting  all  tbe 
celebrated  scbools  of  Europe  from  tbe 
earliest  times.  Tbe  language  of  Scot- 
land bears  many  traces  of  tbe  close 
friendsbip  tbat  subsisted  between  ber 
and  tbe  nations  of  Europe.  Tbe 
music  of  our  country  still  more  clearly 
illustrates  tbe  readiness  witb  wbich 
tbe  Scottish  people  received  influences 
from  abroad,  appropriating  them,  and 
stamping  tbem  witb  a  national  char- 
acter. Scottish  music  is  a  style  by 
itself  ;  and  yet  experts  in  these  matters 
tell  us  that  every  so-called  ancient 
Scottish  air  has  been  borrowed  from 
France  or  Italy.  The  Scottish  school 
of  philosophy  bas,  perhaps,  drawn  less 
from  outside  sources  than  any  feature 
of  ber  nationid  life  and  distinction, 
and  yet  Ilutcheson,  its  founder,  was 
an  Irishman,  and  David  Hume  re- 
sided many  years  in  France  before 
formulating  bis  system. 

It  is  in  tbe  department  of  religion 
especially,  however,  that  Scotland  bas 
shown  tbe  readiest  dis))osition  to  re- 
ceive aid  and  light  from  all  quarters. 
Tbe  knowledge  of  the  Gospel  first  came 
to  ber  across  the  Channel  from  Ire- 
land. Buckle  bas  dwelt  upon  tbe 
earnest  manner  in  which  Scottish 
preachers  impressed  upon  their  coun- 
trymen lessons  derived  from  the  Old 
Testament  Scriptures.  And  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  tbe  immense  in- 
fluence   which  the  course    of  Jewish 


history  bad  upon  both  public  and  pri- 
vate aifairs  in  Scotland.  That  very 
act  of  Andrew  Melvill's  which  so 
appalled  tbe  Englishman  to  contem- 
plate, the  taking  of  James  Y.  by  tbe 
sleeve  and  calling  him  '  the  Lord's 
silly  vassal,'  was,  no  doubt,  inspired 
by  tbe  commendable  courage  dis- 
played by  Natl'.an  when  be  brought 
home  to  King  David's  conscience  the 
turpitude  of  his  sin,  by  telling  him, 
'  Thou  art  tbe  man  ! '  We  have  it  on 
tbe  testimony  of  another  distin- 
guished Englishman,  Matthew  Ar- 
nold, '  that  the  tendency  of  Old  Testa- 
ment teaching  was  on  the  whole  to 
make  for  righteousness ; '  and  there 
can  be  no  question  that  the  remark- 
able integrity  of  tbe  Scot,  bis  deep 
moral  sense,  bas  grown  out  of  tbe 
close  application  to  bis  conscience  of 
the  precepts  of  Moses.  Here,  again,  tbe 
moral  as  well  as  mental  sensitiveness  of 
the  Scot  to  tbe  influences  with  which  he 
is  brought  into  contact  is  clearly  seen. 
Patrick  Hamilton  and  George  Wish- 
art,  tbe  pioneers  of  tbe  Keformation 
in  Scotland,  caught  tbe  contagion  on 
tbe  continent,  and  carried  it  witb  them 
over  into  their  native  land.  John 
Knox,  too,  who  w.as  a  greater  states- 
man than  be  was  a  divine,  and  who 
by  planting  a  school  as  well  as  a 
church  in  every  parish,  contributed 
more  than  any  king  or  queen  that 
ever  ruled  the  land  to  make  Scotland 
what  she  is  and  bas  been,  borrowed 
much  of  his  system  of  church  govern- 
ment from  Geneva — a  system  which, 
though  it  [guaranteed  to  the  people 
their  rights,  and  taught  tbem  tbe  art 
of  self-government,  yet  did  not  rest 
on  their  authority.  Tbe  authority 
did  not  originate  with  themselves,  but 
was  from  above,  and  they  were,  there- 
fore, indoctrinated  into  the  principle 
of  respect  for  their  rulers  in  both 
Church  and  State  ;  and  all  along  their 
history  since,  while  asserting  their 
freedom,  tbey  have  been  a  law-abiding 
people,  holding  governments  to  be 
fiom  God.  It  was  only  wben  their 
alletjiance  to  tbe  King  of  Kin^s  came 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


into  competition  with  what  they  be- 
lieved they  owed  to  their  earthly 
sovereign,  that  they  turned  their  l^iicks 
upon  the  latter.  They  told  Queen 
Mary  that  if  she  only  allowed  theui  a 
free  gospel,  she  might  count  u[)on  their 
fidelity  to  her  throne  and  person. 

And  then,  the  ill-informed  have 
very  erroneous  views  as  to  the  atti- 
tude of  Scotland  towards  the  rest  of 
Protestant  Christendom.  Scotland's 
aim  has  been  to  realize  catholicity,  and 
to  promote  unity,  on  the  basis  of  the 
fundamental  principles  of  the  reform- 
ed faith.  It  was  to  the  pertinacity 
which  the  Scottish  leaders  displayed, 
in  the  middle  of  the  16th  century, 
that  we  owe  the  only  religious  uni- 
formity that  has  ever  prevailed  over 
the  Pi-otestantism  of  England,  Ireland 
and  Scotland — based  vipon  the  West- 
minster standards — as  Dean  Stanley 
so  manfully  and  candidly  pointed  out 
in  the  last  paper  that  he  wrote.  The 
English  Parliament  desired  a  political 
alliance  between  the  two  kingdoms, 
because  they  needed  the  help  of  the 
army  of  their  northern  neighbours;  the 
Presbyterian  leaders  of  Scotland  said, 
Yes,  we  are  willing  to  send  you  an 
army  to  help  you  to  settle  the  affairs 
of  your  earthly  kingdom,  but  at  the 
same  time  we  are  still  more  concerned 
about  the  settlement  of  the  affairs  of 
the  King  of  Kings  and  Lord  of  Lords. 
And  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant 
was  the  immediate  result — with  the 
Confession  of  Faith,  and  the  Directory 
for  Worship,  and  the  form  of  Church 
Government  and  the  Catechisms,  as 
the  fuller  result.  It  is  alleged  that 
these  documents  were  dictated  to  the 
English  divines  by  the  representatives 
of  Scotland  who  wei-e  present  and 
assisting  at  the  counsels  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey.  No  one  who  has  given 
the  subject  any  attention  will  repeat 
such  an  observation.  It  is  true  Scot- 
tish opinions  were  backed  up  by  Scot- 
tish thews,  and  Baillie  shrewdly  ob- 
served that  the  military  situation  had 
a  great  influence  in  hastening  or  re- 
tarding certain  portions  of  the  Assem- 


bly's work.  But  that  is  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  from  saying  that  the  Scots' 
army  bought  the  judgment  of  that 
venerable  and  learned  Synod,  or  that 
they  committed  themselves  to  views 
which  their  consciences  did  not  ap- 
prove. All  through  the  negotiations 
for  securing  uniformity  the  Scottish 
Commissioners  conducted  themselves 
with  becoming  modesty,  and  always 
exhibited  a  genei-ous  and  accommodat- 
ing spirit.  More  than  once  Hender- 
son, their  chief,  by  his  tact  and 
wisdom,  got  the  Westminster  divines 
out  of  a  tight  place.  He  was  the 
champion  of  toleration  in  small  mat- 
ters, provided  an  agreement  could  be 
arrived  at  on  important  points.  When 
the  Presbyterians  and  the  Indepen- 
dents got  arrayed  against  each  other, 
Henderson  it  was  who  suggested  the 
appointment  of  a  Committee  on  ac- 
commodation. But  the  chief  evidence 
that  the  Scots  did  not  get  everything 
their  own  way  at  the  Westminster 
Assembly,  is  the  fact  that  they  found 
fault  with  not  a  few  conclusions  ar- 
rived at,  and  yet  surrendered  several 
points  to  which  they  attached  im- 
portance. In  this  again  they  display- 
ed their  mental  hospitality.  In  a 
paper  from  the  Scottish  Commission- 
ers, which  was  laid  before  the  English 
Parliament,  as  well  as  before  the 
Westminster  Assembly,  regarding  the 
acceptance  of  the  Directory  for  Woi'- 
ship  and  the  form  of  Church  Govern- 
ment, they  point  out,  '  That  from 
their  zeal  to  uniformity  according  to 
the  Covenant,  having  parted  with 
some  lawful  customs  universally  prac- 
ticed in  that  Kirk  ever  since  the  first 
reformation  of  religion,  they,  by  their 
several  acts,'  etc.,  etc.  Baillie  tells 
us  that  the  Scots  ministers  were  ac- 
customed to  bow  in  the  pulpit  and 
make  use  of  the  Gloria  Patri  at  the 
end  of  their  lessons.  They  also  de- 
sired to  keep  the  ofiice  of  reader  in 
the  Church,  they  wished  the  Apostles' 
Creed  to  be  included  in  the  exposition 
of  the  Catechism,  and  they  also  would 
have  liked  a  belief  in  baptism  to  be 


84 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


inserted  in  the  declaration  of  the 
principles  of  the  Church.  They  were 
wont  to  have  two  prayers  before  the 
sermon  in  their  religious  services. 
Herle  and  Nye,  on  behalf  of  the  Eng- 
lish, objected  to  the  readiugof  shortsen- 
tences  to  communicants  at  the  Lord's 
Table,  while  the  Scots,  and  especially 
Rutherford  pleaded,  for  the  continu- 
ance of  this  custom.  And  we  know 
that  on  the  question  of  the  indepen- 
dance  and  supremacy  of  the  spiritual 
courts,  which  Scotland  had  always  de- 
manded, the  English  laymen  in  the 
*  Assembly,  backed  by  the  voice  of 
Parliament,  carried  the  day  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  Scots.  Baillie  and  his 
colleagues  from  the  North  thought 
the  Shorter  Catechism  too  long  for 
children  to  master.  Yet  in  spite  of 
these  objections  taken  by  the  Scots, 
and  objections  too,  it  will  be  seen, 
lying  generally  in  the  line  of  main- 
taining uniformity  with  all  other 
Protestant  churches — to  their  credit 
let  it  be  noted — the  standards  approv- 
ed of  at  Westminster  were  unani- 
mously adopted  by  the  General  As- 
sembly of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  and 
ratified  by  the  Scottish  Parliament — 
facts  that  surely  prove  a  generous  de- 
sire to  be  in  accord  with  the  rest  of 
Protestant  Christendom.  We  know 
what  the  fate  of  the  same  Westmin- 
ster documents  was  in  England  and 
Ireland  ;  so  that  Prof.  Masson,  in  his 
'Life  of  Milton,' justly  remarks  : — '  In 
God's  providence  it  seemed  as  if  the 
great  Assembly,  though  called  by  an 
English  Parliament,  held  on  English 
ground,  and  composed  of  English 
divines,  with  a  few  Scotchmen  among 
them,  had  existed  and  laboured  after 
all  mainly  for  Scotland.'  Not  that 
the  people  of  the  North  needed  the 
Englishmen's  hel[)  in  this  business. 
The  old  Scottish  Confession  of  the  first 
reformation  was  a  noble  confession  ; 
at  this  hour  some  of  its  utterances  are 
referred  to  by  continental  writers  on 
symbolism  as  rarely  noble.  Yet  the 
Scottish  church  of  the  second  reforma- 
tion set  aside  that  grand  old  Scottish 


Confession  in  favour  of  the  Westmin- 
ster Confession  of  Faith,  an  evidence 
surely  of  mental  hospitality.  Equally 
powerful  testimony  of  their  willing- 
ness to  accept  anything  better  than 
what  they  had,  come  whence  it  might, 
was  the  fact  that  they  laid  aside  their 
old  Psalter  at  the  same  time  as  their 
own  Confession,  and  adopted  Pous's 
version  of  the  Psalms  which  the  West- 
minster Assembly  had  approved — 
that  rugged  collection  so  full  of  grand 
sentiment  tersely  expressed,  which  is 
yet  so  highly  prized  and  dearly  beloved 
by  Presbyterians.  It,  too,  was  a 
gift  from  England  to  Scotland — the 
Scots  preferring  it  to  a  collec- 
tion prepared  by  one  of  their 
own  ministers,  Zachary  Boyd,  for 
the  sake  of  keeping  in  line  with 
the  rest  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland. 
In  short,  they  accepted  and  appro- 
priated whatever  commended  itself  to 
their  judgment  and  conscience,  with- 
out bigotry  or  prejudice.  And  I  think 
I  am  justified,  finally,  in  observing 
that  the  facility  with  which  Scottish 
Presbyterians  pass  over  into  other 
Protestant  communions,  while  the 
people  of  those  other  communions  do 
not  reci])rocate — a  fact  of  which  Pres- 
byterian clergymen  might  reasonably 
complain — leads  up  to  the  same  con- 
clusion, that  their  mental  hospitality 
qualifies  them  for  adapting  themselves 
to  their  surroundings  more  easily  than 
most  people. 

With  this  mental  and  moral  outfit 
which  we  have  derived  from  our  fa- 
thers, we,  representatives  of  the  Scot- 
tish people  in  the  Dominion  of  Can- 
ada, ought  to  strive  to  fill  worthily 
the  place  which  God's  providence  has 
assigned  us  in  this  new  land,  as  Mr. 
Rattray  has  shown  our  compatriots 
have  done  in  bygone  days.  By  main- 
taining the  same  intellectual  recep- 
tiveness  that  has  characterized  our 
race  in  the  past,  and  above  all  that 
sensitiveness  of  conscience  and  moral 
earnestness  which  will  lead  usheartily 
to  embrace  truth  wherever  we  find  it, 
and  to  do  the  things  which  we  know 


TEE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


85 


to  be  right,  we  shall  be  still  made 
welcome,  as  our  fellow-countrymen 
have  been,  wherever  they  have  shown 
themselves,  on  the  burning  sands  of 
Africa,  on  the  marts  of  India,  or  on 
the  plains  of  America.  Meantime, 
we  shall  do  well  to  call  up  the  me- 
mories of  our  country.  It  is,  no 
doubt,  well  meant  advice  we  get, 
when  we  are  told  that  as  soon  as  we 
set  foot  on  the  virgin  soil  of  Canada, 
we  ought  to  forget  that  we  are  Scotch- 
men. At  the  same  time  such  advice 
could  only  come  from  one  who  has  no 
past  worth  cherishing.  There  is  a  show 
of  wisdom  in  it ;  but  it  is  as  shallow 
as  it  is  specious.  No  man  can  blot 
the  past.from  his  memory  or  pluck  it 
out  of  his  heart,  and  he  would  be  a 
fool  if  he  would,  even  if  he  could.  Life 
is  prosaic  enough  at  the  best,  especi- 
ally in  a  new  country  like  ours,  and 
in  a  utilitarian  age ;  but  it  would  be 
still  duller  if  we  were  forbidden  to 
cherish  recollections  of  the  days  of  old. 
What  would  man  be  without  senti- 
ment ?  Yet  sentiment  must  have  ma- 
terials to  feed  on.  Tljii  new  land, 
especially  our  own  Province  of  Que- 
bec, is  not  without  stimulating  memo- 
ries of  its  own.  We  are  proud  of  our 
Champlain,  our  Laval  and  Maison- 
neuve,  our  Montcalm  and  Wolfe.  We 
would  draw  inspiration  from  their  he- 
roic zeal,  and  perseverance,  and  pa- 
tience, and  hopefulness.  But  the  re- 
cord is  a  comparatively  short  one, 
and  the  supply  of  materials  for  stirring 
thought  and  emotion  which  it  fur- 
nishes is  limited.  Scotland,  however, 
the  land  of  our  sires,  teams  with 
facts  and  fancies,  and  yields  an  inex- 
haustible fund  of  resources  for  imagi- 
nation to  dwell  on,  and  for  reflection 
to  occupy  itself  with.  We  shall  find 
it  health-giving  to  allow  thought  to 
roam  over  the  varied  and  far-extend- 
ing region  o])ened  up  to  us  by  Scot- 
tish story.  Of  course,  there  are  tra- 
ditions and  traditions  ;  as  well  as  uses 
and  uses  to  which  traditions  may  be 
put.     Poets  love  to  dwell   on  the  glo- 


ries of  the  feudal  times,  when  at  the 
call  of  a  Roderick  Dhu — 

'  Instant,  throuj^h  copse  and  heath,  arose. 
Bonnets  and  spears,  and  bended  bows, — 
And  every  tuft  of  broom  gave  life 
To  plaided  warrior  armed  for  strife,' 

It  may  be  very  pleasant  to  let  ima- 
gination sport  itself  with  such  scenes, 
but  no  sane  man  would  wish  those 
times  back  again.  They  who  would  re- 
store the  days  when  clansmen  counted 
themselves  honoured  in  being  permit- 
ted to  follow  the  MacCailein  Mor  into 
scenes  of  strife  and  plunder,  would 
probably  be  speedily  disenchanted  by 
a  touch  of  the  quality  of  the  treat- 
ment which  the  chieftain  of  old  dealt 
out  to  his  vassals.  It  is  the  veriest 
moonshine  to  hanker  after  those 
times ;  and  if  fondly  held  traditions 
wei-e  to  have  the  efiect  of  setting  us 
absurdly  dreaming  about  bringing 
back  the  feudal  age  to  Scotland,  or 
even  of  seeking  to  separate  her  desti- 
nies from  those  of  England,  then  the 
sooner  we  blotted  them  from  our  me- 
mories the  better.  And  I  am  glad  to 
believe  that  while  Scotsmen  love  no 
other  land  so  well  as  '  Caledonia  stern 
and  wild,'  their  attachment  to  it  is 
held  under  the  control  of  common 
sense.  But  while  we  would  not  have 
the  scenes  of  Scottish  history  re-en- 
acted, we  are  free  to  draw  inspiration 
from  them,  at  once  for  the  liberalizing 
and  adorning  of  our  minds  by  senti- 
ments of  chivalry  and  patriotism,  and 
for  the  shaping  of  our  conduct  in  this 
new  land,  which  has  been  given  us  to 
dwell  in.  Speaking  of  what  our  fathers 
achieved,  Mr.  Rattray,  in  his  '  His- 
tory of  the  Scot  in  B.  N.  A.,'  has  well 
said,  '  The  thorny  path  was  trodden 
through  blood  and  tears,  that  we 
might  enter  upon  the  heritage  to  till 
and  enjoy  it.'  The  past  is  ours,  and 
we  shall  remain  children  all  our  days, 
unless  we  make  use  of  its  lessons.  Mr. 
Battray  again  remarks,  'The  stimulus 
necessary  in  the  initial  stage  of  colo- 
nial progress  must  be  drawn  from 
older  lands.'     The  cherishing  of  the 


86 


THE  MENTAL  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  SCOT. 


memories  of  the  Mother  Country  is  no- 
wise inconsistent  with  the  feelings  we 
owe  to  '  this  Canada  of  ours.'  We  are 
all  at  one  in  holding  that  our  first  duty 
is  to  '  the  land  we  live  in.'  And  it  is 
worthy  of  our  heartiest  emotion.  The 
past  history  of  this  country  has  been 
on  the  whole  creditable  ;  its  institu- 
tions are  almost  everything  that  could 
be  desired ;  and  its  future  is  full  of 
promise.  Let  us,  then,  give  oui-selves 
up  to  promoting  the  welfare  of  the 
Dominion,  as  we  are  able.  Love  of 
the  land  of  our  fathers  will  rather  help 
t^iau  hinder  us  in  our  endeavours  to 
build  up  a  new  nationality  in  this 
western  world.  He  who  has  recollec- 
tions of  an  honourable  and  virtuous 
and  cheerful  home  in  his  father's 
house  is  not  less  likely,  on  account  of 
such  a  standard  before  him,  to  succeed 
in  erecting  an  honourable  and  virtuous 
and  cheerful  home  for  himself,  when 
he  sets  up  house  on  his  own  account. 
I  have  remarked  that  we  have  not  an 
extended  past  in  Canada,  the  recollec- 
tion of  which  might  stinuxlateus  to  at- 
tempt great  things ;  but  that  is  a  lack 
which  every  new  year  that  passes  over 
us  will  go  to  supply.  '  Nationality  is 
a  growth  and  not  a  spasm  or  gush.'  It 
is  coming  on  fast  with  us,  and  God- 
speed it.  We  have  only  to  look  back 
upon  the  history  of  the  land  to  which 
we  owe  our  origin,  to  see  what  men 
will  do  and  dare  on  behalf  of  their 
country.  No  nationality  has  produced 
a  larger  crop  of  patriots  than  the  peo- 
ple of  Scotland  ;  and  to  love  and  labour 
for  his  country  is  one  of  the  lessons, 
'  writ  large,'  which  each  of  us  ought 
to  learn  from  our  fathers.  Modern 
thought,  by  its  searching  analysis, 
would  reduce  patriotism  and  every 
other  virtue  to   forms   of  selfishness  ; 


but  if  love  of  country  is  selfishness,  it 
is,  at  least,  selfishness  sublimated.  Our 
lives  are  largely  made  up  of  associa- 
tions— first  those  in  which  our  child- 
hood was  spent ;  then  the  surround- 
ings of  our  youth,  and  afterwards  the 
places  we  carve  out  for  ourselves  in  the 
world.  Our  universe  is  confined  to 
our  personal  experience  and  surround- 
ings, and  it  is  a  blessed  feature  of  our 
nature  that  we  get  attached  to  them 
— we  live  in  the  past  which  they  af- 
ford, and  are  wonderfully  satisfied  with 
them,  as  memory  calls  them  up  in 
after  days.  Love  of  home  and  love 
of  country  grow  out  of  our  experience  ; 
and  if  it  is  true  that  attachments  are 
conditioned  by  experience,  we  cannot 
be  cosmopolitan,  caring  for  all  lands 
and  all  persons  alike,  because  our 
habitation  on  earth  is  bounded,  and 
our  personal  knowledge  of  countries 
and  institutions  is  limited.  Until  man 
becomes  an  angel,  and  is  able  to  go 
where  he  wills,  habit  will  make  him 
care  for  his  surroundings,  and  so  he 
will  cherish  with  fondness  his  own 
kindred  and  country. 

A  right  reading  of  the  history  of 
Scotland  ought  to  teach  us  to  desire 
and  promote  thefusion  of  races  already 
found  in  Canada,or  that  they  may  here- 
after be  attracted  to  our  shores.  The 
remarkable  product  of  the  comming- 
ling of  peoples  in  Auld  Scotia,  to 
which  attention  has  just  been  drawn, 
may  well  encourage  us  to  look  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  Englishmen, 
Irishmen,  Frenchmen,  Germans  and 
Scotsmen  shall  be  merged  into  a  new 
Canadian  race,  a  people  combining  in 
themselves  the  excellencies  of  these 
several  nationalities,  but  from  whom 
all  their  failings  will  be  eliminated. 


I 


THE  TRYSTING-PLAGE  REVISITED.  S7 


THE  TEYSTING-PLACE  REVISITED. 

BY    CHARLES   PELIIAM   MULVANY,    M.A.,    TORONTO. 


ON  city  mart  and  garden 
Night  falls  at  last— 
With  frosts  which  tierce  winds  harden- 
As  pacing  fast, 
I  seek  the  trysting-place 
To  which  no  tryst  gives  grace 
For  me  to-night,  who  face, 
Alone,  the  Past  ! 

The  Past — whose  dream  was  Pleasure, 

Whose  waking,  Pain — 
Youth's  haste — and  Manhood's  leisure 

Of  penance  vain  ! 
Such  thoughts,  wild-woven  so 
Were  mine  a  week  ago  ; 
Such,  pacing  to  and  fro, 

I  weave  again  ! 

But  thoughts  no  longer  aimless 

Nor  painful  now, 
Since  beamed  on  me  that  blameless 

Benignant  brow, 
Since  where  faint  lamps  resist 
The  dreary  winter  mist 
You  came  to  keep  your  tryst, 

Your  troth  avow. 


You  came,  a  pure  hope  hidden 

From  bygone  years, 
You  came,  a  joy  unchidden 

By  sordid  fears  ! 
So  may  your  presence  prove 
A  gift  from  God  above  : 
Whom  Passion  learns  to  love, 

Whom  Love  reveres. 


88 


PROFESSOR  GOLD  WIN  SMITE'S  ADDRESS. 


THE  SOCIAL  SCIENCE  CONGRESS  AT  DUBLIN.* 


DEPARTMENT    OF    ECONOMY    AND    TRADE. 


PROFESSOR  GOLDWIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


THE  two  sides  of  the  Atlantic  are  now 
no  longer  aliens  to  each  other. 
Thanks  to  the  conquests  of  practical  sci- 
ence, and  to  the  unquenchable  hopeful- 
ness of  Cyrus  Field,  the  estranging  sea,  as 
Horace  calls  it,  estranges  Europe  from 
America  no  more.  Speed  and  facility  of 
intercommunication,  not  only  unifying 
the  mind  of  the  world,  but  bringing 
into  far  closer  partnership  than  before 
the  producers  in  all  nations,  form  econo- 
mically, as  well  as  intellectually  and 
socially,  one  of  the  most  momentous  of 
the  changes  with  which  this  eventful 
age  is  rife.  Would  that  the  happiness 
of  mankind,  and  the  peace,  good-will 
and  sense  of  human  brotherhood,  which 
are  its  ordained  conditions,  were  advan- 
cing with  a  step  as  rapid  as  the  march  of 
science  !  Of  the  various  economical 
questions,  that  which  naturally  presents 
itself  first  to  the  mind  of  one  speaking  in 
Ireland  is  the  land  question.  We  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  had  on  the  Amer- 
ican continent  anything  deserving  the 
name  of  an  agrarian  movement.  With 
us  the  landlord  and  the  tenant  system, 
as  a  general  rule,  does  not  yet  exist. 
The  tiller  is  also  the  owner  of  the  soil. 
The  mass  of  the  land,  both  in  the  United 
States  and  in  Canada,  is  held  in  freehold 
farms,  seldom  exceeding  in  extent  160 
acres,  which  is  the  measure  of  the  origi- 
nal grants,  and  about  as  much  as  a 
farmer  and  his  family  can  till.  Hired 
labour  is  rare  and  expensive.  There  are 
farms  and  ranches  of  immense  extent  in 
the  new  States  of  the  West  and  in  Cali- 
fornia ;  but  they  are  in  the  hands  of  the 
owners,  who  are  cultivators  on  a  colossal 
scale,    not   let  out  to  tenants  as  they 

♦  A  Paper  by  Professor  Goldwin  Smith, 
President  of  the  Economy  and  Trade  Depart- 
ment, delivered  at  Dublin,  Oct.  7,  1881. 


would  be  here.     Local  controversies  and 
even  disturbances  we  have  had.     There 
was  what  was  called,  with  doiibtful  ac- 
curacy, the  Anti-Rent  Movement  in  the 
State  of  New  York,  which  was  a  rising 
attended  with    some    acts    of   violence 
against  the  payments  to  the  Patroons,  as 
they  were  styled — the  semi-feudal  lords 
of  the  great  Van  Renselaer  and  Schuyler 
estates  created   in   the   Dutch   colonial 
times.     In  Prince  Edward  Island  there 
was  a  popular  resistance  to  the  insuflfer- 
able  land  monopoly  of  the  16  grantees, 
among  whom  the  whole  island  had  been 
parcelled  out  by  a  fantastic  assumption 
of  sovereignty  over  the  realms  of  nature 
on  the  part  of  the  British  Crown,  and  in 
the  end  the  grantees  were  compelled  to 
accept  a  compromise.      The  feudal  seig- 
niories established  by  the  Bourbon  Mon- 
archy in  French  Canada  were  also  found 
to  be    oi^pressive,    and  were  abolished, 
compensation    being    accorded    to    the 
seigniors.       But  no  one  of  these  cases 
can  be  said  to  have  presented  a  real  ana- 
logy in  character,  much  less  in  extent,  to 
the  contiict  between  landlord  and  tenant 
in  Irekvnd.     Agrarianism  in  a  speculative 
form  has   indeed   found  its   way   from 
Europe  to  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
and  the  controversy  has  been  stimulated 
by  the  Irish  agitation.   Theorists  have  ad- 
vocated the  abolition  of  private  property 
in  land,  in  which  they  fancy  they  have 
discovered  the  universal  source  of  pau- 
perism.    Their  reasonings  appear  to  me 
to  be  little  more  than  the  old  tirades 
against  capital    in    a    new    dress,    and 
with   a    specially    irrational    limitation 
to  the  case  of  capiltl  invested  in  land. 
Facts  constantly  before  our  eyes  tell  us 
that  pauperism  springs  from  a  number 
of  causes  with  which  no  system  of  land- 
ownership    has    anything   to   do — from 
idleness,  intemperance,  disease,  changes 


PROFESSOR  GOLD  WIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


89 


in  the  course  of  trade,  which  often  de- 
prive thousands  of  their  bread,  as  well 
as  from  sheer  over-population,  the  fre- 
quent existence  of  which  it  is  ridicu- 
lous to  deny,  and  which,  in  the  absence 
of  popular  self-restraint,  cannot  be  pre- 
vented by  any  land  system,  or  anything 
in  the  power  of  Government  from  pro- 
ducing its  natural  effects.  There  is 
plenty  of  pauperism  in  great  commercial 
cities,  such  as  Venice,  or  the  old  Free 
Cities  of  Germany,  where  land-owner- 
ship can  barely  be  said  to  exist,  much 
less  to  form  a  factor  of  importance  in 
the  economical  condition  of  the  people. 
There  is  comparatively  little  in  rural 
districts  of  France,  where  private  owner- 
ship of  land  is  emphatically  the  basis  of 
society,  but  where  thrift,  the  oflspring 
of  proprietorship,  reigns,  and  the  in- 
crease of  population  is  not  great.  The 
theorists  of  whom  I  speak  propose  that 
the  State  should  heal  the  social  disease 
by  a  sweeping  confiscation  of  landed 
property,  and,  as  they  are  careful  to  add, 
without  compensation  to  the  owners. 
To  confiscate  one  kind  of  property  is  to 
destroy  all.  It  is  to  destroy  the  work- 
ing man's  property  in  his  earnings  as 
well  as  the  land-owner's  property  in  his 
land.  It  is  to  break  open  the  savings 
bank  as  well  as  the  rich  man's  coffers. 
What  security  can  there  be  for  any  kind 
of  ownership,  great  or  small,  if  the  State 
itself  turn  robber  ?  Supposing  even 
that  the  system  of  private  property  in 
land  were  proved  to  be  wrong,  the  error 
has  been  that  of  the  community  as  a 
whole  ;  all  nations  through  their  Legis- 
latures have  ^juctioned  the  system  and 
pledged  their  faith  in  every  possible 
form  to  those  who  were  laying  out  their 
labour  and  money  in  that  way.  If  the 
steps  of  society  are  now  to  be  retraced, 
if  the  rule  is  to  be  changed,  common 
justice  requires  that  this  should  be  done 
at  the  expense  of  the  community  gener- 
ally, not  at  the  expense  of  one  particu- 
lar class.  Legislative  arbitration  be- 
tween conflicting  interests  whose  difi'er- 
ences  cannot  otherwise  be  settled  and 
whose  conflict  shakes  the  State  is  a  dif- 
ferent thing  from  confiscation  ;  it  is  in 
itself  an  evil,  because  it  impairs  respect 
for  contracts,  the  life  or  commerce  and 
the  basis  of  all  prosperity  ;  but  when 
necessary  it  is  moral,  and  it  takes  from 
the  nominal  owner  nothing  that  he  can 
practically  enjoy.  Flagrant  aVjuse  of 
proprietary  rights  may  also  aflford  ground 
for  interference,  particularly  in  the  case 


of  land,  which  is  the  basis  of  national 
existence.  Owners  could  not  be  allowed 
to  indulge  their  fancies  if  their  fancies 
were  fatal  to  production  ;  the  institu- 
tion of  property  was  made  for  man,  not 
man   for   the   institiition    of    property.  I 

But  confiscation,  in  the  true  sense  of 
the  term,  must  always  be  an  economical 
blunder,  as  well  as  a  political  crime.  It 
will  certainly  discourage  industry,  and 
therefore  it  will  certainly  diminish  pro- 
duction. Theorists  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic  seemed  to  fancy  that  the 
Irish  movement  was  communistic.  I 
ventured  to  assure  them  that  it  was 
nothing  of  the  kind,  and  that  no  one  was 
in  fact  less  of  a  communist  than  the  Irish 
farmer  ;  that  he  was  fighting,  not  against 
private  ownership  of  land,  but  to  make 
himself  the  private  owner.  I  ventured 
to  say  that  if  they  approached  him  with 
the  proposal  that  his  farm  should  be 
thrown  open  to  the  community,  or  to 
humanity  at  large,  they  would  run  some 
risk  of  being  answered  with  arguments 
which  would  penetrate  the  thickest 
skull.  Private  ownership  the  cause  of 
pauperism  !  What  else  has  sustained 
the  industry  which  has  made  the  land 
bring  forth  its  fruits  ?  Who  would  re- 
claim the  wilderness,  clear  away  the 
forest,  pull  up  the  pine  stumps,  or  pain- 
fully guide  the  plough  among  them,  and 
bear  all  the  hardships  of  a  settler's  life, 
if  the  land  after  all  was  not  to  be  his 
own  ?  What  was  it  that  turned  the 
sands  of  Belgium  into  a  garden  ]  What 
is  it  that  has  given  birth  to  the  inex- 
haustible wealth  of  France  ?  That  land 
system  must  be  the  best  for  the  whole 
community  which  makes  the  land  yield 
most  food.  Notoriously,  nothing  is  so 
stimulating  to  productive  industry  as 
ownership.  Agrarian  communism  would 
be  famine,  unless  you  were  to  put  the 
whip  of  the  slave-driver  into  the  hands 
of  the  Government.  Even  so,  you 
would  never  get  the  harvests  which  are 
raised  by  the  French  and  Belgian  land- 
owners. These  extreme  theories,  how- 
ever, it  is  fair  to  their  authors  to  say, 
are  merely  the  thoroughgoing  expression 
of  tentative  and  somewhat  misty  doc- 
trines promulgated  by  high  authorities 
about  the  special  claims  of  the  State  on 
those  whose  property  happens  to  consist 
of  land.  One  illustrious  writer  suggests 
that  the  State  might  appropriate,  not 
the  land  itself,  but  what  he  terms  the 
unearned  increment—  that  is,  everything 
which  is  added  to  the   value  of  the  land 


90 


PEOFESSOE  GOLDWIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


otherwise  than  by  the  exertions  of  the 
owner.  But  the  net  of  this  theory  will 
be  found  on  examination  to  enclose 
such  a  multitude  of  tishes  that  it  breaks. 
Unearned  increment  is  not  peculiar  to 
land.  I  buy  a  pair  of  boots.  Next 
day  leather  goes  up — here  we  have  un- 
earned increment.  Has  the  State  a 
right  to  take  toll  of  my  boots  ?  Every 
judicious  investment  rises  in  value,  even 
an  investment  in  literary  culture,  if  the 
public  taste  happens  to  improve.  Every 
kind  of  property  is  the  subject  of  un- 
earned increment,  and  also,  be  it  ob- 
served, of  unmerited  decrement,  which 
no  one  asks  the  State  to  make  good.  It 
is  argued  that  in   land  tliere  are  natural 

*  elements  and  forces  which  no  man 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  appropriate  to 
himself.  There  are  natural  elements 
and  forces  in  everything— in  one's  coat 
or  hat,  which  by  this  rule  may  be 
legislated  off  one's  back  or  head.  It 
is  said  that  Providence  has  given  the 
land.  Providence  gives  everything,  in- 
cluding the  sinews  and  the  brain  of  man. 
If  the  land  is  common,  so  mnst  be  all 
the  products  of  the  land,  and  we  shall 
be  entitled  to  repudiate  our  milk  bills 
because  the  cow  grazes  on  the  field. 
The  people,  we  are  told,  have  a  right  to 
live  on  land.  Undoubtedly  they  have  ; 
and  that  they  may  live  and  not  starve 
the  land  ought  to  be  made  to  bring  forth 
as  much  food,  and  food  of  as  good 
quality,  as  possible,  which  can  be  done 
only  by  giving  to  the  industry  of  the 
husbandman  the  incentive  of  private 
ownership.  Agrarians  point  to  the  com- 
mon ownership  of  land  which  prevailed 
in  ancient  communities,  and  relics  of 
which  survive  in  the  village  communi- 
ties of  the  Russians  and  Hindoos.  This 
was  the  rule  of  barbarism,  to  which, 
when  it  has  been  discarded  by  experi- 
ence, it  would  be  strange  to  ask  civiliza- 
tion to  return.  It  does  not  appear  that 
in  regard  to  production,  which  is  the 
essential  part  of  the  matter,  the  Russian 
Mir  is  a  very  bright  example.  But 
neither  the  Hindoo  village  nor  the  Rus- 
sian Mir  is  a  real  instance  of  agrarian 
commnnism.  They  are  merely  instan- 
ces   of   joint-stock    property    in    land, 

.  Squat  tipon  the  land  of  a  village  com- 
munity in  the  name  of  the  nation  or  of 
humanity,  and  you  will  be  turned  off 
with  as  little  compunction  as  if  you  had 
squatted  on  the  land  of  an  individual 
proprietor.  There  is  generally  supposed 
to  be  some  mystery,  and  as  agrarians 


think  a  mystery  of  iniquity,  about  rent. 
Rent  is  simply  what  is  paid  for  the  use 
of  land.  It  is  not  always  proportioned 
to  the  productiveness  of  land  as  certain 
definitions  assume,  but  sometimes  to 
other  circumstances,  such  as  situation. 
A  piece  of  land  which  it  would  not  pay 
at  all  to  cultivate  will  bring  a  high  rent 
if  it  is  so  situated  that  it  is  capable  of  be- 
ing used  as  a  place  of  recreation  for  the 
inhabitants  of  a  great  city.  It  happens 
that  in  P^nglish  there  are  different  names 
for  the  hire  of  land  or  houses  and  for 
the  hire  of  a  chattel  ;  but  in  other  lan- 
guages-Greek, for  instance — there  is 
no  such  distinction.  That  land,  by  the 
investment  of  labour  and  capital  on  it, 
has  become  productive  enough  to  yield  a 
rent  to  an  owner,  besides  supporting 
the  cultivator,  is  apparently  no  loss  to 
society,  but  a  gain.  Unfortunately  it 
has  happened,  partly  through  the  reten- 
tion of  feudal  land  laws,  that  rent  has  to 
a  great  extent  been  in  idle  hands.  Idle 
wealth,  no  matter  of  what  kind  it  may 
be,  is  always  an  evil  both  to  the  posses- 
sor and  the  community.  Whether  you 
are  a  landowner  or  a  fundowner  matters 
not  ;  it  is  always  miserable  and  ignoble 
to  live  in  uselessness  by  the  sweat  of 
other  men's  brows.  But  the  evil  can  be 
cured  or  lessened  only  by  the  growth  of 
a  higlier  morality.  Agrarian  legislation 
would  pluck  up  the  wheat  with  the  tares, 
for,  once  more,  an  attack  on  any  kind  of 
])roperty  is  an  attack  on  all.  It  is  true 
land  has  in  some  measure  provoked  these 
special  attacks.  It  has  used  its  political 
power  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  itself 
surrounded  with  2?t«si-feudal  privileges, 
when  the  medifeval  system,  military, 
political,  and  judicial,  had  been  long  de- 
funct. We  are  feeling  the  effects  of  a  re- 
action against  feudalism  which  runs  into 
the  extreme  of  agrarian  communism.  In 
time  opinion  will  settle  down  to  the  com- 
mercial system,  which  is  the  best  for  pro- 
duction, and,  therefore,  the  best  for  us 
all.  Mention  has  been  made  of  the  large 
tracts  of  land  which  are  in  the  hands  of 
individual  owners  in  the  Western  Ame- 
rican Continent.  Some  think  that  the 
system  is  growing,  and  that  it  is  likely 
to  work,  not  only  an  economical,  but  a 
social  change.  If  an  economical  change 
is  produced,  a  social  change  will  certainly 
follow  ;  no  general  law  is  better  known 
to  the  student  of  politics  than  this.  But, 
from  what  I  can  learn,  the  tendency,  as 
the  country  becomes  more  peopled,  is  to 
the  parcelling  out  of  great  holdings.    At 


I 


PROFESSOR  ff  OLD  WIN  SMITHS  ADDRESS. 


91 


all  events,  we  may  be  sure  that  the  gov- 
erning principle  will  be  commercial,  that 
the  great  landowner,  if  he  continues  to 
exist,  will  be  simply  a  producer  of  grain 
on  an  extended  scale,  and  that  nothing 
like  feudal  relations  or  sentiments  will 
spring  up  on  a  soil  in  which  feudalism 
has  never  been  able  to  take  root.  From 
agrarian  communisji  the  transition  is 
natural  to  communism  of  the  more  gene- 
ral kind.  To  all  the  varieties  the  Ame- 
rican climate  is  unpropitious,  because  a 
large  proportion  of  tlie  people  are  land- 
owners, and  almost  all  either  hold  pro- 
perty of  some  sort  or  hope  to  hold  it  be- 
fore they  die.  That  brilliant  bookmtxker, 
the  late  Mr.  Hepworth  Dixon,  possessed 
his  numerous  readers  with  the  belief  that 
communistic  societies  occupied  a  large 
space  in  the  United  States.  The  space 
which  thej'  really  occupy  is  hardly  larger 
than  that  which  was  occupied  in  England 
by  the  Agapemone.  There  have  been,  I 
suppose,  some  thirty  or  forty  of  these 
curious  experiments  in  all.  A  few  of 
theui  have  been  successful  in  their  way  ; 
most  of  them  have  failed,  and  among  the 
failures  are  all  those  founded  on  the 
principle  of  Owen,  which  is  Socialism 
proper,  as  the  idyllic  Utopia  organized 
for  a  summer  day  by  a  group  of  literai-y 
men  and  women  at  Brook  Farm.  The 
law  of  success  C)r  failure  is  certain,  and 
is  easily  discerned.  Celibate  communi- 
ties succeed  ;  they  are  not  broken  up  by 
the  conflict  of  family  interests,  and,  hav- 
ing no  children  to  feed,  if  they  are  in- 
dustrious they  grow  rich.  Thus  the 
Shakers  prosper.  A  celibate  association 
of  German  enthusiasts  in  Pennsylvania 
prospered,  and,  having  become  a  sort  of 
tontine,  was  likely  to  leave  its  last  sur- 
viving member  a  millionaire.  The  Oneida 
community  prospered  while  it  was  celi- 
bate and  childless  ;  but  the  union  of  the 
sexes  having  been  introduced,  though  in 
a  strange  and  revolting  way,  the  com- 
munity is  now  breaking  up.  1  viated  it 
some  years  ago  and  found  its  members 
living  verj'  comfortably  in  their  common 
mansion  with  all  luxuries,  including  a 
place  of  seclusion  for  practising  on  the 
piano,  and  supported  by  the  revenues 
derived  from  their  three  large  factories, 
in  which  they  employed  hired  labour  of 
the  ordinary  kind.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that,  having  a  large  property,  they  had 
ceased  to  be  desirous  of  making  prose- 
lytes. Perhaps  a  religious  character  and 
a  prophet,  who  is  also  a  strong  ruler, 
such  as  Mr.   Noyes  was  in  the  Oneida 


community,  should  be  included  among 
the  conditions  of  success.  Such  eccen- 
tricities obviously  can  throw  no  light  on 
any  social  problem.  At  most  they  testify 
to  the  existence  of  a  sort  of  yearning  for 
closer  fellowship  which  may  hereafter 
find  gratification  in  other  ways.  Mor- 
monism  is  not  communistic.  Individual 
industry  and  private  property  are  its 
law.  Its  peculiarity  is  the  despotic  rule 
of  the  Prophet,  who,  however  coarse  his 
character,  however  strange  his  moral 
aberrations,  must  be  admitted,  in  a  purely 
economical  point  of  view,  to  have  been 
successful,  and  to  have  led  his  people 
through  the  wilderness  to  a  land  flowing 
with  milk  and  honey.  His  followers 
were  to  a  large  extent  peasants  nurtured 
in  the  most  enthusiastic  form  of  Metho- 
dism, and  in  whose  hearts  millenarian 
reveries  were  united  with  the  longings 
of  the  overworked  and  the  hungry  for 
the  improvement  of  their  earthly  lot. 
]\lormonism  is  probably  about  the  last 
of  the  religious  Utopias  ;  the  Utopias  of 
the  present  day  are  Utopias,  not  of  reli- 
gion, but  of  social  science.  Of  that  So- 
cialism which  in  Europe  hangs  like  a 
thundercloud  over  society,  emitting  such 
flashes  of  lightning  as  Intransigentism 
and  Nihilism,  there  is,  for  the  reason 
already  given,  very  little  in  the  United 
States.  There  is  very  little,  at  least,  that 
is  of  native  origin.  The  overcrowding, 
the  suffering,  the  oppressive  military 
systems,  the  political  disturbances  of  the 
Old  World,  send  Socialists  to  the  United 
States,  and  a  few  even  to  Canada.  A 
semi-socialistic  constitution  was  imposed 
the  other  day  on  the  State  of  California 
by  the  Sandlotters,  as  the  extreme  social 
democracy  of  San  Francisco  is  called, 
under  the  leadership  of  Mr.  Dennis 
Kearney  ;  but  it  seems  not  to  have  gone 
into  operation,  and  the  star  of  Mr.  Den- 
nis Kearney  himself  has  paled.  Property 
has  its  old  guard  in  the  freehold  farm- 
ers, who,  if  it  came  to  anything  like  a 
trial  of  strength,  would  be  more  than  a 
n:atch  for  the  socialistic  populace  of  the 
great  cities.  Libertj%  with  the  love  of 
which  the  people  are  thoroughly  imbued, 
is  opposed,  as  much  as  property,  to  So- 
cialism. For  Socialism  is  despotism  in 
the  supposed  interest  of  the  artisan.  It 
would  invest  its  industrial  and  social 
government  with  powers  far  more  exten- 
sive and  tyrannical  than  those  which  any 
political  autocrat  wields,  and  in  killing 
liberty  it  would  also  kill  progress.  The 
first  problem  which  a   Socialist  is  called 


92 


PROFESSOR  GOLDWIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


upon  to  solve  is  political.  He  has  first 
to  devise  a  Government  so  pure,  so  wise, 
and  so  impartial  as  to  be  tit  to  be  in- 
trusted with  absolute  power,  not  only 
over  the  citizen,  but  over  the  worker, 
and,  indeed,  over  the  whole  man,  a 
Government  the  compulsory  action  of 
which  might  be  safely  substituted  for 
natural  motive  in  the  industrial  and  so- 
cial, as  well  as  in  the  political  depart- 
ment. His  next  problem  will  be  how  to 
bring  his  system  into  operation.  The 
establishment  of  an  artisan  despotism 
will  be  resisted  to  the  death  by  the  other 
classes,  and  the  entrance  to  social  felicity 
will  be  through  a  civil  war.  Socialists 
and  all  who  incline  that  way  constantly 
talk  of  the  S"tate  and  of  its  duties.  It  is 
the  duty  of  the  State,  they  say,  to  edu- 
cate everybody,  to  f(jrm  the  character  of 
everybody,  to  provide  work  for  every- 
body, whether  there  happens  to  be  work 
enough  or  not.  Duties  can  attach  only 
to  persons.  To  the  persons  composing 
the  Government  there  attach  such  duties 
as  may  have  been  imposed  upon  them  by 
the  community,  and  these  alone.  The 
State  is  not  a  person  or  a  conclave  of 
persons  ;  it  is  merely  an  abstraction,  or 
rather,  in  the  conception  of  Socialistic 
theorists,  it  is  the  lingering  shadow  of 
that  paternal  despotism  which  was  per- 
sonal with  a  vengeance,  but  of  which  it 
might  have  been  supposed  that  the  world 
had  made  sufficient  trial.  In  represent- 
ing society  as  an  organism,  physical  so- 
ciologists have,  no  doubt,  gone  too  far  ; 
a  good  deal  of  physical  metaphor  is  being 
converted  into  philosophy  just  now.  But 
the  organism  view  is  nearer  the  truth 
than  that  of  a  personal  State,  placed  out- 
side society,  and  having  society  in  its 
charge.  Any  proposal  to  parcel  out  the 
industrial  and  commercial  world  into 
phalansteries,  chimerical  as  it  would  be 
anywhere,  is  most  glaringly  chimerical 
when  applied  to  a  continent,  occupied  in 
its  whole  extent  by  a  vast  partnership  of 
closely  connected  industries,  and  covered 
with  a  network  of  commercial  communi- 
cations ;  in  which,  it  may  be  added,  the 
workman  is  particularly  migratory  in  his  j 
habits,  and  unless  he  should  totally 
change,  his  character  would  not  bear  the 
thought  of  being  bound,  as  the  phalan- 
stery would  bind  him,  to  a  .single  spot. 
I  think  it  may  be  said  that  meantime  an 
unforced  and  most  salutary  communism 
gains  ground  in  the  United  States 
through  the  increasing  sense  of  social 
duty  on  the  part  of  the  rich.     Not  only 


that  property  has  its  duties  as  well  as 
its  rights,  but  that  the  duties  are,  at 
least,  as  great  a  source  of  happiness  as 
the  rights,  is  the  practical  conviction  of 
many  a  rich  American,  as  the  extraordi- 
nary number  of  foundations  and  the 
amount  of  muniticence  of  every  descrip- 
tion show.  In  no  community,  I  believe, 
is  wealth  held  to  a  greater  extent  for  the 
public  benefit.  Partly,  no  doubt,  this 
is  due  to  the  impossibility  of  spending 
money  on  large  establishments  of  ser- 
vants, in  a  country  where  no  servant 
will  take  orders  from  another,  and  also 
to  the  absence  of  titles  and  other  induce- 
ments to  found  a  family  which  compel  a 
millionaire  who  is  desirous  of  distinction 
to  seek  it  by  becoming  a  benefactor  of 
the  public.  But  the  fact  remains  the 
same.  You  see  the  rich  Americans  who 
come  over  to  squander  their  lightly-won 
fortunes  in  the  pleasure  cities  of  Europe, 
and  fancy  that  these  represent  the  ten- 
dencies of  wealth  in  the  United  States  ; 
but  you  do  not  see  the  rich  Americans 
who  are  living  far  different  lives  at  home. 
Trade  unionism  is  not  communism.  It 
aims  at  insuring  justice  to  the  workman 
in  the  bargain  between  him  and  the 
capitalist  who  employs  him,  and  at  ele- 
vating his  character  and  social  condi- 
tion. Those  who  pleaded  its  cause  in 
earlier  days  may,  I  think,  now  have  the 
satisfaction  of  saying  that,  in  spite  of 
errors  and  faults,  it  has  really  served 
both  these  purposes,  and  that,  notwith- 
standing occasional  outrages,  it  has,  on 
the  whole,  rendered  trade  disputes  more 
legal  and  less  violent  in  their  character 
than  they  used  to  be  in  former  times. 
We  have  now  no  Luddite  .riots,  though 
we  have  still  things  which  are  to  be  de- 
plored. Trade  unionism,  however,  like 
communism,  is  an  offspring  of  the  Old 
World  imported  by  emigrants  into  the 
United  States,  where,  down  to  a  com- 
paratively recent  period,  it  could  hardly 
be  said  to  exist.  The  native  American 
is  generally  too  independent  to  brook 
the  restraints  of  a  imion,  and  he  has 
always  felt  able  to  make  his  own  bargain 
with  the  employer  ;  nor  in  a  land  of  sfelf- 
made  men,  where  almost  all  the  masters 
have  set  out  in  life  as  workmen,  is  there 
the  sharp  social  division  which  here,  I 
take  it,  helps  to  generate  and  to  embitter 
industrial  war.  The  size  of  the  con- 
tinent, and  the  migratory  habits  of 
the  workmen,  to  which  I  have  already 
adverted,  are  also  unfavourable  to  the 
organization    of  compact   unions.     Bad 


PROFESSOR  GOLD  WIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


93 


unionist  outrages  were  committed  by 
the  Molly- Maguires  in  the  mining  dis- 
trict of  Pennsylvania  ;  but  curiosity 
having  led  me  to  the  scene,  I  satisfied 
myself  that  tlie  men  were  foreigners, 
fresh  from  the  labour  wars  of  the  Old 
World.  A  few  years  ago  there  was  a 
dist\irbance  on  a  much  larger  scale  and 
of  a  more  ominous  kind,  the  chief  scene 
of  which  was  Pittsburg.  This  began  with 
a  union  or  league  of  unions,  but  it  spread 
to  the  tramps  and  other  loose  and  dis- 
orderly characters,  by  whom,  I  believe, 
the  worst  of  the  outrages  were  commit- 
ted. The  necessity  was  then  clearly  re- 
vealed of  having,  in  a  country  which  is 
always  receiving  multitudes  of  the  mal- 
content and  turbulent  spirits  of  the  Old 
World,  a  sufficient  regular  force  to  pre- 
vent these  immigrants  from  overturning 
public  order  and  ruining  their  own  hopes 
at  the  same  time.  Democratic  society, 
however,  feeling  that  it  rests  on  the  solid 
basis  of  justice,  is  not  apt  to  endure  en- 
croachment on  the  part  of  trade  unions 
any  more  than  on  that  of  any  other  in- 
terest or  class.  The  great  fact  which 
those  who  engage  in  strikes  have  always 
to  keep  before  their  minds  is,  that  their 
real  employer  is  not  the  master,  though 
he  pays  the  wages,  but  the  community 
which  buys  the  work,  and  which  cannot 
be  driven  by  any  auKJunt  of  striking  to 
give  more  than  it  thinks  the  work  is 
worth  ;  so  that  the  master  may  be  ruined 
and  the  trade  may  be  wrecked  before 
any  increase  of  payment  is  obtained  by 
the  working  man.  There  is  no  commu- 
nity in  which  this  truth  is  likely  to  be 
brciught  home  to  those  who  strike  for 
exorbitant  wages  more  speedily  than  in 
the  United  States.  I  should  say,  how- 
ever, that  in  America  strikes  were  more 
often  for  increase  of  leisure  than  for 
increase  of  wages,  and  if  the  leisure  is 
even  tolerably  well  employed,  this  must 
be  regarded  as  a  sign  of  advancing 
civilization.  I  spoke  of  tramps,  or  as 
they  would  be  called  in  this  country, 
vagrants.  It  is  painful  to  report  that 
the  appearance  of  tramps  or  vagrants  in 
increa-iing  numbers  has  become  a  sub- 
ject of  anxiety,  both  in  the  United 
States  and  in  Canada.  Jt  is  difficult  to 
get  at  the  real  cause.  In  the  United 
States,  I  have  heard  the  opinion  ex- 
pressed that  many  of  the  tramps  are  old 
soldiers,  and  that  the  army  which  at  the 
close  of  the  Civil  War  seemed  to  have 
melted  away  almost  by  magic  into  the 
industrial  population,  has  thus  after  all 


come  back  in  another  form  upon  the  na- 
tion. It  is  not  unlikely,  indeed  it  may 
be  taken  as  certain,  that  the  habits  of 
many  were  permanently  unsettled  by 
five  years  of  military  life.  But  having 
been  practically  engai^ed  in  the  investi- 
gation in  C(mnection  with  the  city  chari- 
ties of  Toronto,  I  was  led  to  the  con- 
clusion that  most  of  these  men  were 
emigrants  of  restless  and  wandering  dis- 
position. Much,  however,  must  be  laid 
to  the  account  of  climate.  During  the 
long  and  severe  winter  many  trades  are 
suspended,  and  though,  during  the  sum- 
mer, wages  are  high,  temptations  are 
numerous  and  providence  is  not  univer- 
sal, though  far  more  common  than  might 
be  supposed.  Some  of  the  tramps  cer- 
tainly work  in  summer  and  beg  only  in 
the  winter.  The  nomad  after  all  is  not 
yet  wholly  worked  out  of  us  ;  the  tourist 
with  his  knapsack  in  Switzerland,  as  well 
as  the  gipsy,  show  that  there  is  still  a 
charm  in  a  wandering  life  ;  and  there 
are,  perhaps,  not  a  few  among  these 
tramps  of  whom  good  use  might  be  made 
if  a  calling  which  had  in  it  something  of 
movement  and  enterprise  could  be  found 
for  them.  In  the  United  States,  and 
still  more  in  Canada,  where  the  forests 
are  the  greatest  source  of  national 
w«alth,  there  is  urgent  need  of  a  forest 
guard  to  prevent  reckless  destruction 
and  especially  to  save  the  forests  from 
the  fires  which,  as  you  see,  ravage  them 
in  dry  summer,  and,  though  sometimes 
caused  by  lightning,  are  usually  caused 
by  negligence  in  leaving  camp  fires  burn- 
ing, and  sometimes  even  by  malice. 
Some  of  the  tramps  might,  perhaps, 
make  good  forest  guards.  In  Toronto 
we  are  about  to  institute,  for  the  re- 
ception of  these  men,  a  sort  of  casual 
ward,  with  the  indispensable  labour  test. 
In  the  great  cities  of  the  New  World  pau- 
perism is  beginning  to  appear.  It  is  a 
melancholy  fact,  and  we  admit  it  with 
reluctance,  but  we  are  everywhere  look- 
ing forward  to  the  necessity  of  a  public 
provision  for  the  poor.  The  first  step 
towards  this  is  the  union  of  tbe  difi'erent 
private  charities  of  the  city  under  a  cen- 
tral board  of  administration  or  refer- 
ence. In  Philadelphia,  Boston,  and  Buf- 
falo, admirable  organizations  of  this  kind 
have  been  set  on  foot.  It  seems  very 
sad  that  in  a  young  country  and  in  a 
land  of  promise  the  social  malady  of  the 
old  country  should  have  so  soon  ap- 
peared. But  we  must  remember  that, 
though  young  in  years,  America  is  al- 


94. 


PEOFESSOR  GOLD  WIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS 


ready  old  in  progress  ;  she  has  lived  ten 
centuries  in  cue.  Her  cities  equal  those 
of  Europe  in  wealth  and  size,  and  ai-a 
fast  coming  np  to  them  in  maguiticence  ; 
it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  they 
would  he  exempted  from  the  fell  attend- 
ant of  urban  greatness.  After  all,  the 
poor  quarters  of  any  American  city, 
even  the  Five  Points,  at  New  York,  does 
not  approach  in  size,  and  hardly  equals 
in  squalor,  the  poor  quarters  in  London, 
Liverpool,  or  Glasgow.  I  went  the 
other  day  to  look  at  the  poor  quarter  of 
Philadelphia,  and,  really,  without  the 
help  of  the  friend  who  guided  me,  I 
should  hardly  have  known  when  I  was 
in  it.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  political 
circumstances  make  this  question  one  of 
special  gravity  in  the  United  States. 
Destitution  on  a  large  scale  would  be 
fearfully  dangerous  in  combination  with 
\mivei-3al  suffrage.  Public  education  is 
the  sheet-anchor  of  the  democracy,  and 
as  to  the  necessity  of  maintaining  it  there 
is,  I  believe,  no  serious  difference  of 
ophiion  on  the  Continent.  Yet  even 
this,  like  other  good  things,  has  its  at-  • 
tendant  shadow  of  evil.  At  least,  the 
general  impression  is  that  the  system  of 
education  in  the  public  schools  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  growing  tendency  of 
country  people  to  leave  the  farms  and 
to  flock  into  the  cities  in  quest  of  the 
lighter  callings  and  the  social  pleasures 
of  a  city  life.  C'^rtain  it  is  that  the 
tendency  exists,  and  that  callings  of  the 
lighter  kind  are  greatly  overcrowded,  al- 
most as  much  overcrowded  as  they  are 
in  England.  If  you  advertise  for  a  clerk 
or  secretary,  or  even  for  a  shopman,  in 
New  York,  yon  will  get  nearly  as  many 
applications  as  you  would  get  here.  It  is  a 
fact  which  men  of  education  who  think 
of  emigrating  to  America  are  earnestly 
recommended  to  lay  to  heart.  The  result, 
as  there  seems  reason  to  fear,  will  in 
time  be  an  educated  proletariat  of  a  very 
miserable  and,  perhaps,  dangerous  kind. 
Kothiiig  can  be  more  wretclied  or  more 
explosive  than  destitution,  with  the 
social  humiliation  which  attends  it,  in 
men  whose  sensibilities  have  been  quick- 
ened and  whose  ambition  has  been 
aroused.  People  are  being  led  to  the 
conviction  that,  at  all  events,  the  edu- 
cation given  in  the  public  schools  and  at 
the  expense  of  the  community  ought  to 
be  of  a  strictly  practical  character,  and 
that  the  door  should  be  cPbsed  against 
ambitious  programmes,  which  engender 
a  false  conceit   of  knowledge  and  supe- 


riority to  common  work.  There  are, 
also,  some  who  think  that  the  multipli- 
cation of  universities  and  of  facilities  for 
taking  degrees  without  any  special  apti- 
tude for  learning  or  science  has  already 
gone  far  enough.  We  have  not  an  un- 
limited market  for  graduates,  any  more 
than  there  is  for  shopmen  or  mechanics  ; 
and  the  pleasant  idea  that  a  youth,  after 
receiving  a  university  education  and  tak- 
ing a  degree,  will  go  back  to  common 
callings  and  elevate  them  by  his  culture 
has  not  as  yet  beenborne  out  bythe  facts. 
In  connexion  with  this  class  of  question, 
it  may  be  mentioned  that  an  attempt  is 
being  made  to  introduce  co-operation  on 
an  extensive  scale  into  Canada,  by  the 
establishment  of  an  association  at  Mon- 
treal, with  branches  in  other  cities  of 
the  Dominion.  It  is  distributive,  not 
productive,  co-oper*ition  that  forms  the 
object  of  the  association.  In  truth,  the 
two  kinds  of  co-operation  have  nothing 
in  common,  and  the  application  of  the 
same  name  to  both  is  practically  mis- 
leading as  well  as  verbally  incorrect  ;  it 
makes  people  fancy  that  the  two  things 
are  connected  and  that,  as  one  of  them 
is  feasible,  the  other  must  be  feasible 
also.  Distributive  co-operation  is  not 
really  co-operation  at  all  ;  it  is  merely  a 
combination  of  consumers  to  buy  direct 
from  the  wholesale  merchants,  and 
thereby  to  save  what  had  hitherto  gone 
as  profit  to  the  retail  dealer.  Nothing 
can  be  more  simple  or  more  practicable, 
and  the  system  is  eviddiitly  destined  to 
extend  itself,  at  1  ast,  in  the  cities  ;  for 
in  the  country  its  application  is  more 
difficult,  though  our  Farmer's  Granges 
in  Canada  aim,  I  lielieve,  at  something 
of  the  kind.  There  can  be  no  doubt  as 
to  the  improvement  which  the  ready- 
money  system  enforced  in  the  co-opera- 
tive stores  makes  in  the  habits  and  con- 
dition of  the  working  class.  Sympathy 
is  due  to  the  retail  tradesman,  who  finds 
his  calling  and  subsistence  thus  imperil- 
led. We  cannot  wonder  at  his  anxiety 
or  even  at  his  tendency  to  use  his  poli- 
tical influence  against  the  advancing  foe 
in  that  which  must  appear  to  him  a  mat- 
ter of  economical  life  or  death.  The 
suffering  of  those  who  have  subsisted  by 
the  outgoing  system  is  the  sad  part  of 
many  an  ecnnomical  improvement.  Hard 
and  cheerless  is  tlie  lot  of  many  of  the 
atoms  in  the  great  body  corporate  unless 
they  have  some  interest  and  some  hope 
in  tiie  progress  of  the  whole.  The  life 
of  a  small  retail  tradesman,  however,  is, 


PROFESSOR  GOLDWIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


95 


perhaps,  not  one  of  the  happiest,  or  one 
the  reduced  spliere  of  which  when  the 
the  thiriij;  is  done  and  the  pang  is  over 
there  will  be  much  reason  to  deplore. 
It  must  in  a  great  many  cases  be  one 
of  extreme  uncertainty  and  of  bitter 
anxiety.  Watch  any  street  of  small 
shops  ;  how  frequent  are  the  changes 
and  what  jjrotracted  agonies  of  failure 
do  those  changes  often  denote.  Many 
who  who  are  now  sliopkeepers,  it  may  be 
hoped,  will  find  a  less  precarious  em- 
ployment a3  clerks  in  tue  co-operative 
stores.  Great  houses, such  asthatof  Stew- 
art at  New  York,  already  employ  a  large 
number  of  this  class,  and  are  essentially 
applications  of  the  co-operative  princi- 
ple in  another  form.  This  case  of  the 
retail  trader  is  not  the  only  one  of  the 
kind,  nor  is  he  the  only  sufferer  by  the 
mighty  changes  v/hich  are  going  on  in  the 
course  and  the  living  machiiieiy  of  trade. 
Increased  facility  of  communicaticm,  es- 
pecially between  the  two  continents,  is 
bringing  the  great  merchant  into  the 
direct  relation  with  the  producer  in  other 
countries,  and  superseding  a  number  of 
interniediate  agencies  by  which  multi- 
tudes have  hitherto  made  their  bread. 
Of  productive  co-operation  no  important 
instance  has  fallen  under  my  notice  in 
America.  Mere  premiums  on  the  suc- 
cess of  the  business,  given  to  the  work- 
men in  the  shape  of  increased  wages  or 
in  any  other  shape,  while  the  capitalist 
retains  the  control,  are  instances  of 
friendly  and  judicious  enlistment  of  the 
working  men's  interest  in  his  employer's 
work,  but  they  are  not  instances  of  pro- 
ductive co-operatiim.  In  America,  be- 
sidesthe  ordinary  difficulties  arising  from 
the  waiit  of  a  capital  which  can  wait  for 
the  market  and  of  a  guiding  mind,  an 
obstacle  would  in  this  case  again  be  found 
in  the  unwillingness  of  the  mechanic 
to  tie  himself  to  one  spot.  In  France 
the  workingman  is  more  stationary 
as  well  as  more  apt  in  his  general  char- 
acter for  association  and  more  amenable 
to  control. 

To  turn  to  a  different  class  of  sub- 
jects, though  not  one  unconnected 
with  socialistic  tendencies.  The  Legal 
Tender  Act,  putting  into  forced  circula- 
tion a  flood  of  inconvertible  paper,  to 
which  the  Federal  Government  resorted 
during  the  Civil  War,  has  been  the  un- 
happy parent  of  a  long  series  of  currency 
agitatiims  which  has  kept  commerce  in  a 
constant  state  of  disquietude,  and  has 
hardly  yet  come  completely  to  an  end. 


It  may  be  presumed  that  in  an  assem- 
blage of  economists  there  are  few  who 
have  any  doubt  as  to  the  character  of 
that  measure.  It  was  in  effect  a  fi>rced 
loan,  not  the  less  unjust  and  pernicious 
because  it  assumed  the  form  of  legisla- 
tive fraud  and  not  of  despotic  violence. 
Whatever  political  lawyers  occupying 
the  bench  of  justice  might  say,  it  was  a 
violation  on  the  largest  scale  of  that 
article  of  the  Constitution  which  forbids 
any  legislation  breaking  the  faith  of 
contracts.  It  enabled  debtors  to  rob 
their  creditors  of  50  per  cent  of  the  debt 
by  paying  them  in  depreciated  paper. 
It  demoralized  commerce  and  taught 
the  people,  who  were  too  keen-sighted 
not  to  understand  its  real  nature,  a  fatal 
lesson  of  dishonesty.  It  introduced  con- 
fusion into  prices,  rendered  the  value 
of  wages  uncertain,  and  thereby  brought 
on  industrial  disputes  and  strikes  of 
which  there  had  been  hardly  any  instance 
before.  It  set  up  that  mightiest  and 
most  noxious  of  national  gambling  ta- 
bles, the  Gold  Room  of  New  York.  Its 
authors  may  plead  the  pressure  of  des- 
perate necessity,  and  may,  no  doubt, 
assert  with  truth  that  their  motives 
were  patriotic,  but  the  character  of  the 
measure  ought  not  to  be  forgotten  so 
long  as  we  are  threatened  with  repe- 
titions or  imitations  of  it.  That  there 
were  inauspicious  precedents  for  the 
measure  we  all  know.  There  was  the 
paper  currency  of  the  Revolutionary 
War,  by  means  of  which  Washington 
himself  was  robbed  of  his  private  pro- 
perty while  he  was  saving  the  country, 
and  the  effects  of  whicti,  social  and 
moral,  as  well  as  commercial,  were  such 
that  Tom  Paine,  no  straightlaced  econo- 
mist, seriously  proposed  that  death 
should  be  the  penalty  of  attempting  to 
revive  the  system.  There  were  the 
French  assignats,  which,  it  is  just  to 
say,  were,  in  the  first  instance,  land- 
script  issued  in  good  faith  and  based  on 
lands  really  in  the  hands  of  the  State, 
though  an  unprincipled  and  delirious 
Government  soon  began  to  drink  more 
deeply  of  the  seductive  cup.  There  was 
also  the  suspension  of  specie  payments 
in  England  at  the  crisis  of  the  French 
war — a  departure  from  principle  of  a 
mitigated  character — yet  a  departure, 
and  calamitous  in  its  result.  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say  that,  even  in  its  strictly 
financial  aspect,  the  Legal  Tender  Act 
was  a  blunder  as  Avell  as  a  crime.  In 
the  upshot  it  greatly  increased  instead  of 


96 


PROFESSOR  GOLD  WIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


diminishing  the  burden  of  the  debt. 
Far  better  would  it  liave  been,  far  bet- 
ter under  similar  circumstances  will  it 
always  be,  when  taxation  has  reached  its 
limits,  to  go  honestly  into  the  market 
and  borrow  at  the  best  attainable  rate, 
however  high  that  rate  may  be.  The 
transaction  will  really  be  less  onerous  to 
the  nation,  while  the  most  precious  of  all 
possessions,  the  national  credit,  will  be 
preserved.  I  was  in  the  United  States 
at  the  time,  and  to  me  it  appeared  that 
the  people,  if  the  politicians  had  only 
trusted  them,  were  prepared  for  the 
better  and  wiser  course.  It  is  wonder- 
ful that,  after  receiving  such  a  lesson 
in  the  use  of  paper  currency  from 
their  legislators,  and  in  spite  of  the 
plausible  fallacies  breathed  by  dema- 
gogues into  the  public  ear,  the  people 
should  h)*ve  declared  for  resumption, 
and  for  the  honourable  payment  of  the 
debt  in  gold.  Their  good  sense  came  to 
the  aid  of  their  integrity,  and  told  them 
that  the  forfeiture  of  the  public  credit 
would  to  a  commercial  nation  be,  not 
only  disgrace,  but  ruin.  They  have  been 
rewarded  by  a  national  prosperity  to 
which  history  afibrds  no  parallel.  Yet, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  the  agita- 
tion in  favour  of  an  intl ated  paper  cur- 
rency, greenbackism  as  it  is  called,  con- 
tinued, and  it  found,  as  everything  that 
has  votes  will  find,  allies  and  advocates 
among  the  politicians.  Nor.  is  it  dead 
yet,  though  for  the  time  it  has  received 
its  quietus  from  the  revival  of  trade,  and 
the  patient,  feeling  the  tide  of  health 
once  more  running  through  his  veins, 
has  thrown  his  patent  medicines  to  the 
dogs.  In  Canada  during  the  commercial 
depression  we  had  a  movement  in  favour 
of  what  is  called  national  currency — that 
is,  a  large  issue  of  inconvertible  paper, 
which  upon  the  return  of  prosperity  be- 
gan to  subside.  If  we  should  be  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  have  two  or  three  bad 
harvests,  an^i  our  farmers  should  go  on 
piling  up  mortgage  debt  as  they  are  do- 
ing now,  it  is  to  be  feared  we  may  hear 
of  national  currency  again.  Not  that 
any  one  doubts  that  paper  money  has 
theoretic  advocates  who  are  perfectly 
honest  and  sincere.  I  could  point  to 
Canadians  as  upright  as  any  men  in  the 
world,  who  are  profoundly  convinced 
that  it  is  in  thoir  power  not  only  to  flood 
the  country  with  wealth,  but  almost  to 
create  universal  happiness,  and  wipe  the 
tears  from  all  faces  by  issuing  an  unlim- 
ited number  of  promissory  notes  and  re- 


fusing payment.  ,  This  is  the  true  de- 
scription of  an  inconvertible  paper 
currency.  A  bank-note  is  nothing  more 
than  a  promissory  note  for  so  much  gold, 
payable  on  presentati<m  of  the  note.  All 
the  notes  issued  under  the  American 
Legal  Tender  Act,  and  the  other  Acts  of 
the 'Same  description,  have,  I  believe, 
hitherto  preserved  the  promissory  form. 
If  that  form  is  to  be  discarded,  and  the 
simple  denomination  of  a  p<mnd  or  a 
dollar  substituted,  as  the  Fiat  money 
men  propose,  they  will  have  to  tell  us 
what  a  pound  or  a  dollar  is  if  it  is  not  a 
certain  weight  of  gold.  'J'hey  tell  us  it 
is  a  certain  proportion  of  the  general 
wealth  of  the  country,  on  which,  as  an 
aggregate,  their  currency  is  based.  But 
what  proportion  ?  What  does  the  paper 
sovereign  specially  represent,  and  to 
what  will  it  entitle  me  ?  To  a  sheep, 
or  only  to  a  leg  of  mutton  1  To  a  coat, 
or  only  to  a  pair  of  shoes  ?  How  am  I 
ever  to  tell  what  I  have  in  my  pocket  ? 
This  is  the  first  objection,  but  there  is 
another  which  is  much  more  fatal.  The 
general  wealth  of  the  country  is  not, 
like  the  gold  in  the  Treasury,  the  pro- 
perty of  the  Government  ;  it  is  the  pro- 
perty of  imlividual  owners  ;  and  the 
State,  in  giving  me  a  ticket  for  a  portion 
of  it,  under  the  form  of  a  piece  of  Fiat 
paper  money,  would  be  simply  giving  me 
a  license  to  pillage  my  neighbour.  The 
Government  has  nothing  but  the  right 
of  taxation,  bounded  by  the  necessities 
of  the  State.  Of  course,  if  it  is  sovereign 
and  despotic,  it  can  give  A  an  order  for 
B's  coat,  but  in  doing  so  it  would  be 
committing  an  act  of  spoliation.  The 
gold  in  the  Treasury  wliich,  on  the  face 
of  an  honest  bank-note,  it  promises  to 
pay,  is  its  own.  These  fallacies  seem  to 
arise  from  failure  to  gra^'p  very  simple 
facts.  People  when  they  use  paper  cur- 
rency of  the  ordinary  kind  naturally 
enough  fancy  that  they  buy  with  paper. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  they  do  nut  buy 
with  paper  in  using  a  bank-note  any 
more  than  in  using  a  cliecpie.  In  both 
cases  they  buy  with  the  gold  for  which 
the  bank-note  or  cheque  is  an  order. 
When  a  man  receives  a  bank-note  there 
is  placed  to  his  credit  at  the  bank  so 
much  gold  payable  on  demand.  The 
piece  of  paper  itself  has  no  value,  nor 
can  any  legislation  give  it  any.  No  act 
of  Government  can  possibly  give  any- 
thing value.  Government  by  putting 
its  stamp  on  the  piece  of  gold  assures 
the  taker  that  it  is  of  the  proper  weight 


I 


PROFESSOR  GOLD  WIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


97 


and  quality  ;  but  the  value  is  in  the  gold 
itself.  The  gold  is  the  real  e(iuivaleiit 
of  the  article  purchased.  Trade,  it  is 
said,  was  originally  barter.  It  is  barter 
still,  though  a  particular  commodity  is 
adopted  as  the  standard.  Nothing  is 
given  except  in  return  for  its  real  equiv- 
alent. The  gold,  1  repeat,  is  equal  in 
value  to  the  article  purchased.  But  this 
is  not  always  clearly  seen,  because  one 
of  the  elements  in  the  value  of  the  pre- 
cious metals,  the  principal  element,  in- 
deed, is  not  material,  but  immaterial. 
At  first  they  were  chosen  on  account  of 
natural  qualities,  their  beautj',  their 
durability,  their  portability,  together 
with  their  rarity  ;  but  now,  in  addition 
to  these,  they  have  the  position  given 
them  by  immemorial,  universal,  and 
practically  immutable  prescription  as  the 
cii'culating  medium  of  the  world.  The 
Jacobins  tried  to  change  the  chronolo- 
gical era,  and  to  make  history  date  from 
the  first  year  of  their  Republic.  To 
change  the  circulating  medium  of  all  na- 
tions would  be  nearly  as  desperate  an 
undertaking.  It  by  no  means  follows, 
because  value  is  immaterial,  that  it  is 
conventional  and  not  real.  The  value 
of  a  diamond,  as  a  material  object,  is  as 
nothing  compared  with  the  value  which 
it  has  acquired  by  ages  of  prescription 
as  an  established  sign  of  wealth  and  so- 
cial rank.  This  is  a  matter  of  fancy, 
perhaps  ;  but  the  value,  while  the  fancy 
lasts,  is  not  the  less  real.  Of  course,  an 
enormous  find  of  diamonds  or  gold  would 
destroy  the  value  in  either  case.  I  ven- 
ture to  think  that  even  Mr.  Mill  has 
not  always  a  perfectly  firm  hold  of  these 
facts.  He  speaks  of  money  as  a  ticket, 
and  a  mere  instrvunent  of  exchange.  If 
this  were  so,  perhaps  other  tickets  might 
be  produced  at  the  will  of  Government. 
The  Fiat  money  men  point  to  postage 
stamps  as  an  instance  of  value  put  into 
paper  by  Government.  But  a  postage 
stamp  is  a  receipt  for  a  payment  made  to 
the  Government  in  gold,  in  considera- 
tion of  which  the  Government  under- 
takes to  carry  the  letter  to  which  the 
receipt  is  affixed.  Of  course,  if  Govern- 
ments chooses,  in  virtue  of  its  sovereign 
authority,  to  enact  that  the  inconverti- 
ble paper  shall  be  accepted  in  payment 
of  debts — if  it  chooses,  in  other  words, 
to  issue  licenses  of  repudiation,  the  pa- 
per for  a  time  will  have  a  value  with  a 
vengeance.  But,  as  we  know,  it  will  be 
only  for  a  time,  even  though  the  Govern- 
ment, like  that  of   France  in  the  Reign 


of  Terror,  should  back  the  currency  with 
the  guillotine.      1'lie    Fiat    money   men 
are  not  agreed  whether  they  will  receive 
their  own  money   for   taxes.      Those  o 
robust  faith  say  they  will,  but  there  are 
others  who  have  an  inkling  of  the  fatal 
truth.      But,  as  some  American  said  in 
this  discussion,  if  the  Government  can 
print  off  as  much  money  as  it  pleases, 
why  does  it  come  pestering  me  for  taxes 
at  all  ?  About  the  merits  of  legal  tender 
with  inconvertibility  most  of   us  art'  of 
one  mind.     But  why  sliould  we  admit 
legal-tender  notes  at  all  I      Why  should 
people  be  compelled  to  take  anybody's 
paper,  that  of  a  Government  more  than 
that  of  a  private   banker  or  trader,  as 
gold  ?     If  the  Government  is  solvent, 
no   practical   wrong   is   done.     But   all 
Governments  are  not  solvent.     A  prin- 
ciple is  broken,  the  ideas  of  the  people 
are  confused,  and  the  door  is  open  which 
leads  to  the  downward  path.    The  other 
day  the  Canadian  Government,    finding 
itself  pinched,  took  power  to  issue  more 
legal-tender  paper.       The    Government 
was  perfectly  solvent,  and  acted  in  good 
faith  ;  but  the  measure  produced   some 
disquietude,  and  not  without  cause.     In 
England  commerce  has   a   firm    control 
over  currency   legislation  ;  in  the  com- 
munities on  the  other  side  of  the  water 
it  has  not  so  firm  a  control,  and  tamper- 
ing with  the  currency  is  the  demagogvie's 
favourite  game.  Perhaps,  with  reference 
to   America,    at   all   events,  one  might 
even  go  further  and  ask  whether  it  would 
not  be  better   that  Government   should 
entirely  confine  itself   to   its  necessary 
duty  of  putting  its  stamp  on  the  coin. 
Why  should  it  issue  bank-notes   at  all  ? 
Why    should    it  issue    bank-notes  any 
more  than  any  other    kind  of    paper  ] 
There  is  a  feeling  that  it  ought   to  ap- 
propriate to  itself,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
nation,  the  profits  of  this  particular  bus- 
iness.    But  why  of   this  business  more 
than  of  discounting,  or  of  lending,  or  of 
banking  ?      Government   cannot  deter- 
mine the  quantity  of  paper   needed    at 
any  moment.      Nothing  can  determine 
that  but  the  number  and  extent  of  trans- 
actions. The  action  of  the  private  banks 
is  regulated  by  the  number  and   extent 
of  the    transactions  ;  they   cannot  help 
expanding  and  contracting  their  circula- 
tion with  the  need.     The  Bank  Charter 
Act  has  been  three  times  suspended,    of 
course  not  without   the    inconvenience 
and  injustice  which  attend  arbitrary  in- 
tervention,   and  it   seems  at  periods  of 


98 


PEOFESSOE  GOLDWIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


tightness  to  have  the  effect  of  producing 
a  sort  of  hysterical  constriction,  which 
aggravates  the  evil.  Private  banks  of 
issue  witli  proper  regulations  as  to  re- 
serve and  inspection  seem  to  have  gone 
very  well  through  the  crisis,  both  in  the 
United  States  and  in  Canada.  They  are 
under  the  law,  and  we  have  no  reason 
to  apprehend  laxity  in  enforcing  the  law 
against  them  ;  on  the  contrary,  there  is 
nothing  of  which  the  politicians  are 
fonder  than  bullying  the  banks.  But 
the  Government  is  above  law,  and  it 
may  be  in  unscrupulous  hands.  The 
money  trade,  surely,  is  like  any  other 
trade,  and  falls  as  little  as  any  other 
trade  within  the  province  of  political 
government.  In  the  ordinary  course  of 
commerce,  bank-notes  issued  by  a  pri- 
vate bank,  though  not  legal  tender,  can- 
not practically  be  refused.  This  is  the 
ground,  and  a  suflicient  ground,  for  pre- 
cautionary legislation  of  a  special  kind 
in  the  case  of  banks.  Other  ground  it 
is  difficult  to  see.  It  must  be  owned 
that  the  stockholders  of  Joint  Stock 
Banks,  in  Canada  at  least,  are  apt  to  in- 
vite Government  intervention  by  utter- 
ing loud  outcries  when  their  concerns 
are  mismanaged.  But  they  are  like  the 
stockholders  of  any  other  companies, 
and  must  find  their  security  for  honest 
management  in  the  election  of  trust- 
worthy directors.  If  they  call  for  Gov- 
vernment  intervention  against  their  own 
officers  they  may  be  in  some  danger  of 
illustrating  the  fate  of  the  horse  in  the 
fable.  About  the  last  scene  of  the  cur- 
rency agitation,  for  the  present  at  least, 
seems  to  be  the  silver  movement.  There 
are  strong  and  sincere  advocates  of  the 
bi-metallic  system  on  theoretic  grounds  ; 
but  the  sinews  of  the  movement  I  take 
it  are  the  Greenbackers  with  the  Silver 
Kings  behind  them.  The  commercial 
world  was  some  time  in  settling  down 
on  gold  as  the  standard  ;  not  only  silver 
has  been  the  standard,  but  iron,  copper, 
and,  under  pressure  of  necessity,  other 
articles,  such  as  salt  and  tobacco.  Silver 
still  remains  the  standard  in  some 
countries,  to  the  requirements  of  which 
commerce  is  obliged  to  bend.  But  the 
greatest  commercial  countries  have 
finally  settled  on  gold,  with  silver  for 
change.  It  is  for  the  champions  of  bi- 
metallism to  say  how  any  government  or 
convention  of  governments  is  to  fix  and 
to  keep  fixed  the  relative  value  of  two 
commodities,  when  the  relative  rate  of 
production,  among  other  circumstances, 


is  varying  from  day  to  day.  So  long  as 
silver  is  merely  change  for  gold,  a  rough 
equivalency  will  suffice.  The  wealth  of 
England  is  stored  in  gold  ;  she  is  by  far 
the  greatest  gold  owner  in  the  world  ;, 
and  to  ask  her  to  go  into  Congress  for 
the  purpose  practically  of  depreciating 
gold,  is  to  suppose  great  simplicity  on 
her  part.  The  result  of  the  Bill  which 
the  silver  men  succeeded  in  carrying 
through  Congress  is  a  mass  of  silver 
coin,  dollars  of  the  Fathers  as  the  silver 
men  tenderly  call  them,  which  nobody 
will  take  if  he  can  help  it,  and  in  which 
the  salaries  of  the  politicians  might  ap- 
propriately be  paid. 

Am  1  to  touch  the  burning  ques- 
tion of  protection  and  free  trade  ,'  If 
I  do,  I  will  be  careful  of  my  fingers, 
and,  avoiding  theories,  confine  my- 
self to  one  or  two  facts.  With  regard 
to  the  new  Canadian  tariff,  I  must  say 
here  what  I  have  said  elsewhere — it  was 
a  measure  of  fiscal  necessity.  There 
was  a  deficiency  which  could  be  filled 
only  by  an  increase  of  the  import  duties, 
direct  taxation  in  those  communities, 
being  fraught  with  social  danger,  as  well 
as  vexatious  and  difficult  of  collection. 
The  only  tax  which  is  really  protection- 
ist, that  is,  imposed  for  the  purpose  not 
of  revenue,  but  of  protection,  is  the  coal 
tax,  laid  on  in  the  interest  of  Nova 
Scotia,  and  with  a  view  of  securing  her 
adhesion  to  the  general  policy.  In  the 
selection  of  the  classes  of  goods  there  is 
an  attempt  to  discriminate  in  favour  of 
England  against  the  United  States, 
which,  by  the  result,  appears  to  have 
been  not  unsuccessful.  Of  course,  taxes 
imposed  on  the  importation  of  goods  of 
the  same  kind  as  those  which  are  made 
in  the  country  gives  what  is  called  inci- 
dental protection  to  the  home  manufac- 
turer, and  the  tarifl'  is  accordingly 
welcomed  by  the  Protectionists,  whose 
support  the  Government  does  not  refuse. 
But  there  is  a  rider  to  the  tarift",  looking 
to  the  mutual  reduction  of  duties  by 
Canada  and  the  United  States.  The 
deficit  which  created  the  necessity  was 
caused  by  expenditure  for  political  ob- 
jects on  public  works.  That  the  objects 
were  political  is  not  a  condemnation, 
provided  the  policy  was  sound.  Other 
things  are  entitled  to  consideration  be- 
sides wealth,  as  Adam  Smith  in  his  de- 
fence of  the  Navigation  Laws  has  em- 
phatically declared.  Political  economy 
rests  not  on  any  religious  principle,  but 
on  expediency,  which  must  be  enlarged 


PROFESSOR  GOLDWIN  SMITH'S  ADDRESS. 


9g> 


so  as  to  take  in  all  reasonable  motives, 
and  to  embrace  the  future  as  well  as  the 
present.  That  he  is  sacrificing,  and  de- 
liberately sacrificing,  the  present  advan- 
tage to  larger  gains  in  the  future,  is  the 
position  of  the  American  Protectionist  ; 
and,  whether  the  belief  as  to  the  future 
proht  be  well  or  ill-founded  in  his  case, 
we  must  meet  him  in  argument  on  his 
own  ground.  For  my  part  I  see  little 
prospect  of  a  change  in  the  American 
tarifi'  except  through  the  reduction  of 
the  debt,  which  will  diminish  the  need 
of  revenue.  The  Protectionist  fights 
hard,  the  Free  Trader  is  apathetic.  I 
have  noticed  this  in  speaking  to  Western 
farmers,  who  would  seem  to  have  the 
greatest  interest  in  Free  Trade.  The 
proportion  of  dutiable  articles  used  by 
the  farmer  is  not  large  ;  he  does  not 
spend  much  in  clothes,  for  his  machinery 
he  has  paid  protection  price,  but  then 
he  has  bought  it,  and  the  thing  is  done. 
Seeing  the  finances  flourishing  the  peo- 
ple think  the  system  must  be  good. 
The  promise  that  by  encouraging  home 
manufactures  it  will  draw  emigration 
and  provide  the  farmer  with  customers 
on  the  spot,  instead  of  sending  the 
workman's  dinner  to  him  across  the  At- 
lantic, seems  to  them  to  be  sustained 
by  the  results.  After  all,  we  must  re- 
member that  the  United  States  are  not 
an  ordinary  country,  they  are  a  conti- 
nent, producing  almost  everything  in 
itself.  The  Americans,  in  fact,  have 
free  trade  over  a  vast  and  diversified 
area.  It  seems  better  to  point  out  this, 
and  to  show  how  it  saves  them  from 
consequences  which  would  attend  pro- 
tection applied  to  a  small  territorj',  than 
to  tell  them  they  are  a  ruined  people, 
when  they  know  that,  instead  of  being 
ruined,  they  are  about  the  most  prosper- 
ous people  in  the  world.  There  is  talk 
of  an  Imperial  Zollverein,  which  means, 
I  suppose,  free  trade  between  England 
and  her  colonies,  with  protection  against 
the  rest  of  the  world.  Canada  would 
always  be  willing  to  meet  the  wishes  of 
the  mother-country,  but  she  could  hard- 
ly enter  into  an  arrangement  of  this 
kind.  Her  case  is  essentially  difTerent 
from  that  of  Australia  and  New  Zealand. 
She  is  bound  up  commercially  as  well  as 
territorially  with  the  United  States,  which 
are  her  natural  market.  She  has,  more- 
over, a  frontier  of  3,000  miles,  and  to 
keep  out  American  goods  she  would 
have  to  employ  a  considerable  propor- 
tion of  her  population  in  guarding  the 


Customs  line.     As  it  is,  there  is  smug- 
gling on  a  large  scale. 

This  parser  is  unavoidably  miscellane- 
ous ;  and  there  are  two  things  more  which 
perhaps  ought  to  be  briefly  noticed.  One  is 
international  copyright.  Literary  men  in 
the  United  States  have  always  been  in 
favour  of  international  copyright,  both  on 
general  grounds  of  justice  and  because, 
under  the  other  system,  they  are  placed 
at  a  manifest  disadvantage,  a  publisher 
not  being  willing  to  pay  them  for  their 
woi-k  while  he  is  at  liberty  to  take  the 
work  of  British  authors  without  paying. 
But  the  publishers  have  hitherto  resis- 
ted. Now  they  have  come  round,  and 
are  pressing  the  Governments  to  make  a 
treaty.  It  is  too  late.  Cheap  publish- 
ing has  received  an  immense  extension 
in  America  during  the  last  few  years. 
Not  only  light  literature,  but  literature 
of  all  kinds,  including  science,  and  phil- 
osophy, can  now  be  bought  at  amazingly 
low  prices^prices  so  low  that  the  neces- 
sity of  pu  blic  libraries ,  except  for  pu  rposes 
of  reference,  appears  likely  to  be  almost 
superseded .  The  American  people  have 
entered  into  a  paradise  of  cheap  reading, 
from  which,  depend  upon  it,  they  will 
not  allow  themselves  to  be  shut  out.  I 
doubt  whether  Congress  could  ever  pass 
the  law  which  it  seems  would  be  neces- 
sary to  give  eftect  to  a  treaty.  Copy- 
right altogether  received  a  severe  blow 
when  a  large  English-reading  public 
came  into  existence  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic  beyond  the  pale  of  English 
law.  There  is  nothing  for  it  now,  as  I 
.  believe,  but  to  get,  if  possible,  free  trade 
in  books,  and  in  publishing  to  give  up 
etiquette,  and  come  down  to  commercial 
principles.  We  must  j^rint  our  books, 
as  we  would  make  our  cottons,  for  the 
market,  and  not  expect  the  public  to 
give  an  etiquette  price  for  reading  mat- 
ter more  than  for  any  other  article.  I 
fear  this  sounds  coarse  advice.  But, 
after  all,  the  sou]  is  yoked  to  the  body, 
and  if  literature  is  ethereal,  publishing  is 
a  trade.  It  would  not  be  surprising  if 
the  question  raised  by  this  international 
difficulty  about  copyright  were  some  day 
to  extend  to  the  case  of  patent  right 
also. 

The  last  word  I  have  to  say  is  about 
emigration,  and  on  this  subject  I  wish 
to  be  cautious.  I  do  not  want,  as  a 
citizen  of  a  country  which  courts  emi- 
gration, to  underitate  its  advantages  ; 
at  the  same  time  I  feel  the  responsibility 
of  encouraging  anyone  to  emigrate.     I 


100 


A  NEW   YEARS  WISH. 


have  had  to  do  with  emigrants,  and  I 
know  that  all,  even  those  who  are  des- 
tined to  prosper  most  in  the  end,  have 
to  ^o  through  a  period  of  despondency 
and  home  sickness.  This  is  particularly 
the  case  with  mechanics  and  persons  of 
that  class,  who,  finding  things  not  ex- 
actly as  they  are  here,  think  that  all  is 
Tvroiig,  and  lose  heart.  A  labouring 
man— healthy,  hard-working,  sober  and 
thrifty— cannot  fail,  I  believe,  to  do 
better  in  the  New  World  than  he  could 
possibly  do  here.  For  a  farmer,  taking 
Avith  him  money  enough  to  buy  his  land 
and  stock,  or  partly  stock  if  the  prospect 
seems  good.  But  the  British  farmer,  at 
least  if°he  has  reached  middle-age,  with 
his  fixed  habits  and  ideas,  accustomed 
as  he  is  to  all  the  aids  and  appliances  of 
a  long-settled  and  highly-civilized  coun- 
try with  the  mechanic  always  at  hand 
to  do  for  him  what  the  American  or 
Canadian  does  for  himself,  is  hardly  the 
man  for  the  life  of  a  pioneer  ;  he  is 
likely  to  do  better  by  taking  one  of  the 
farms  in  the  East  which  are  left  vacant 
by  the  adventurous  Americans  and  Ca- 
nadians moving  west.     Of  mechanics  I 


believe  there  are  nearly  enough  for  the 
present  both  in  Canada  and  the  United 
States,  though,  of  course,  the  increase 
of  the  general  population  is  always  mak- 
ing fresh  openings,  especially  in  the 
West.  Domestic  servants  are  in  demand, 
]iarticularly  such  as  can  cook  ;  but  they 
must  not  expect  the  same  punctilious 
divisions  of  household  labour  which 
there  are  here  ;  they  will  have  to  follow 
the  general  rule  of  the  continent,  by 
mixing  trades  and  doing  things  which 
here  they  would  say  were  not  their  place. 
The  class  of  callings  which,  1  must  re- 
peat, is  over-stocked,  almost  as  much  aa 
it  is  in  this  country,  is  the  lighter  and 
more  intellectual  class,  such  as  are  com- 
monly sought  by  the  sons  of  gentlemen 
and  educated  men.  Let  not  any  man 
cross  the  Atlantic  in  quest  of  these,  for 
if  he  does  he  is  not  unlikely  to  be  an 
example,  by  no  means  the  first,  of 
highly-educated  men  seeking  in  vain  for 
the  humblest  and  coarsest  employment 
that  he  may  eat  bread.  I  have  only  to 
add  that  any  emigrant,  English,  Scotch, 
or  Irish,  who  comes  to  Canada  will  find 
himself  among  friends. 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  WISH. 


BY  C.  E.  M.,  MOMTREAL. 


"l^OW  when  the  world  is  joying  with  a  joy 

J-N     That  bids  all  wayward  murmurs  sink  to  peace, 

And  every  heart  beats  hopeful  for.  increase 

Of  good,  free  from  a  fleck  of  base  alloy 

Demeaning  human  kind,  as  to  destroy 

The  nobler  life  whose  gaze  is  upward  bent 

Upon  Faith's  sky,  if  haply  through  a  rent 

God's  light  supernal  gleam  :  no  paltry  toy 

Of  playful  thought,  struck  out  in  meanest  strain 

Wilt  thou  esteem  this  darling  wish  of  mine 

That  what  thou  cravest  as  thy  richest  gain 

May  always  smile  upon  thee,  thee  and  thine, 

Till  mortal  chords  close  in  eternal  swell, 

And  'midst  th'  acclaim  thou  hear'st  the  words,  '  Tis  well.' 


ROUND  THE  TABLE. 


101 


eoujstd  the  table. 


CflRISTxMAS  GIFTS. 

'  "TTTHAT  a  nuisance  Christmas  is  ! ' 
VV  This  amiable  remark  was  made 
by  a  lady  who  was  evidently  selecting 
Christmas  presents  with  no  great  relish 
for  the  task.  And  it  is  a  remark  which 
has  probably  been  made,  audibly  or  inau- 
dibly,  by  more  than  this  speaker  !  'I  think 
it  is  so  nice  to  remember  one's  friends 
at  Christmas  ' — said  another  lady,  apro- 
pos of  the  c[uestion  of  Christmas  tokens. 
The  two  speakers  were  representatives 
of  two  classes  of  people  and  Christmas 
givers,  who,  with  many  varying  shades 
between  them,  are  always  pretty  dis- 
tinctly marked, — the  people  who  love 
to  live  in  the  lives  of  others,  and  the 
people  who  think  anything  '  a  bore ' 
that  calls  them  out  of  themselves,  and 
makes  it  necessary  for  them  to  think  of 
others.  Some  people  have  a  latent  but 
strong  conviction  that  any  expenditure 
they  are  called  upon  to  make  for  others 
is  an  injustice,  and  an  oppression  to  them- 
selves. Of  course,  to  such  people, 
Christmas  is  a  nuisance,  since,  if  they 
will  do  nothing  else,  they  find  them- 
selves expected,  at  least,  to  send  Christ- 
mas cards  to  their  friends,  and  even 
Christmas  cards  maybe  felt  a  burden. 
Such  people,  if  they  were  more  honest, 
would  not  profess  to  give  Christmas  pre- 
sents at  all ! 

But  Christmas  gifts  are  like  a  great 
many  other  things, — wedding  gifts  in- 
cluded— good  or  bad,  according  to  the 
spirit  in  which  they  are  bestowed, 
"^'hen  they  are  given  for  the  credit  of 
the  donors,  to  gratify  the  spiiit  of  osten- 
tation— or  even  merely  because  '  it  is 
expected,'  or  because  there  is  an  obli- 
gation in  advance  to  be  discharged  on 
account  of  anticipated  gifts  from  others, 
they  loose  all  the  sweet  meaning  of  a 
gift,  to  the  givers  at  least,  if  not  to  the 
receivers  !  When  Christmas  gifts  come 
to  be  a  sort  of  unadmitted  barter,  thoy 
loose  all  the  grace  of  gifts,  without  the 
satisfaction  of  purchase.  For  it  is  almost 


sure  to  turn  out,  as  some  one  has  cyni- 
cally observed,  that  A.  gives  to  B.  some- 
thing he  cares  for  to  get  from  B.  some- 
thing for  which  he  does  not  care  at  all. 
From  which,  it  may  be  easily  observed, 
that  comparatively  few  people  have  what 
may  be  called  the  genius  of  giving — in 
which  is  implied  not  only  nice  percep- 
tion and  tact,  but  sufficient  considera- 
tion for  others — their  tastes  and  wants, 
to  understand  what  will  be  an  acceptable 
gift  for  any  particular  friend — conse- 
quently very  mal-a-propos  gifts  are  often 
made  even  by  people  who  are  not  at  all  stu- 
pid in  other  things.  But  it  is  only  those 
who  are  not  too  self-absorbed  to  live  a 
little  in  other  people's  lives,  who  can 
give  attention  enough  to  the  wants 
and  wishes  of  their  friends  to  present 
them  with  just  the  thing  they  were  wish- 
ing for  ?  In  the  dearth  of  ingenuity  or  at- 
tention or  tact  or  sympathy,  whicheverit 
may  be  that  is  lackiiig,  Christmas  cards 
are  a  resource  for  the  many  perplexed 
people  who  like  to  show  their  friends 
that  they  remember  them  at  Christmas, 
without  too  great  an  expense  of  money 
or  thought,  and  who  can  in  this  way 
include  a  much  wider  circle  of  friends  in 
the  Christmas  greetings.  And  the  really 
beautiful  and  artistic  designs  of  many 
of  the  cards  make  it  possible  to  give  real 
pleasure  by  sending  one,  apart  from  the 
more  special  pleasure  of  being  remem- 
bered at  a  time  when  to  most  of  grown 
up  persons  the  day  is  apt  to  have  more 
sad  than  '  merry'  associati<ms,  and  so  a 
token  of  remembrance  from  the  friends 
whom  life's  changes  have  left  is  all  the 
more  appreciated.  Some  veiy  practical 
people  consider  even  Christmas  cards  a 
'  nuisance  '  and  a  '  tax.'  Let  us  hope  that 
they  better  bestow  the  price  of  their 
alabaster  boxes: and,  inthe  meantime,  let 
us  be  glad  that  bonds  of  atiection  are 
strengthened  and  old  ties  re-knit  and 
lonely  hearts  made  glad  by  this  pleasant 
Christmas  custom  in  a  world  wherein  for 
most  people  the  sorrows  are  apt  to  over- 
balance the  joys.  F. 


102 


ROUND  THE  TABLE. 


PROPHECY. 


THERE  seems  to  be  an  instinctive 
fondness  for  prophecy  in  human 
nature.     To  prophesy  and  to  be  prophe- 
sied to,  seems  to  be  alike  congenial.     It 
does  not  appear  to  be  at  all  necessary 
that  there  should  be  any  fultilment,   or 
any  signs  of  fultilment.     After'repeated 
failures,  if  the  prophet  is  only  loud  and 
self-confident   enough,    people    are    as 
ready  to  believe  as  ever.    The  prophetic 
office  so  veiy  conspicuous  in  semi-bar- 
barous times  does  not  seem  to  wane  in 
importance  in  civilization.      We  see  the 
confidence  reposed  in  Yennor's  weather 
predictions,    notwithstanding    constant 
*  failures,  and  also  the  ready  ear  that  is 
given  to  every  interpreter  of  the  Book 
of  Revelations,   if  only  he  foretells  the 
immediate  end  of  the  world  and  deals 
satisfactorily  with  the  marks  of  the  beast 
and  the  number  GOO.     A  certain  class  of 
people  take  great  satisfaction  in  predic- 
tions of  England's  decline  and  downfall. 
I  had  always  thought  that   this  kind  of 
prophecy  was  enjoyed  chiefly  by  a  few 
snarling  Americans  like  Hawthorne,  and 
Germans   like   Heine    and   Hegel    with 
whom  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought; 
but  it  seems  we  have  a  full-fledged  pro- 
phet of   this    description    in  Montreal. 
One  difference  between  them,  however, 
is  very  noticeable.   The  Continental  and 
American  prophets   base   their   predic- 
tions on  England's  vices  and  depravities, 
but  Mr.  Boodle  bases  his,  on  her  vir- 
tues  and    good  qualities.      So    long   as 
England  is  rapacious  and  unprincipled 
in  her   dealings   with   her   neighbours, 
ready  to  fight  with  or  without  provoca- 
tion,   she   is  great,    and  going  on   to  a 
glorious  maturity,  but  as  soon  as  she  be- 
gins to  prefer  justice  in   her  domestic 
and  foreign  relations  ;  when  by  the  pas- 
sage of  the  Reform  Bill  she  extends  po- 
litical  rights   to   a   larger  class  of    her 
citizens  she  shows  signs  of  decay  and  old 
age  ;  when    she   finds  out  that  she  has 
has  been  waging  an   unjust  war  on  the 
South  African  Boers   her    '  flag  is  dis- 
graced by  concessions   to    a   victorious 
enemy.'     With  a  show  of  italics  as  if  he 
had   made   a   great  discovery,    he    an- 
nounces that  the  passage  of  the  Reform 
Bill  of  1832 — the  tirst  step  in  a  series  of 
reforms   by  which   England   has   given 
equal  rights  to  all  classes  of  her  citizens 
— was   '  The   first  great   mark  of  Eng- 
land's decline.' 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  the  state 


of  mind  which  could  lead  any  one  to 
such  a   conclusion  from  such  premises. 
Mr.  Boodle  admits  himself,  after  recap- 
itulating a  lot  of  more  or  less  imaginary 
symptoms  of  decay,  that    '  there  seems 
to  be  no  way  of  accounting  for  them  ex- 
cept on  the  theory  of  natural  decline.' 
He  is  not  the  first  who  has  been  misled 
by  the  analogy  between  the  animal  and 
the   social   organism.     There  is  a  very 
close  resemblance,  no  doubt,  in  structure 
and  function  between  the  individual  and 
the  community;  and  the  modes  of  work- 
ing in  the  one  case  have  thrown  much 
light   and    illustration    on    the    other. 
This  has  been  admirably  set  forth  by  the 
greatest  i^hilosopher  of  modern    times. 
But  analogies  between   any    two  things 
are  never  complete  at  all  points  ;  they 
are  never  exact   copies   of   each  other. 
Although  there  are  many  curious   and 
instructive    resemblances   in    structure 
and   function  between  the  animal  and 
the  social  organism,  it  does  not  follow 
that  because  the   one  has  its  inevitable 
period  of   decay   and  extinction,    that 
the   other    has   the    same    unavoidable 
destiny;  and  even  though  any  proof  could 
be  adduced  to  this  effect,  no  one  can  say 
what  ratio  there  is  between  the  lives  of 
the  two.      How  many  decades  or  cen- 
turies in  the  life  of  a  nation  would  be 
equal  to  a  year  in  the  life  of  an  indi- 
vidual. There  is  no  doubt  that  the  earth 
itself  will  some  time  '  wax  old  as  a  gar- 
ment,' but  judging  from  the  time  it  has 
already  been  in  existence  we  may  infer 
that  there  is  a  period  in  stoi'e   for  it  so 
enormous  in   duration  as  practically  to 
amount  to  an  eternity  ;   and   similarly 
with  nations.     When  we   consider  how 
their  units  are  continually  renewed  by 
successive  generations,  how  niuch  more 
independent  in  their  motions  they  are 
than  those  of  an  animal,  it  is  reasonable 
to  conclude  that  with  favourable  condi- 
tions, and  especially  with  free    institu- 
tions,    their    lives    may   be    continued 
through    long   intervals   of   time.      Mr. 
Boodle's  formidable  array  of  the  symp- 
toms of  England's  decay  is  quite  super- 
ficial.    A  few  years  will  overcome   the 
worst  of  them.     Neither  the  symptoms 
nor  the  energy  displayed  in  curing  them 
indicate  a  decline  in  the  national  consti- 
tution ;   nowhere  are  there  any  signs  of 
age  or  weakness.   A  slight  consideration 
of   the  parallel   between  the  individual 
and  the  commiuiity  will  show  that  the 
case  is  quite  the  reverse.      In  the  indi- 
vidual organism,  youth  and  manhood  are 


rOUND  THE  TABLE. 


103 


distinguished  by  the  vigour  of  the  re- 
productive functions,  and  old  age  is  ac- 
companied by  a  diminution  or  a  cessa- 
tion of  these  functions.  In  manhood 
the  life  is  so  vigorous  that  there  is  a 
surphis  of  energy  and  material  which 
goes  to  the  formation  of  new  individu- 
als. Now  this  state  of  things  holds  good 
with  England  as  a  nation.  Every  year 
her  surplus  fertility  swarms  over  into 
her  colonies  as  Avell  as  into  foreign  coun- 
tries, founding  new  cities  and  new  com- 
munities, and  carrying  her  arts  and  civ- 
ilization and  language  to  the  farthest 
parts  of  the  earth.  Another  distinctive 
feature  in  the  individual  is,  that  in  youth 
and  manhood  damages  to  structure  are 
more  easily  repaired  than  in  old  age. 
When  decay  sets  in  there  is  a  decrease 
of  elasticity  in  the  tissues,  and  hence  the 
greater  difficulty  in  setting  up  the  heal- 
ing process.  In  youth  the  reparative 
processes  are  vigorous  and  the  effects  of 
hurts  and  bruises  soon  disappear.  We 
do  not  require  to  go  any  further  back 
than  the  era  which,  according  to  Mr. 
Boodle,  marked  the  beginning  of  Eng- 
land's decline,  to  see  that  she  has  a  con- 
stitution which  still  possesses  very  vig- 
orous reparative  powers.  The  Indian 
mutiny  threatened  at  one  time  to  de- 
prive her  of  her  most  valuable  territory, 
but  a  tremendous  effort  was  put  forth, 
and  the  rebellion  at  first  so  formidable 
was  crushed  in  a  few  months.  The  old 
evils  of  administration  were  swept  away 
and  a  new  era  of  justice  to  the  Indian 
people  was  established.  The  chronic 
state  of  rebellion  in  Ireland,  which  Mr. 
Boodle  counts  upon  as  a  sure  sign  of 
England's  decay,  is  far  less  difficult  to 
manage  than  it  was  at  one  time  ;  the 
present  crisis  in  that  country  gives 
many  proofs  of  this.  Justice  is  the  one 
thing  necessary  to  cure  Irish  discontent. 
Our  noble  English  Premier  delivered 
them  from  an  alien  church  ;  he  has  now 
delivered  them  from  a  rapacious  land- 
lordism. And  the  time  is  not  far  dis- 
tant when  the  Irish  people  will  recog- 
ni.se  that  England  desires  to  deal  justly 
with  them.  Previous  to  the  first  Reform 
Bill,  Eng'and  governed  her  colonies  in 
an  arbitrary  and  despotic  fashion  ;  they 
were  treated  solely  as  sources  of  trade, 
and  little  heed  was  taken  of  their  rights 
as  free  citizens  of  the  empire  ;  but  a 
change  of  ideas  took  place,  the  right  of 
self-government  was  conceded  to  the 
colonies,  the  full  management  of  their 
own  affairs  was  granted  them,  England 


asking  for  no  privilege  other  than  that 
given  to  any  foreign  country  ;  and  now 
her  colonies,  instead  of  being  in  a  chro- 
nic state  of  discontent,  always  on  the 
brink  and  sometimes  actually  in  rebel- 
lion, are  peaceful  and  jarosperous  com- 
munities, a  source  of  strength  instead  of 
weakness  to  the  mother  country. 

At  the  time  of  the  American  civil  war, 
it  was  thought  and  hoped  by  many  An- 
glo-phobists,tliat  the  failure  of  the  cotton 
supply  would  be  the  turning  point  in 
England's  greatness,  and  many  prophets 
were  as  confident  as  Mr.  Boodle  that 
there  would  not  be  strength  enough  left 
in  her  to  resist  the  tremendous  strain  on 
the  resources  of  her  manufacturing 
classes  ;  but  every  one  knows  how  their 
predictions  were  falsified  ;  how  all  class- 
es came  to  the  aid  of  the  cotton  workers 
and  the  difficulty  was  more  easily  over- 
come than  had  been  anticipated.  Many 
more  illustrations  could  be  given  to 
show  that  in  the  parallel  between  the 
life  of  an  individual  and  the  life  of  a 
nation  England  is  a  long  way  from  the 
decay  of  old  age.  The  last  fifty  years 
have  seen  great  progress  made  in  every 
thing  which  promotes  the  welfare  of  a 
nation.  Crime  and  pauperism  have  rel- 
atively to  population  diminished  to  a 
large  extent  ;  a  national  system  of  edu- 
cation has  been  established,  which  pro- 
mises great  results,  and  what  is  perhaps 
of  greater  consequence,  right  ideas  of 
what  education  ought  to  be  have  ad- 
vanced. It  is  no  longer  supposed  that 
a  knowledge  of  the  dead  languages 
and  literatures  of  antiquity  constitutes 
an  education.  Nobody  but  a  pedagogue 
now  proposes  to  throw  light  on  any 
question  of  English  politics  by  the 
opinions  of  Plato  or  by  a  chapter  of  Ro- 
man history.  The  political  opinions 
and  governmental  practices  of  nations, 
on  whom  the  idea  of  human  rights  had 
not  dawned,  in  which  women  and  chil- 
dren had  no  legal  right  to  their  lives 
and  slavery  was  the  normal  state  of 
things,  can  be  of  very  little  use  to  us  ; 
they  can  form  no  examples  for  our  guid- 
ance. One  of  the  most  cheering  fea- 
tures of  the  present  day  in  England,  is 
that  notwithstanding  the  lugubrious 
forebodings  indulged  in  on  the  subject, 
the  general  loosening  of  the  theological 
creeds  is  not  attended  by  any  percept- 
ible loosening  of  the  restraints  of  mor- 
ality. It  is  beginning  to  be  recognized 
by  thoughtful  minds  that  morality  is 
something   distinct    from    religion  and 


10-i 


ROUND  THE  TABLE. 


that  it  stands  on  a  different  foinidation. 
The  largo  numbers  of  the  working; 
classes  in  England  who  have  broken 
away  from  the  churches  and  formed 
themselves  into  secular  societies,  have 
not  fallen  below,  but  have  risen  above 
the  average  of  their  class  in  intelligence 
and  morality.  By  their  experiments  in 
co-operation  they  are  teaching  a  valu- 
able lesson  to  all  classes  of  Eiigishmen, 
a  lesson  that  may  some  day  solve  the 
vexed  problems  of  capital  and  labour, 
the  problems  which  are  the  most  likely 
to  disturb  the  future  peace  of  England. 
J.  G.  W. 


THOUGHTS    ON   TENNYSON'S 
'  DESPAIR.' 

AS  the  reader  turns  from  the  poems 
of  the  early  Victorian  era  to  the 
productions  of  our  contemporary  bards 
he  is  constantly  reminded  of  the  truth  of 
Hallam's  saying,  that  '  literature  is  a 
garden  of  weeds  as  well  as  Howers. '  Of 
the  earlier  singers  of  the  reign,  the 
greater  number  are  now  mute ;  while  the 
Laureate,  his  voice  still  strong  in  age, 
might  say  with  Matthew  Arnold,  '  To 
tunes  we  did  not  call,  our  being  must 
keep  chime.'  Meanwhile,  none  of  the 
later  poets  can  be  mentioned  in  the  same 
breath  with  their  predecessors.  It  is 
mournful  to  think  how  little  genuine 
poetry  is  now  produced.  One  volume 
of  considerable  power,  entitled,  '  Ballads 
and  Sonnets,'  by  Uante  Gabriel  Rossetti, 
has  issued  from  the  press  daring  the 
p  ist  year.  It  is  full  of  prettinesses,  and 
we  feel  siire  that  the  writer  has  the  soul 
of  poetry  in  him,  but  the  spirit  of  the 
age  has  been  too  much  for  him,  and  he 
succumbs'without  a  struggle  to  our  beset- 
ting sins  of  literary  epicurism  and  arti- 
ficiality. 

It  i#  a  pleasure  to  turn  from  such 
writers  to  the  leavings  of  a  greater  spirit. 
Verily  the  'funeral  baked  meats' are 
more  palatable  than  the  feasts  of  the 
'  marriage  tables.'  And  in  more  senses 
than  one  Tennyson's  '  Despair '  is  but  a 
repast  of  '  funeral  baked  meats.'  Ghastly 
and  morbid,  the  confessions  of  a  frus- 
trated suicide,  it  yet  abounds  in  happy 
turns  of  expression,  and  has  here  and 
there  some  of  the  golden  lines  which 
Tennyson  has  taught  his  readers  to  ex- 
pect. Such  are  those  that  describe  the 
last  words  and  kiss  of  the  wife  who  suc- 


ceeded in  effecting  what  her  husband 
failed  to  do  :— 

'  Never  a  cry  so  desolate,  not  since  the  world  began  T 
Never  a  kiss  so  sad,  no,  not  since  the  coming  of  man.' 

Still  more  noticeable  is  the  verse  describ- 
ing the  mouldering  world  : 

'  Wliy  should  we   bear  with   an  hour  of  torture  a 

nicuiu'iit  (if  pain, 
If  cvi'iy  man  die  for  ever,  if  all  his  griefs  are  in  vain. 
Ami  the  homeless  planet  at  length  will  he  whecl'd 

llini'  the  silence  of  space, 
Miitherlei-s  eeetmore  of  an  ever-vanishing  race. 
When  the  ironii  shall  have  lorithed  its  last,  and  its 

last  brother-wonn  ivill  have  fled 
From  the  dead  fossil  skull  that  is  left  in  the  rocks 

of  an  earth  that  is  dead "! ' 

From  many  points  of  view  Tennyson's 
poem  would  repay  study,  for,  like  all  his 
poetry,  it  is  full  of  '  the  human  heart 
and  the  Age,'  but  the  point  to  which  I 
wish  to  call  attention  at  present  is  the 
significance  of  the  poem,  as  indicative, 
with  his  late  volume  of  ballads  and  other 
poems,  of  a  new  departure  in  its  author 
and  in  English  literature.  Perhaps  the 
most  successful  bon  mot  in  '  Despair '  is 
the  line,  '  For  these  are  the  neio  dark 
ages,  you  see,  of  the  popular  press.'  This, 
to  my  mind,  is  very  suggestive.  It  in- 
dicates in  a  satirical  way  the  new  readers 
for  whom  the  poet  of  the  future  will 
have  to  write,  whom  Tennyson  is  addres- 
sing in  the  present  poem,  and  for  whom 
many  of  the  most  popular  pieces  in  his 
late  volume  were  intended.  Such  espe- 
cially were  the  '  First  Quarrel,' '  Rizpah,' 
the  'Northern  Cobbler'  and  the  'Village 
Wife.'  The  whole  spirit  and  workman- 
ship of  these  and  '  Despair'  differentiates 
them  from  their  author's  earlier  work. 
The  '  Princess,'  '  In  Memoriam  '  and  the 
'  Idylls,'  with  their  occasional  abstruse- 
ness,  their  allusiveness  and  their  ideal 
representation  of  life,  stand  in  strong 
contrast  with  the  directness,  the  realism, 
the  freedom  from  allusion  of  these  later 
poems.  Tennyson,  in  fact,  seems  to  be 
wi'iting  for  a  different  audience.  His 
later  poems  will  please  the  student  less, 
but  will  become  the  favourites  of  that 
larger  public  for  whom  American  hu- 
morists write  and  whose  requirements 
are  studied  by  the  modern  newspaper. 
I  have  heard  it  said  that  Tennyson's 
'  Ballads  and  Other  Poems  '  is,  in  some 
ways,  the  most  popular  work  he  has  pub- 
lished. I  do  not  know  how  far  the  sale 
of  the  volume  tallies  with  this  surmise  ; 
but  it  may  be  safely  predicted  that  its 
hertjic  ballads  and  popiilar  pathos  will 
win  their  way,  as  passages  for  recitation,, 
to  a  wider  public   than  any  of  Tenny- 


I 


ROUND  THE  TABLE. 


son's  more  dignified  works.  However 
this  may  be,  it  is  quite  evident  that  the 
laureate  has,  consciously  or  uncon- 
scioiisly,  chant^ed  his  style,  abandoning 
idealistic  painting  for  realistic,  and  aim- 
ing at  greater  directness  and  simplicity 
of  treatment.  Let  us  for  a  moment  en- 
quire into  the  meaning  nf  this.  There 
are  two  elements  that  have  to  be  taken 
into  account  when  we  are  considering 
Literary  Revolutions.  These  are  brought 
about  fpiite  as  much  by  the  widening  of 
the  circle  of  readers,  for  whom  literature 
comes  into  being,  as  by  the  changes  of 
thouglit  that  pass  over  the  atmosjjhere 
in  which  the  poet  lives  and  writes.  These 
two  elements  combine  together  to  form 
what  is  called  '  the  Spirit  of  the  Age.' 
Thus  the  literature  of  a  country  keeps 
pace  with  its  social  changes,  and  the 
transference  of  power  which  slowly  goes 
on  in  the  political  world  is  reflected  in 
literature  by  the  changes  of  subject  and 
style.  To  illustrate  this  point  :  The 
change  from  the  involved  construction 
of  English  prose  in  the  17th  century  to 
the  comparatively  simple  style  of  the 
18th  century,  or,  again,  the  revolution 
identified  with  the  name  of  Wordsworth, 
viz.,  the  revolt  fi'om  the  correct  school 
of  poetry  to  the  nature  poets  of  the  pre- 
sent century,  were  both  in  a  very  real 
sense  popular  changes.  A  similar  revo- 
lution is  taking  place  in  literature  at  the 
present  day.  It  would,  in  fact,  be 
strange  if  it  were  not  so,  when  we  reflect 
on  the  strides  that  democracy  is  making 
in  almost  every  coinitry  in  Europe  and 
America.  The  circle  of  readers,  owing 
to  the  spread  of  education,  is  widening 
year  by  year,  and  the  would-be  popular 
poem  in  1881  has  to  reckon  with  a  very 
different  audience  from  a  poem  published 
in  1837.  The  reading  public  of  that  year 
was  a  mere  oligarchy  compared  with  the 
reading  public  now.  And  if  we  consider 
this  state  of  things  attentively,  at  the 
same  time  trying  to  estimate  the  effect 
that  the  popularization  of  Science  and 
scientific  modes  of  thought  has  had  upon 
the  imagination,  we  shall  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  appreciate  what  Tennyson  means 
by  the  '  new  dark  ages  of  the  popular 
press, 'as  well  as  to  account  for  the  ster- 
ility of  imaginative  and  poetical  litera- 
ture at  the  present  day.  The  Dark  Ages 
of  history  wero  the  times  of  ignorance 
produced  by  two  causes  working  simul- 
taneously :  the  influx  of  a  rude,  luilet- 
tered  multitude  into  Europe  before 
Vhom   the   ancient   civilization   of   the 


105 

Roman  Empire  disappeared,  aiid  the 
dominance  obtained  by  the  Church  over, 
as  well  as  by  reason  of,  their  ignorance. 
Shall  I  malign  the  present  age  if  1  say 
that  the  civilization  of  the  past,  like 
Boethius  of  old,  is  suddenly  confnjnted 
by  new  barbarians  (I  use  Matthew 
Arnold's  word)  coming  from  below,  and 
that  over  these  mas.ses  unable  to  appre- 
ciate the  criticisni  of  '  Literature  and 
Dogma,'  Science  holds  absolute  sway  ; 
that  before  science  much  of  the  poetry 
and  potency  of  beauty  of  the  past  are 
melting  away,  like  Shakespeare's  fairy 
land  in  the  cold  clutch  of  time.  We  can 
understand  at  once  the  natural  repulsion 
felt  by  poets  to  materialism  and  the 
effect  that  it  produces  in  their  ^vi'itings. 
As  the  world  of  fact  grows  more  uninvit- 
ing, they  get  further  away  from  it ;  they 
write  for  the  few  about  subjects  in  which 
the  few  only  take  interest,  in  a  language 
which  the  few  only  can  understand. 
Such  is  the  history  of  much  of  the  poetry 
of  the  da3^  A  recent  critic  thus  writes 
of  Swinburne's  last  volume  ('Studies  in 
Song')  :  '  He  appears  to  have  never  come 
in  contact  with  the  world  ;  he  knows 
nothing  of  its  sorrows,  its  deliuhts,  its 
hopes  ;  at  least,  he  cannot  identify  him- 
self with  them  and  mould  them  into 
poems.  He,  therefore,  stands  apart,  and 
sings  of  grief,  love,  hate,  hope  and  des- 
pair as  abstract  sentiments. '  And  with 
a  change  of  subject  this  is  true  of  most 
contemporary  poetry.  Tennyson's  sen- 
sitiveness to  his  environment  has  led  him 
to  change  his  style  to  address  himself  to 
the  feelings  that  actually  agitate  the 
great  public  about  him.  His  last  poem 
maybe  full  of  morbid  introspection,  but 
the  subject  is  real  enough.  I  regard, 
then,  the  present  as  the  beginning  of  a 
new  era  in  poetry  as  in  so  much  else,  an 
era  of  which  the  first  prophet  was  one, 
much  of  whose  writings  it  is  inq^ossible 
to  admire,  nay  even  to  tolerate — the 
poet  of  democracy,  Walt  Wliitman.  '  Of 
life,'  he  tells  us  in  an  Inscription  to  his 
'  Leaves  of  Grass,'  'immense  in  passion, 
pulse  and  jjower,  tJie  modern  man  I  aiiXfj.' 
And  Tennyson  was  undoubtedly  think- 
ing of  the  new  life  coming  from  Anverica 
to  regenerate  that  of  the  Old  World  when, 
in  his  late  volume,  he  invoked  the  '  di- 
viner Air'  to  come  'far  from  out  the 
west,'  and  to  '  breathe  over  all  tins  weary 
world  of  ours.'  Only  when  this  influ- 
ence is  more  fully  felt  and  the  '  diviner 
Light'  breaks  '  far  from  out  a  sky  for- 
ever  bright'  over  the  'ruined    world," 


106 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


will  literature  revert  to  her  old  glories. 
And  when  poets  liave  become  accus- 
tomed to  their  environment,  and  ceased 
to  *  think  so  brainsickly  of  tilings  ;'  when 
the  tyranny  of  science  is  overborne,  and 
•a  new  generation  invigorated  by  a  di- 


viner air  and  light  shall  have  sprung  up  ; 
we  may  hope  that  the  reflections  of  ag- 
nostic monomania  will  seem  no  less  unfit 
subject  for  poetry  than  the  crazes  of  ses- 
theticism. 

R.  W.  Boodle. 


BOOK   REVIEWS. 


The  Prince  and  the  Pauper,  by  Mark 
Tvk'^AiN.  Montreal  :  Dawson  Bros., 
188] . 

This  new  production  of  Mark  Twain 
has  had  the  advantage  of  some  extrane- 
ous advertising  in  the  effort  made  by  his 
Montreal  publishers  to  secure  for  it  Can- 
adian copyright,  on  the  strength  of  its 
author's  sojourn  in  Canada,  while  an  edi- 
tion of  the  work  for  sale  in  the  Domin- 
ion was  passing  through  the  press.  The 
application  was,  however,  refused,  on 
the  plea  that  the  brief  visit  of  the  author 
to  Montreal  was  not  a  full  compliance 
with  the  Act  which  gives  the  privilege 
of  copyright  to  those  "domiciled"  in 
Canada.  This  interpretation  of  the  law 
may  be  ofhcially  justi6ed,  though  we 
incline  to  think  that  when  the  Act  was 
being  passed  the  question  of  "  domicile" 
was  made  subordinate  to  the  condition 
that  the  work  for  which  a  native  copy- 
right was  sought  should  be  printed  in 
the  country.  Its  author,  we  conceive, 
therefore,  should,  so  long  as  the  existing 
law  remains  in  force,  have  had  a  copy- 
right—and more  particularly  so,  because 
he  had  already  secured  one  in  England. 
While  expressing  this  view,  however,  we 
by  no  means  subscribe  to  tlie  doctrine 
that  what  is  copyright  in  England  should 
be  copyright  here,  at  least  in  the  case  of 
an  alien  in  whose  country  no  reciprocal 
privilege  is  accorded.  It  may  be  very 
annoying  to  Mark  Twain  to  find  cheap 
Canadian  reprints  of  his  books  crossing 
the  line  and  clandestinely  underselling 
the  author's  high-priced  American  edi- 
tions. But  it  is  equally  a  matter  of  loss 
and  annoyance  to  the  English  author  to 
find  th3  Canadian  market  glutted  with 


'  unauthorized  New  York  reprints  of  a 
British  copyright.  Of  course  an  inter- 
national treaty  applied  to  literature 
between  the  United  States  and  Great 
Britain,  if  ever  secured,  would  remove 
injustice  on  both  sides  and  do  away  with 
the  anomalies  of  the  position.  But  un- 
til that  is  negotiated,  Canada,  we  argue, 
should  have  complete  control  over  her 
copyi'ight  legislation,  and  the  absurdity 
of  protecting  the  literature  of  other 
countries,  while  our  own  has  no  like  con- 
sideration given  it,  should  cease.  That 
we  have  so  long  consented  to  tie  our 
own  hands  in  the  matter  of  reprinting 
English  books  in  Canada,  while  our 
neighbours  were  royally  free  to  repro- 
duce and  send  them  into  the  country, 
has  alwaj^s  seemed  to  us  a  national  fatu- 
ity without  a  parallel.  It  would  seem 
equal  lunacy  to  give  copyright  in  Cana- 
da to  American  literature  while  our  own 
and  that  of  England  have  no  similar  pro- 
tection on  the  other  side. 

But  let  us  say  a  word  or  two  of  the 
book  before  us.  '  The  Prince  and  the 
Pauper,'  is  a  delightful  boy's  book.  It 
is  a  highly-sugared  dose  of  English  his- 
tory of  the  Tudor  period,  and  gives  us  a 
form  of  the  legend  which  has  so  often 
appeared  in  Indo-European  folk  lore,  of 
the  Prince  wandering  in  disguise  and 
unrecognised.  As  rendered  by  Mr  Cle- 
mens, the  story  is  of  a  little  London 
street  arab,  beaten  and  maltreated  in  a 
drunken  home,  but  saved  from  moral 
evil  by  the  instructions  of  a  good  old 
priest, — one  of  those  ejected  from  the 
monasteries  of  Henry  VIII.  In  a  prettily 
imagined  scene  this  boy  is  brought  into 
contact  with  the  little  Prince  Edward, 
afterwards    Edward    VI.        The    boys 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


107 


exchange  clothes  and,  by  an  accident, 
the  real  prince  is  hustled  into  the  streets, 
while  his  comrade  is  recognised  by  every 
one  as  the  true  prince.  Here  and  there 
a  few  American  vulgarisms,  Avhich  would 
have  been  better  omitted,  crop  out ; 
but  on  the  whole  the  situations  are 
treated  with  much  genial  comic  liumour. 
The  adventures  of  the  true  Prince  are 
well  conceived  ;  and  religious  insanity 
is  aptly  described  in  the  Hermit.  The 
book  is  very  readable,  though  in  a  new 
vein  from  that  which  Mark  Twain  has 
hitherto  worked.  The  volume  will  make 
an  acceptable  New  Year's  present. 


Considerations  on  the  Revised  Edition 
of  the  New  Tedament.  By  the  Rev. 
Canon  R.  W.  Norman,  M.A.,  D.C.L. 
Montreal  :  The  Gazette  Printing  Com- 
pany. 1881. 

This  brochure  contains  a  scholarly 
•and  well  written  review  of  the  excellen- 
cies and  defects  of  the  Revised  New 
Testament  ;  which  in  the  absence  of  the 
achievement  of  a  perfect  Greek  Text, 
the  author  accepts  as  '  a  most  valuable 
contribution  to  our  knowledge  of  Scrip- 
ture.' Dr.  Norman  has  done  good  ser- 
vice to  theological  and  other  students  of 
the  New  Testament,  by  inserting  in  his 
appendix,  tirst,  a  '  list  of  important 
changes  or  omissions  in  the  Revisers' 
text,'  and  secondly,  '  Samples  from  the 
Revised  edition,  of  passages  where  there 
is  an  improvement  in  the  way  of  in- 
creased accuracy.'  In  the  latter  list  (^ 
samples,  the  rendering  in  the  authorised 
version  and  that  in  the  revision  are  put 
in  parallel  columns.  This  gives  a  great 
help  in  estimating  the  amount  of  im- 
provement effected.  Dr.  Norman's  re- 
marks on  this  subject  are  sensible  and 
well  put  ;  but  in  speaking  of  the  ques- 
tion of  Inspiration  he  seems  to  contra- 
dict himself  ;  at  one  place,  p.  G,  main- 
taining '  plenary  Inspiration,  and  that 
to  alter  one  word  or  even  one  letter 
would  be  presumptuous  and  profane.' 
This  is  the  old-fashioned  verbal  Inspira- 
tion theory  with  a  vengeance.  But  if 
so,  how  comes  Dr.  Norman  to  say  that 
*  the  Sacred  writers  were  not  passive 
instruments  in  the  hands  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,'  which  is  exactly  what  they  must 
have  been  if  they  had  such  '  plenary  in- 
spiration '  that  it  would  be  profane  to 
alter  '  one  word  or  even  one  letter  '  of 
what  they  wrote  ?   This  habit  of  plaj  ing 


fast  and  loose  with  doctrine  is  a  vice 
with  theological  writers,  who  are  too 
apt  to  import  casuistry  into  argument. 
The  same  disingenuousness,  as  we  think, 
appears  in  Dr.  Norman's  sneer  at  the 
admission  of  a  Unitarian  member  to  the 
Committee  of  Revision.  The  italics  in 
the  following  quotations  are  ours  : — 
'  There  should  be  a  moral  and  spiritual 
as  well  as  a  critical  faculty,  also  one  who 
examines  the  living  Word  as  a  surgeon 
dissects  an  inanimate  corpse,  and  one  who 
places  the  Inspired  record  on  a  level 
with  any  other  book,  though  I  do  not 
apply  this  to  Mr.  Vance  Smith  ?  can 
hardly  be  said  to  ^^ossess  all  the  neces- 
sary qualifications.'  If  this  does  not 
apply  to  ]\Ir.  Vance  Smith,  to  whom 
does  it  apply  ?  Dr.  Norman  is  speaking 
of  the  admission  of  a  Unitarian  member. 
'  Some,'  he  says,  speaking  presumedly 
for  himself  and  those  of  his  school, 
'  may  regret  the  presence  on  the  Com- 
mittee of  a  Unitarian  member.'  Now 
this  sub-acid  intolerance,  the  modern 
survival  of  the  spirit  of  St.  Dominic, 
may  pass  unchallenged  when  confined  to 
ecclesiastical  buildings  wherein  the  ana- 
themas of  Athanasius,  the  damnatory, 
are  still  recited  if  not  believed;  but  when 
it  comes  into  the  light  of  day  and  enters 
the  arena  of  literature,  such  language 
becomes  a  fair  mark  for  criticism,  with 
no  right  to  claim  benefit  of  clergy.  We 
therefore  feel  bound  to  say  that  Dr. 
Norman's  contemptuous  rejection  of 
Unitarians  from  the  rank  of  Christians, 
and  his  treatment  of  Mr.  Vance  Smith's 
claims  to  our  gratitude  as  one  of  the  Re- 
vision Committee,  seems  to  us  in  the 
very  worst  taste  of  reactionary  ecclesi- 
asticism.  The  spirit  of  bigotry  which 
dictates  such  petty  insults  to  the  Uni- 
tarian brauch  of  the  Christian  Church 
is  certainly  not  in  favour  with  the  laity 
of  the  Church  to  which  Dr.  Norman  be- 
longs, though  it  is  but  too  likely  to  re- 
commend him  to  his  clerical  brethren. 


Suicide :  an  Essay  on  Comparative  Moral 
Statistics.  By  Henry  Mokselli,M.D., 
Professor  of  Psychological  Medicine  in 
the  Royal  University,  Turin,  &e.  New 
York  :  D.  Appleton  &  Co.  ;  Toronto  : 
N.  Ure  &  Co.     1882. 

In  addition  to  maps  displaying  the 
geographical  intensity  of  suicide,  this 
book  contains  over  fifty  valuable  statis- 
tical tables,  showing  the  seasons,   the 


108 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


places,  the  ages,  the  callings,  religions, 
and  other  conditions  that  conduce  to 
self-destruction.  Among  the  interest- 
ing facts  to  be  gleaned  from  the  tables 
are  these  :  suicide  increases  alarmingly 
with  civilization  ;  it  varies  inversely  to 
crimes  of  violence  ;  it  is  commoner  in 
summer  than  in  winter,  and  very  much 
commoner  among  males  than  females, 
though  widows  ai-e  more  prone  to  it  than 
widowers.  There  is  a  chapter  on  the 
influence  of  race  and  sex  upon  the  choice 
of  deaths. 

The  author's  main  conclusion  is  that 
'  suicide  is  an  effect  of  the  struggle  for 
existence  and  of  human  selection,  which 
jForks  according  to  the  laws  of  evolution 
among  civilized  people.'  And  his  pro- 
posed antidote  is  to  lessen  the  intensity 
of  the  struggle.  He  therefore  endorses 
the  Malthusian  theory  ;  but,  thinking 
society  not  quite  ready  at  present  to 
check  population  by  law,  he  advises 
doing  this — as  well  as  weakening  the 
motives  to  suicide — by  moral  training. 

The  author's  style,  we  may  add,  is  not 
particularly  lucid,  or  his  translator  is 
sometimes  at  fault. 


The  Household  Library  of  Catholic  Poets. 
Compiled  by  Eliot  Ryder.  Published 
by  Joseph  A.  Lyons,  the  University 
of  Notre  Dame,  Indiana.     1881. 

This  pi'ettily  bound  volume  is  a  collec- 
tion of  choice  morceaux  of  authors  pro- 
fessing the  faith  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
some  of  whom,  as  for  instance,  Alexan- 
der Pope,  were  very  lax  in  their  adher- 
ence to  Catholic  orthodoxy.  Others,  such 
as  Crashaw,  James  Shirley,  and  Sir  Wm. 
Davenaiit,  we  are  hardly  accustomed  to 
think  of  as  Catholics ;  they  were  Catholics 
as  it  were  by  accident,  and  their  religion 
does  not  colour  their  writings  as  it  does 
those  of  Faber,  Newman,  and  Adelaide 
Proctor.  In  the  interests  of  literature 
we  feel  bound  to  enter  a  protest  against 
this  practice  of  classifying  writers,  whose 
best  work  is  unconnected  with  religion, 
according  to  the  divisions  of  theological 
sectarianism  ;  at  least  we  hope  to  be 
spared  '  Protestant  Poetry,  '  The  Episco- 
palian Parnassus,'  the  'Methodist  Muse,' 
or  the  '  Baptist  Bard.'  However,  the  vol- 
ume edited  by  Mr.  Eliot  Ryder  has  the 
merit  of  bringing  before  the  public  well 
chosen  extracts  from  some  great  but  lit- 
tle known  poets  such  as  Clarence  Mangan, 
and  from  several  meritorious  writers  of 


our  own  time.  Among  them  a  high  place 
may  well  be  given  to  the  really  pretty 
poemsquoted  frf)m  Mr.  Thomas  O'Hagan, 
of  Belleville,  Out.,  at  page  131.  But  why 
is  no  extract  given  from  the  very  beau- 
tiful poems  of  the  late  Archbishop  Mar- 
ray,  of  Dublin ']  Aubrey  de  Vere  de- 
serves the  high  place  given  to  him,  both 
as  a  Catholic  and  as  a  poet,  but  the  ex- 
tracts are  by  no  means  of  his  best. 


Manual  of  Ontario  Insurance  Law ;  with 
Notes  of  Amendments  and  an  Analy- 
tical Index  ;  also  a  list  of  special  Acts 
of  Incorporation,  by  J.  Howard  Hun- 
ter, M.  A.,  Inspector  of  Insurance  for 
Ontario.  Toronto  :  C.  B.  Robinson, 
1881. 

In  this  handy  and  compact  Manual 
we  have  an  admirable  instance  of  the 
service  which  a  man  of  education  and 
literary  talent  can  render  in  elucidating 
the  text  of  Acts  of  Parliament,  in  facili- 
tating reference  to  them,  and,  generally, 
in  making  plain  the  dark  and  devious 
paths  of  Legislative  Enactment.  Those 
interested  in  the  subject  of  Insurance, 
we  feel  sure,  will  gi'eatly  appreciate  Mr. 
Hunter's  laboiu-,  and  will  thank  him  for 
the  careful  analysis  he  has  made  of  the 
Provincial  Acts  relating  to  Insurance, 
and  for  the  detailed  index  he  has  com- 
piled to  assist  Insurance  men  and  the 
policy-holding  public  in  ascertaining  at 
a  glance  what  are  the  legal  provisions  of 
the  several  Acts  of  our  Local  Legisla- 
ture on  this  important  subject.  Mr. 
Hunter's  work  is  all  the  more  timely 
now  that  the  Imperial  Privy  Council  has, 
by  a  recent  decision,  affirmed  the  power 
of  the  Local  Legislature  to  prescribe  the 
conditions  under  which  i^olicies  of  In- 
surance must  be  issued  in  Ontario.  The 
Manual  should  have  a  large  and  ready 
sale. 


Literary  Style  and  Other  Essays.  By 
William  Mathews,  LL.D.,  Chicago. 
Toronto  :  Rose  Belford  Publishing 
Company.     188  L 

As  Mr.  Mathews  has  most  justly  ob- 
served, style  which  may  be  defined  as 
'  the  art  of  putting  things,'  is  of  the  ut- 
most importance  to  the  literary  aspirant. 
The  essay  before  us  gives  a  pleasant  dis- 
quisition on  the  leading  characteristics 
of  the  great  masters  of  style  from  Bacon 


il 


LITERARY  NOTES. 


109 


to  Lord  Macaulay,  not  veiy  methodi- 
cally written,  and  rather  calculated  to 
interest  those  who  have  already  made 
intimate  acquaintance  witii  the  authors 
treated  of  than  to  aid  the  inexjierienced 
student.  Also,  we  consider  it  a  mistake 
to  dwell  so  much  as  Di\  Mathews  has 
done  on  the  merits,  where  style  rather 
than  matter  is  under  consideration,  of 
such  writers  as  Bacon,  South,  Barrow, 
and  the  Caroline  divines.  The  quaint- 
ness  which  characterises  these  eminent 
men  is  surely  not  to  be  upheld  as  a 
model  ;  and  the  structure  of  the  sen- 
tence with  all  the  Caroline  divines  is 


heavy  and  laboured.   Good  Englisli  prose 
style  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  existed 
before  the  age  of  Addison,  and  tlie  criti- 
cism on  the  writers  reviewed  is  too  de- 
sultory, just  and  piquant  as  it  generally 
is.     We  should  desire  a  fuller  analysis 
of  the  style  in   each  case,  illustrated  by 
I    quotations,   and   with   full  directions  to 
I    the  student  as  to  what  is  commendable 
and  what  to  be  avoided.     But  both  this 
'    and  the  other  essays  in  Dr.   Mathew's 
book  are  very  readable,  and  will  be  use- 
ful in  directing  attention  to  much  that  is 
characteristic  in  our  literature. 


LITEEAET    INOTES. 


'  The  Major's  Big  Talk  Stories,'  is  the 
title  of  Mr.  F.  Blake  Crofton'snew  book, 
lately  published  by  Messrs.  Frederick 
Warne  &  Co.,  of  London.  One  fantas- 
tic chapter  (The  Major  on  '  the  Giraffe  '), 
made  its  Mrst  ajDpearance  in  the  '  Bric-a- 
brac  '  of  this  magazine.  A  few  others 
were  printed  in  '  St.  Nicholas,'  and  iu 
some  instances  widely  copied  in  the 
juvenile  departments  of  the  weekly 
papers.  The  escapes  and  escapades  of 
the  Major  almost  out-Munchausen  the 
redoubted  baron  himself. 

'  A  Literary  History  of  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,"  by  Mrs.  Oliphant,  the 
novelist,  is  announced  for  early  publi- 
cation in  three  volumes  by  Messrs.  Mac- 
millan  &  Co,  of  London  and  New  York. 

Mr.  John  Murray,  the  London  pub- 
lisher, announces  a  collection  of  the 
speeches  and  addresses,  political  and 
literary, delivered  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
in  Canada,  and  elsewhere,  by  the  Earl 
of  Dufierin,  our  late  Governor-General. 

Principal  Shairp,  of[St.  Andrews,  has  a 
new  volume  in  press,  entitled  '  Aspects 
of  Poetry.' 

President  Hinsdale,  of  Hiram  College, 
has  just  issued  a  volume  dealing  with 


the  late  President  Garfield's  work  as  an 
educator,    including    his   speeches   an 
addresses  on  educational  subjects. 

Richard  Grant  White's  'England with- 
out and  within,'  an  appreciative  and 
entertaining  volume  on  phases  of  Eng- 
lish life  and  character,  has  reached  its 
fourth  edition. 

The  Canada  Ptiblishing  Co.  of  Toronto 
announce  a  new  series  of  Canadian 
Readers,  prepared  by  a  syndicate  of 
Canadian  educators,  for  use  in  the  Pub- 
lic and  High  Schools  of  the  Dominion. 

Messrs.  John  Lovell  &  Son,  of  Mont- 
real, have  ready  for  issue  tlieir  compre- 
hensive Business  Directory  of  Ontario 
and  Montreal,  a  mammoth  volume  of 
reference  which  must  be  invaluable  to 
Canadian  merchants  and  professional 
men. 

The  new  volume  of  the  *  English  Men 
of  Letters'  series,  edited  by  Professor 
Morley,  is  DeQuincey,  whose  memoir 
has  been  written  by  Professor  David 
Masson,  of  Edinburgh  University. 

The  thirteenth  volume  of  the  new 
issue  of  the  '  Encyclopcedia  Britannica,' 
just  published,  takes  the  work  down  to 
the  end  of  letter  J, — the  present  instal- 


110 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


ment  covering  some  important  contri- 
butions by  well  known  litterateurs  and 
savans. 

Messrs.  Putnam,  of  New  York,  have 
just  ready  a  little  manual  on  '  Authors 
and  Authorship,'  by  Wm.  Shepard, 
which  will  be  found  of  much  interest  to 
the  literary  novice.  It  treats  of  '  the 
profession  of  literature,  its  struggles, 
temptations,  drawbacks  and  advantages  ; 
discusses  the  relations  of  authors,  edi- 
tors and  publishers  ;  the  reasons  for  the 
acceptance  or  the  rejection  of  MS8. ,  the 
conditions  for  success,  &c.,  and  gives 
statistics  of  the  sales  of  popular  books, 
of  the  prices  paid  for  literary  labour,  and 
pf  fortunes  won  by  the  pen.' 

The  editor  of  the  Canada  Educational 
Monthly  announces  that  with  the  De- 
cember number  the  publication  reaches 
the  close  of  its  third  volume.  Of  its 
progress  he  speaks  thus  :  '  We  will  not 
say  that  the  success  of  the  publication 
has  outstripped  the  expectations  of  its 
founder  ;  *  *  but  it  will  be  satisfactory 
to  our  friends  to  learn  that  the  magazine 
has  passed  beyond  the  stage  of  good 
wishes,  and  has,  we  doubt  not,  estab- 
lished itself  as  a  permanent  and  indis- 


pensable organ  of  the  profession.'  The 
Montreal  Presbyterian  College  Journal, 
for  December,  in  the  following  terms,, 
felicitously  commends  the  publication. 
It  says  :  '  Were  we  asked  to  express 
an  opinion  on  our  professional  friend,. 
Canada  Educational  Monthly,  Toronto, 
we  would  put  it  in  a  nutshell  by  add- 
ing an  s  to  the  first  word  in  its  title. 
Comparisons  are  odious  ;  but  we  cannot 
help  observing  a  marked  difference  be- 
tween the  Monthly  and  several  so-called 
teachers'  periodicals  that  lie  on  our  ex- 
change table.'  The  good  word  is  well 
merited. 

Messrs.  James  Campbell  &  Son,  To- 
ronto, lately  issued  a  Presbyterian  Hjnnn 
Book,  compiled  by  a  number  of  com- 
petent divines  in  the  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Canada,  which  was  at  once 
accepted  by  the  General  Assembly  for 
use  in  the  churches.  They  have  now 
published  an  edition  of  the  work  with 
the  music,  which  has  received  high  com- 
mendation for  its  excellence  and  suit- 
ableness as  a  manual  of  Church  psalmody 
for  the  denomination.  The  mechanical 
appearance  of  both  books  is  admirable. 


BEIO-A-BKAO. 


CHRISTMAS  BELLS. 

BY   FANNIE  ADAMS. 

HERE  at  midnight  dreary, 
]My  lone  heart  all  weary, 
I  listen  for  the  bells. 
Hark  !  they  now  are  rhyming, 
Merrily  goes  the  chiming, 
List  to  what  it  tells  ! 

Of  a  Saviour  lowly, 
fatient,  loving,  holy, 

Who  came  an  infant,  when 
Angels  hover'd  singing, 
The  joyous  tidings  Ijringing, 

Peace  and  gootlwill  to  men  ; 

Of  days  beyond  repining, 
When  holly  and  ivy  twining, 

We  deck'd  lost  walls  and  vied 
Each  with  each,  while  blending. 
Clear  voices  glad,  and  sending 

Good  wishes  for  Christmas-tide. 


Forever  with  the  pealing. 
Vanished  forms  come  stealing. 

The  sad  years  backward  roll  ; 
Voices  long  hushed  are  filling 
My  lone  home,  and  thrilling 

Memory's  secret  soul. 

Friends  passed  beyond  recalling, 
Beyond  sorrow,  weeping,  toiling. 

We  shall  meet  when  ceases  pain. 
In  the  glorious,  blessed  dawning 
Of  the  second  Christmas  morning. 

When  Christ  shall  come  again. 
Dec,  1881. 


THE  LITTLE  QUAKERESS. 

BY    KIPPLE. 

Brown-eyed  Ruth,  the  Quaker's  daughter. 

In  her  dress  of  simple  gray, 
Walked  beside  her  agfed  grandpa 

'Mid  the  garden  flowers  of  May. 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


Ill 


Beds  of  tulips  bright  and  golden, 

Hyacinths  of  every  shade, 
Pansies,  like  sweet  childis^h  faces. 

Looking  up  to  greet  the   maid. 

How  they  revelled  in  the  sunshine. 
While,  'mid  clumps  of  violet  blue, 

Filling  all  the  air  with  fragrance. 
Glistened  still  the  morning  dew. 

Then  outspoke  the  little  maiden, 
Looking  at  her  dress  of  gray, 

'  Grandpa  can  thee  tell  the  reason 
Why  God  made  the  flowers  so  gay. 

'  While  we  wear  the  quiet  colours 
That  thee  knows  we  never  meet, 

E'en  in  clover  or  the  daisies 
That  we  trample  under  feet? 

'  Seems  to  me  a  Quaker  garden 
Should  not  grow  such  colours  bright.' 

Koguishly  the  brown  eyes  twinkled, 
While  her  grandpa  laughed  outright. 

'  True  it  is,  my  little  daughter. 

Flowers  wear  not  the  Quaker  gray ; 

But  they  neither  toil  nor  labour 
For  their  beautiful  array. 

'  Feeling  neither  pride  nor  envy, 
'Mong  their  sister  flowers,  thee  knows  ; 

Well  content  to  be  a  daisy. 
Or  a  tall  and  queenly  rose. 

'  Keeping  still  the  same  old  fashions 
/  Of  their  grandmothers  of  yore : 

Else  how  should  we  know  the  flowers. 
If  each  spring  new  tints  they  wore'.' 

'  Even  so  the  Quaker  maiden 

Should  be  all  content  to-day, 
As  a  tulip,  or  a  pansy. 

In  her  dress  of  simple  gray.' 

Once  again  the  brown  eyes  twinkled  : 
'  Grandpa,  thee  is  always  right ; 

So  thee  sees,  by  thy  own  showing. 
Some  may  dress  in  colours  bright. 

'  Those  whom  thee  calls  worldly  people. 
In  their  purple  and  their  gold. 

Are  no  gayer  than  these  pansies 
Or  their  grandmothers  of  old. 

'  Yet  thee  knows  I  am  contented 

With  this  quiet  life  of  ours, 
Still,  for  all,  I'm  glad,  dear  grandpa. 

That  there  are  no  Quaker  flowers.' 

—  From  the  Christian  Register, 

A  ruralist  seated  himself  in  a  restau- 
rant the  other  day,  and  began  on  the  bill 
of  fare.  After  employing  the  waiter 
nearly  half  an  hour  in  bringing  dishes 
to  him,  he  whispered,  as  he  put  his  linger 
on  the  bill  of  fare  '  Mister,  I've  et  to 
thar,'and  moving  his  finger  to  the  bottom 
of  the  bill,  '  ef  it  isn't  agin  the  rule  I'd 
like  to  skip  from  thar  to  thar. ' , 


The  lion  is  generally  regarded  as  the 
king  of  beasts  ;  but  the  Romans  called 
the  ox  the  bus. 

Why  is  it  bad  for  a  boy  to  be  given 
a  man's  clothes  ]  Because  he  would  be 
acquiring  loose  habits. 

'  Mamma,  can't  we  have  anything  we 
want  V  '  Yes,  my  dears,  if  you  don't  want 
anything  you  can't  have.' 

Youthful  artist  (to  countryman)  ; 
'  Might  I  go  over  there  and  paint  those 
trees  V  Countryman  :  '  Paint  the  trees 
maister  !  Don't  thee  think  they  look 
very  well  as  they  are  I ' 

'  That's  what  I  call  a  finished  sermon,' 
said  a  lady  to  her  husband,  as  they 
wended  their  way  from  chapel  on  a  re- 
cent w  et  Sunday.  '  Yes,'  was  the  replj''  ; 
'  but,  do  you  know,  I  thought  it  never 
would  be.' 

A  man  who  wanted  to  buy  a  horse 
asked  a  friend  how  to  tell  a  horse's  age. 
'  By  his  teeth,'  was  the  reply.  The  next 
day,  the  man  went  to  a  horse-dealer,  who 
showed  him  a  splendid  black  horse.  The 
horse-hunter  opened  the  animal's  mouth, 
gave  one  glance,  and  tui'ned  on  his  heel. 
'I  don't  want  him,'  said  he.  "He's 
thirty-two  years  old.'  He  had  counted 
the  teeth. 

In  Scotland,  the  topic  of  a  sermon  or 
discourse  of  any  kind  is  called  by  old- 
fashioned  folks  '  its  ground,'  or,  as  they 
would  say,  '  Its  grund.'  An  old  woman, 
bustling  into  the  kirk  rather  late,  found 
the  preacher  had  commenced,  and,  open- 
ing her  Bible,  nudged  her  next  neigh- 
bour, with  the  inquiry,  '  Wliat's  his 
grund  ? '  '  Oh,'  rejoined  the  other,  who 
happened  to  be  a  brother  minister,  and 
therefore  a  priviliged  critic,  '  he's  lost 
his  grund  long  since,  and  he's  just  swim- 
ming.' 

'  We  remember  one  evening,'  says  a 
writer  in  the  London  Spectator,  '  an 
Englishman  expressing,  more  forcibly 
than  politely,  his  abhorrence  of  the 
Japanese  custom  of  eating  raw  fish.  It 
was  said  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Iwakura, 
the  son  of  the  Japanese  Minister,  and 
then  resident  at  Balliol  College,  Oxford. 
Expressions  of  disgust  were  being  fluently 
uttered,  when  Iwakura  interrupted  the 
speaker.  "  By  the  way  what  shall  we 
have  for  supper  ?  Wouldn't  you  like  a 
few  oysters  I  I  don't  eat  them  myself, 
but," — the  rest  was  lost  in  laughter  at 
the  keenness  of  the  repartee.' 


112 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


Irish  Logic  (a  fact).— Irish  groom  in 
■charge  of  trap,  asleep  (rug  and  whip 
stolen).  Master:  'Hallo,  Mick!  you 
are  asleep.'  Groom:  '  No,  sir,  I  am  not.' 
Master :  '  You  have  been — both  rug  and 
■Nvhip  are  gone.  The  fact  of  the  matter 
is,  yoii  and  I  part  to-morrow.'  Groom  : 
'  All  right,  sir,  will  oi  give  you  a  month's 
notice,  or  ye  me  ? ' 

A  stranger  riding  along  the  road,  ob- 
served that  all  the  niilestones  were  turn- 
ed in  a  particular  way,  not  facing  the 
road,  but  rnther  averted  from  it.  He 
called  to  a  countryman  and  inquired  the 
reason.  'Guid  bless  you,  sir,'  replied 
the  man,  '  the  wind  is  so  strong  hereawa' 
sometimes  that,  if  we  wern't  to  turn  the 
backs  of  the  milestones  to  it,  the  figures 
would  be  blawn  off  them  clear  and 
clean.' 

Biddy  (to  old  Bufkins,  who  has  tried 
for  ten  minutes  in  vain  to  get  his  cher- 
ished clay  to  draw)  ;  '  Shure,  sorr,  and 
it's  verj'  sorry  I  am  for  breaking  it  ;  but 
how  else  was  I  to  keep  the  pieces  to- 
gether iP  1  didn't  put  the  knitting  needle 
inside  ? 

Ord  arily  we  know  from  what  coun- 
try 1  st  people  come  by  the  language 
the;y  use  ;  but  in  the  case  of  the  swearer 
it  is  different.  He  uses  the  language  of 
tlie  country  to  which  he  is  going. 

Lesson  for  Young  Housekeepers. — 
'  How  can  you  tell  a  young  fowl  from 
an  old  one?'  '  By  the  teeth?'  'By 
the  teeth  ?  But  fowls  have  no  teeth  ? ' 
*1  know   they  haven't,  but   I   have.' 

A  reformed  poacher  says  :  '  It  is  very 
embarrassing  to  a  man  who  has  some  re- 
ligious friends  staying  with  him  to  have 
his  big  dog,  which  has  been  very  quiet 
during  week  days,  begin  after  breakfast 
on  Simday,  to  run  to  the  gun  in  the 
corner,  and  then  to  his  master,  and  wag 
his  tail  and  run  back  to  the  gun  again.' 

Theological— Radical :  '  Parson,  I 
hear  you  say  that  I  am  dishonest  in  my 
opinions.'  Parson  :  'The  reverse,  my 
dear  sir.  What  I  did  say  was,  that  your 
opinions  would  be  honest  with  the  '  dis' 
ofl'.' 

THE  LOST  DAY. 

BY    CARET   NOEL,    TORONTO. 

"\Te  rode  one  day,  'twas  long  ago  ; 
And  like  a  happy  spirit, 
The  April  wind  went  to  and  fro, 
Awak'ning  sweets  to  ferret  ; 


For  Spring  had  whispered  to  the  earth 
\Vhat  ne'er  to  lis  she  telleth  ; 
Our  joys  have  no  returning  birth 
As  nature  yearly  feeleth. 

So  green  the  land  it  was  a  rest 
The  weary  sight  to  gladden. 
The  happy  meadows  seemed  too  blest 
For  human  feet  to  tread  on. 

The  leaves  hung  lightly  on  the  boughs, 
Unwearied  l>j'  the  siimmer, 
And  whispered  of  the   west  wind's  vows 
To  ev'ry  chancing  comer  ; 

While,  as  the  birds  had  found  again 
The  home  they  loved  the  dearest, 
From  budding  hedge,  from  grove  and  plain, 
They  sang  their  loudest,  clearest ; 

And  as  sweet  strangers,  half  in  doubt 
If  earth  would  bring  them  crosses. 
The  early  flowers  peeped  shyly  out 
From  'midst  their  friendly  mosses. 

We  rode  a  long,  a  pleasant  way  ; 
Fair  was  the  earth,  and  fairer 
The  light  within  us  made  that  day, 
Its  gift  of  sunshine  rarer. 

We  murmured,  'lovely  is  the  Spring,' 
Nor  dreamed  that  lay  within  us 
A  mystery  of  blossoming 
No  future  years  would  bring  us. 

Of  words,  not  many  passed  between  ; 
For  silence  seemed  tlie  mcetest ; 
But  glances  something  told,  I  ween, 
Of  thoughts  each  held  the  sweetest. 

For  poets  we  that  afternoon. 
And  Love  our  inspiration  ; 
He  quickened  iis  to  nature's  tone. 
And  taught  us  nature's  passion. 

We  felt  with  all  her  happy  things 
Our  hearts  in  unison  beating  ; 
A  myth  seemed  human  sufferings  ; 
A  tale,  life's  sterner  greeting. 

And  ever,  as  we  onward  rode. 
In  closer  chains  he  bound  us, 
Until  it  seemed  no  common  sod, 
But  fairyland,  around  us. 

Ah  !  hidden  long  had  been  that  day, 
In  chambers  nigh  forgotten, 
When  Mem'ry  chanced  to  pass  that  way 
And  gathered  it  unsoughten  ; 

And  brought  it  where,  full  heavily, 
I  sat  my  sorrows  keeping  ; 
And,  oh  !  the  tears  that  came  to  me, — 
But  it  jvas  summer  weeping. 


i 


ROSE-BELFORD'S 


Canadia:^  Mo:kthly 


AET>    ]^ATIO]^AL    REYIEW. 


FEBRUARY,    1882. 


THE  COLONIAL  STATUS  QUO  vs.  CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


THE  advocates  of  a  Republican 
form  of  Government  for  Canada 
are  wont  to  dignify  the  object  of  their 
aspirations  by  the  attractive  title  of 
Independence.  So  confident  are  they 
of  the  deeply  rooted  attachment  of  the 
people  of  Canada  to  the  principles  of 
the  British  Constitution,  and  the  re- 
pugnance of  Canadians  in  general  to 
the  system  which  must  be  substituted 
for  it  in  the  event  of  our  separation 
from  the  rest  of  the  British  Empire  is 
so  evident  to  them  that  they  instinct- 
ively seek  to  excite  discontent  with 
our  present  condition  rather  than  en- 
thusiasm for  that  which  they  hope  is 
to  take  its  place.  This  is  sought  to  be 
done,  negatively  and  positively,  by  the 
reiteration  of  that  one  word.  By  its 
constant  use,  coupled  with  that  of  such 
taunting  phrases  as  '  clinging  to  the 
skirts  of  the  Mother  Country,'  as  de- 
scriptive of  our  pi-esent  political  con- 
dition, we  Canadians  are  expected  to 
be  rendered  dissatisfied  with  it,  as  the 
very  opposite  of  tliat  '  independence  ' 
to  which,  in  all  things,  people  of  spirit 
naturally  aspire.     There  is  absolutely 


nothing  more  in  the  case  or  the  tactics 
of  those  who  have  invented  this  cry. 
Never,  perhaps,  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  has  so  great  a  revolution  been, 
sought  to  be  accomplished  by  the  em- 
ployment of  means  so  trifling.  We  re- 
fer, of  course,  to  peaceful  revolutions, 
and  the  means  by  which  they  are 
brought  about.  For  we  all  know  that 
when  the  minds  of  any  people  are  pre- 
disposed to  revolt  against  a  system  of 
government  with  which  they  have  be- 
come profoundly  dissatisfied,  the  veri- 
est trifle  may  precipitate  an  outbreak, 
and  may  seem  to  produce  consequen- 
ces to  which  it  merely  gives  occasion,, 
but  which  are  really  due  to  antecedent 
causes  of  quite  different  weight  and 
significance.  In  such  a  state  of  afiairs. 
great  may  be  the  power  of  a  phrase,  a 
nickname,  a  word  well  or  ill  undei-- 
stood,  caught  up  by  an  unthinking 
multitude. 

*  Bad  dog,  bad  dog,'  the  Quaker  cried  ; 

'  Mad  dog,  mad  dog,'  the  people  quick  replied. 

Under  certain    propitious    circum- 
stances, hopes  of  a  successful  revolt  at- 


114 


CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


tending  tbe  a]. plication  of  a  levera£;e  of 
this  kind,  naturally  and  apparently  in- 
significant, but  adventitiously  of  great 
power,  would  be  justitied  by  experi- 
ence. But  what  justification  is  to  be 
found  in  history  "for  any  expectation 
that  success  will  attend  the  attempt  to 
seduce  a  loyal  people  from  their  alle- 
giance, and  to  convert  contented  Mon- 
archists into  unwilling  Republicans 
solely  by  the  use  of  a  word  faintly  im- 
plying a  .taunt  1  And  yet  no  less  is 
sought  to  be  done  here  in  Canada  by 
constantly  dinging  into  our  eai-s  the 
'  one  word  '  independence. '  Not  a  single 
complaint  against  our  present  political 
position  has  ever  been  put  forward, 
with  the  exception  of  that  thread-bare 
one,  so  disgraceful  to  our  manhood, 
that  it  exposes  Canada  to  the  danger 
of  being  made  the  battle-field  in  the 
event  of  war  between  Great  Britain 
and  the  United  States.  To  say  nothing 
of  the  far  greater  and  nearer  prob- 
ability of  Canada  becoming  a  battle- 
field when  severed  from  the  rest  of  the 
Empire,  and  continuing  so  nntil  an- 
nexed by  conquest  to  the  United 
States,  this  is  a  grievance,  if  grievance 
it  be,  which  is  common  to  every  fron- 
tier community,  but  which  is  never 
held  to  justify  timidity  or  treason. 
When  the  French  army  invaded  Ger- 
many, and  the  German  army  rolled 
back  the  tide  of  invasion  upon  France, 
certain  portions  of  both  countries  suf- 
fered cruelly  in  their  turn  from  the 
horrors  of  war  ;  but  it  does  not  appear 
that  the  inhabitants  of  those  portions 
of  either  country  had  sought  to  escape 
from  their  liability  to  such  a  fate  by 
previous  political  desertion  on  a  large 
scale,  or  were  deficient  in  pati'iotism, 
courage  or  endurance  when  the  time 
came  for  them  to  do  and  suffer  for 
their  country.  Convinced  as  we  are 
that  those  who  advocate  what  they  are 
pleased  to  call  the  '  independence '  of 
Canada  are  in  reality,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  advocating  the  absorp- 
tion of  Canada  into  the  United  States, 
we  can  compare  this  sole  and  single 
argument  which    has  ever   been  put 


forth  in  favour  of  its  being  brought 
about  to  one  thing  only.  It  is  as  if 
the  otficers  and  sailors  of  the  Channel 
Fleet  were  to  propose  to  take  our  men- 
of-war  to  Cherbourg,  and,  hauling 
down  the  British  flag,  deliver  them 
over  to  the  French  Admiralty  in  order 
to  prevent  their  decks  becoming  stain- 
ed with  blood  in  the  event  of  war 
with  France.  But,  in  truth,  this  bat- 
tle-field argument,  if  it  is  good  for 
anything  at  all,  must  be  applicable  in 
some  degree  on  the  other  side  of  the 
border  also  ;  and  it  seems  to  us  that  it 
would  be  more  patriotic,  for  such  at 
least  of  the  advocates  of  so-called 
Canadian  Independence  as  are  not 
Amercan  emissaries,  to  urge  the  States 
and  Territories  on  our  border,  from 
the  State  of  ]Maine  on  the  coast  of  the 
Atlantic  to  Washington  Territory  on 
that  of  the  Pacific,  to  secede  from  the 
Union  in  obedience  to  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation,  and  save  themselves 
from  a  battle-field  fate  by  either  set- 
ting up  for  themselves  or  seeking  for 
annexation  to  the  British  Empire. 

Thei-e  is,  of  course,  an  ai'gument  to 
the  disadvantage  of  our  present  state 
latent  in  the  appropriation  of  the  word 
'  independence '  as  descriptive  of  some 
impliedly  opposite  state,  which  those 
who  aflfect  to  sigh  for  its  advent  are, 
however,  scrupulously  careful  not  to 
define  or  describe,  or  enlarge  upon  in 
any  way.  It  is,  or  is  to  be,  '  independ- 
ence,' and  that  is  all  the  information 
vouchsafed  to  us  upon  the  subject.  This 
being  the  wise  and  prudent  policy  of 
our  opponents,  we,  the  upholders  of 
the  existing  order  of  things,  have  a 
twofold  task  to  perform.  We  have  not 
only  to  demonstrate  the  strength  of 
the  grounds  and  reasons  of  our  adhe- 
sion to  that  order,  but  also  to  expose 
the  utter  weakness  of  our  adversaries' 
case,  and  thereby  further  and  super- 
abundantly justify  that  adhesion.  It 
is  never  safe  or  prudent  to  despise 
an  enemy,  and  he  is  not  a  wise  ad- 
vocate who,  however  strong  he  may 
have  been  able  to  show  his  own  case 
to  be,  resumes  his  seat  before  he  has 


CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


115 


made  evident  all  the  feebleness  in- 
herent in  that  of  his  adversary.  And 
he  sliould  be  all  the  more  careful 
to  fulfil  this  latter  duty  when  he 
perceives  that  his  opponent  has  tact 
enough  to  be  very  guarded  and  reti- 
cent in  his  handling  of  a  case  which  he 
knows  to  be  bad,  and  has  put  it  for- 
ward in  sucli  a  way  as  least  to  reveal 
its  innate  weakness.  In  preparation, 
therefore,  for  the  possible,  though 
highly  improbable,  event  of  this  poli- 
tical sect,  with  the  pretentious  name, 
ever  becoming  sufficiently  numerous 
or  important  to  make  it  necessary,  or 
■even  worth  the  while,  to  discuss  mat- 
ters seriously  with  them,  it  may  not 
be  amiss  for  us  Canadians  in  general 
to  devote  a  little  time  and  thought  to 
the  task  of  closely  analyzing  the 
grounds  of  the  calm  and  profound 
satisfaction  with  our  present  political 
condition,  and  instinctive  dislike  for 
any  other  that  could  possibly  be  sub- 
stituted for  it,  which  we  so  strongly 
and  deeply  feel  in  the  inmost  recesses 
of  our  souls.  We  shall  then  be  I'eady 
at  any  time  to  '  give  a  reason  for  the 
faith  that  is  in  us.' 

As  a  people  we  Canadians  are  con- 
tented and  happy,  because  we  feel 
that  we  enjoy  unlimited  civil  and  re- 
ligious freedom  ;  and  it  is  only  when 
insinuations  to  the  contrary  are  made 
that  we  need  set  about  the  task  of 
proving  to  ourselves  and  others  that 
our  political  state  is  not  one  of  de- 
pendence. There  was  a  time,  certainly, 
when  we  were  governed  from  Down- 
ing Street — when  all  our  important 
public  offices,  ecclesiastical,  judicial, 
civil  and  military,  were  filled  by 
persons  sent  out  from  the  United 
Kingdom — when  our  customs,  postal, 
casual  and  territorial  revenues  were 
claimed,  and  our  civil  list  was  voted, 
in  England — when  people  in  the  mo- 
ther country  spoke  of  us  as  '  our  sub- 
jects in  the  colonies,'  and  British  im- 
migrants gave  themselves  airs  of  supe- 
riority over  their  Canadian-born  fellow 
subjects.  But  that  time  is  long  since 
past.     Nous   avons   change  tout   cela. 


This  great  change  has  been   effected 
gradually,    with    trifling    exceptions, 
peaceably,  and  with    the  hearty   con- 
currence and  final  approbation  of  all 
parties  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 
So  gradually,  indeed,  and  quietly  have 
some  parts  of  the  change  been  effected 
that  it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  if 
some  persons  have  failed  to  note  the 
transition  of  their  country  from   the 
position  of  a  dependent  colony  to  that 
of  a    free  and   self-governed  integral 
portion  of  the  empire.     And  yet  that 
is   what  Canada   is    at    this  moment. 
Words  accurately  describing  our  rela- 
tion to  the  United  Kingdom  have  yet 
to  be  coined.     The  editor  of  the  Times 
was  right  when  he  wrote  that  those  of 
'mother  country/  and  'colony  '  are  no 
longer  applicable,  and  that  we  must 
revise  our  nomenclature  in  relation  to 
this   subject.      Our    bishops,    clergy, 
and    ministers   of   denominations  are 
1    appointed,  and  our  churches  and  reli- 
}    gious   institutions  of  eveiy  kind  are 
I    governed,    without   any    reference  to 
j    authorities  in  the  United   Kingdom. 
No  judges  or  public  officers  but  those 
of  our  own  choice  dispense  justice  or 
I    exercise    authority   among   us.     Our 
duties   of   customs    and   excise,    and 
i   other  items  of  revenue,  are  levied  and 
I    applied  by  our  own  officers,  under  the 
j    authority  of  our  own  Parliament.   Our 
j    postal  service,  internal  and  external, 
I    is  under  our  own  management  exclu- 
I    sively.     The  wild  lands  of  the  Crown 
within  our  limits,  their  sale  and  set- 
tlement, are   under  purely  local   con- 
trol. All  the  military  and  naval  lands 
of  the  Crown  and  defensive  works  in 
Canada  are  'vested  in  Her  Majesty 
the  Queen  for  the  purposes  of  Cana- 
da,' by  laws  of  our  own  making.    Our 
public  works,  and  public  property  gen- 
erally, civil,  naval,  and  military,  are 
under  the  sole  control  of  our  own  Par- 
liament and  Government,  though  the 
cost  of  some  of  them  has  been  most 
generously    defrayed,     and    that     of 
others  as  generously  guaranteed,  by 
the  Government  of  the  Empire,  on  the 
authority  of  Acts  of  the  Imperial  Par- 


116 


CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


liament.  Our  sea  coast  and  inland 
fisheries,  the  navigation  of  our  waters, 
and  the  rights  and  duties  of  ship-own- 
ers, ship  masters,  and  seamen  therein, 
are  as  exclusively  subject  to  our  own 
legislation  as  is  compatible  with  the 
rights  of  other  British  subjects  ;  our 
own  people  of  the  above  three  classes, 
and  their  property,  being  subject  only 
to  our  own  laws  when  in  our  own 
waters,  though  entitled  to  and  enjoy- 
ing elsewhere  the  full  protection  of  the 
Empire  which  governs  and  protects 
our  fellow  subjects  of  the  same  classes 
when  here.  Our  currency  laws  and 
systems  of  finance  and  banking  are 
such  as  we  choose  to  make  them.  The 
metallic  emblems  of  our  currency  are 
only  coined  in  England  because  we  do 
not  deem  it  advisable  to  have  a  mint 
here,  as  our  fellow- subjects  have  in 
Australia.  We  revel  in  the  luxury  of 
a  public  debt,  all  our  own,  and  manage 
or  mismanage  it  ourselves  exclusively, 
as  seems  best  in  our  own  eyes.  So  of 
our  system  of  public  institutions.  So 
of  our  penitentiaries,  reformatories, 
asylums,  hospitals,  and  other  similar 
public  institutions.  So  of  our  univer- 
sities, colleges,  and  public  schools.  So 
of  our  copyright  laws,*  and  laws  re- 
specting patents  for  inventions  and 
discoveries,  and  trade-marks  and  de- 
signs. So  of  our  systems  of  weights 
and  measui-es.  So  of  our  laws  of  na- 
turalization, marriage,  and  divorce, 
and  o+her  laws,  civil  and  criminal,  for 
the  regulation  of  persons,  property,  and 
civil  rights  generally.  So  of  our  rela- 
tions with  the  aborigines,  and  the 
management  of  the  lands  reserved  to 
them  by  treaty.  So  of  our  quaran- 
tine laws,  regulations,  and  establish- 
ments. So  of  the  regulation  of  trade 
and  commerce,  internal  and  external. 
So   of  our    municipal    institutions  of 

*[The  writer  is  hardly  correct  in  saying 
that  in  Canada  we  control  our  Copyright 
laws,  uidess  he  limits  his  reference  to  merely 
local  Copyright.  The  legislation  on  this 
subject,  of  any  appreciable  benefit  to  Canada, 
which  our  legislators  desired  to  effect,  was  in 
1873  vetoed  by  the  Imperial  Government.— 
Ed.  C.  M.] 


every  kind.  So  of  the  creation  of  new 
Provinces,  altering  the  boundaries  and 
divisionsof  such  Provinces,  and  amend- 
ing the  constitutions  of  Provinces.  So 
of  our  militia,  and  naval  and  military 
volunteers.  So  of  the  maintenance  of 
peace  and  order  within  our  country, 
and  its  defence  generally,  which  is 
now  recognised  as  our  duty  and  our 
privilege,  subject  only  to  the  necessity, 
I  also  recognised,  of  that  assistance  from 
the  forces  of  the  Empire  at  large  in 
cases  of  invasion,  which  we  have  been 
solemnly  assured  will  be  freely  afford- 
ed. There  remains  only  the  subject 
of  naval  defence,  that  is  to  say,  the 
defence  of  our  tidal  harbours  and  sea- 
coast  fisheries,  and  of  our  ships  and 
commerce  on  the  high  seas,  and  the 
subject  of  foreign  relations  and  diplo- 
macy. With  respect  to  these,  we  are 
certainly  as  yet  dependent  upon  the 
central  Government  of  the  Empire. 
But  as  to  each,  a  commencement  has 
already  been  made  in  the  direction  of 
securing  to  us  as  much  independence 
as  may  be  found  consistent  with  the 
due  co-relation  of  the  parts  of  a  great 
empire.  Our  power  to  build,  man, 
arm,  equip,  maintain,  and  control  ves- 
sels of  war,  has  been  solemnly  recog- 
nised by  laws  of  the  realm.  So  has 
our  power  to  perform,  independently, 
the  obligations  of  Canada,  as  a  part  of 
the  British  Empire,  towards  foreign 
countries.  More  than  one  Canadian 
had  already  been  employed  as  an  arbi- 
trator or  commissioner  for  the  settle- 
ment of  disputes  arising  under  such 
treaties  before  one  of  our  foremost 
politicians  was  selected,  as  Canadian 
politicians  will  in  future,  no  doubt, 
often  be  selected,  to  assist  in  the 
negotiation  of  a  treaty  of  the 
highest  and  most  vital  importance 
to  the  interests  of  the  Empire,  and 
of  peace.  The  people  of  Canada  have 
no  power  to  make  treaties  j  neither 
have  the  people  of  the  United 
Kingdom.  That  power  resides  in  the 
Sovereign  of  the  great  Empire  in  which 
both  countries  are  included.  But,  as 
things  are  now,  it  is  not  only  within 


CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


117 


tLe  bounds  of  possibility,  but  even  far 
from  imi)robable,  that  a  treaty  relat- 
ing exclusively  to  Canada  would  be 
negotiated  by  Canadian  commission- 
ers. Neither  is  it  at  all  unlikely  that 
in  the  selection  of  such  commissioners 
and  the  ratification  of  such  a  treaty, 
the  Sovereign,  though  virtually  advised 
by  Imperial  Ministers,  might  really 
be  guided  in  accordance  with,  if  not 
directly  by,  the  opinions  and  wishes 
of  Canadian  Ministers.  At  any  rate, 
the  Treaty  of  Washington  was  not  the 
first  treaty  whose  clauses  had  awaited 
in  a  state  of  suspended  animation  the 
consent  of  the  people  of  Canada  to 
breathe  into  them  the  breath  of  life, 
having  been  negotiated  and  ratified 
subject  to  that  express  condition.  In 
relation  to  all  the  above  subjects,  and 
many  others,  independent  powers  of 
government  are  exercised  in  Canada, 
so  far  as  executive  action  is  concerned, 
in  the  name  of  the  Queen  herself,  by 
the  advice  of  '  the  Queen's  Privy  Coun- 
cil for  Canada  '  which  must  always 
be  composed  of  men  possessing  the 
confidence  of  a  majority  of  the  chosen 
representatives  of  the  people  of  Cana- 
da, and  so  far  as  legislation  is  con- 
cerned, by  a  body  known  by  the  high- 
est title  in  the  English  language  by 
which  a  legislature  can  be  designated, 
that  of  a  Parliament '  consisting  of  the 
Queen,  an  Upper  House  styled  the 
Senate,  and  the  House  of  Commons.' 
'  The  executive  government  and  au- 
thority of  and  over  Canada  and  the 
command-in-chief  of  the  land  and 
naval  militia,  and  of  all  naval  and 
military  forces  of  and  in  Canada  are 
vested  in  the  Queen.'  In  one  word, 
Canada  is  a  '  Dominion  under  the 
Crown  of  the  United  Kingdom  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  with  a 
Constitution  similar  in  principle  to 
that  of  the  United  Kingdom.'  That 
Constitution  is  admittedly,  of  all  that 
have  ever  been  known,  the  one  under 
which  life  and  property  are  best  pro- 
tected ;  civil  and  religious  liberty  are 
enjoyed  to  the  fullest  extent  consis- 
tent with  due  regard  to  the  rights  of 


others  ;  and  order  is  maintained  and 
due  respect  for  and  obedience  to  the 
law  enforced  by  the  consent  of  all, 
and  for  the  good  of  all.  It  is  the 
model  Tipon  which  nation  after  na- 
tion of  the  civilized  world  has  tried 
and  is  trying,  with  more  or  less  of 
success,  to  frame  a  free  and  stable 
government  for  itself.  Chief  among 
the  characteristic  excellencies  of  this 
constitutiun  of  ours  is  its  happy  blend- 
ing of  the  monarchical  principle  with 
the  democratic,  or,  in  other  words, 
its  adaptation  of  the  august  form  of 
an  hereditary  monarchy  to  the  invalu- 
able substance  of  a  government  of  a 
free  people  by  and  through  and  for 
that  people  itself.  Under  it,  as  under 
no  other,  the  difficult  problem  of  the 
vesting  of  supreme  executive  author- 
ity is  happily  solved.  The  monarch, 
for  the  time  being,  fittingly  personifies 
law  and  order,  and  authority,  and  acts 
as  the  fountain  of  honour,  grace  and, 
pardon,  as  well  as  in  the  character  of 
one  whose  behests  must  be  obeyed  ; 
in  both  cases  because,  and  only  be- 
cause, so  acting  with  the  consent  of  a 
majority  of  the  governed. 

'  Happy  the  nation  that  the  nation's  self 
Honours,  so  symbolized  with  loyal  will : 

For    whom  —  Plantagenet,    Tudor,    Stuart, 
Guelph- 
The  Sovereign  is  embodied  England  still.' 

Happy  are  the  people  who  combine, 
as  we  do,  the  most  ardent  and  affec- 
tionate loyalty  to  the  person  and  fam- 
ily of  a  monarch  in  every  way  worthy 
of  love,  re.spect  and  admiration,  with 
an  enlightened  appreciation  of  the  in- 
estimable value  of  the  monarchy  itself, 
as  a  permanent  political  institution. 
An  American  citizen,  enjoying  deser- 
vedly at  the  time,  thanks  to  the  liber- 
ality of  our  institutions  and  the  high- 
toned  generosity  of  our  rulers,  an  ex- 
alted official  position  in  our  country, 
had  once  the  bad  taste,  on  a  public 
occasion,  to  sneer  at  the  sentiment  of 
loyalty.  He  proved  to  his  own  satis- 
faction, if  not  to  that  of  his  hearers, 
that  loyalty  such  as  his,  which  he  de- 
scribed and   justified  as  founded  on 


lis 


CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


material  considerations  of  self-interest, 
was  pieferable  to  any  merely  senti- 
mental loyalty.  He  knew  not  the  ex- 
tent of  the  loss  of  which  he  described 
himself  as  the  unconscious  victim,  as 
he  who  is  callous  to  any  one  of  the 
sweet  sympathies  of  human  nature 
necessarily  knows  not  the  extent  of 
his  loss.  Thrice  blessed,  let  us  tell  him 
and  others  like  him,  are  the  people 
of  Canada  in  their  loyalty.  First,  in 
that  it  is  a  sentimental  loyalty,  or  loy- 
alty of  the  heart,  a  pure  and  elevated 
feeling,  preparing  and  impelling  those 
who  cherish  it  to  do  and  sufler  all 
things  for  the  object  of  their  devotion. 
Such  a  feeling  it  was  that  brought  the 
ancestors  of  many  of  us  to  settle  in 
the  wilds  of  Canada  more  than  a  cen- 
tury ago,  making  enormous  social  and 
material  sacrifices  in  so  doing.  Second- 
ly, in  that  it  is  a  rational  loyalty,  or 
loyalty  of  the  head,  founded  on  the 
deliberate  conviction  of  the  superior- 
ity of  our  own  monarchical  form  of 
government  over  any  that  is  merely 
democratic.  Thirdly,  in  that  it  is  a 
material  loyalty,  or  '  loyalty  of  the 
pocket,'  founded,  like  that  of  our  Ame- 
rican friend,  on  considerations  of  self- 
interest,  in  a  jiecuniary  or  protit-and- 
loss  point  of  view. 

We  have  endeavoured  to  present  to 
the  reader  some  of  the  principal  con- 
siderations which  should  guide  one, 
in  case  of  doubt,  to  a  decision  as  to 
whether  our  present  political  condi- 
tion savours  most  of  dependence  or 
independence.  It  has  been  charac- 
te -ized  as  a  '  dependent  independence.' 
Should  we  be  wise  to  quarrel  with  and 
repudiate  it  even  if  best  described  in 
such  qualified  terms  1  But  if,  in  truth, 
it  be  not  rather  an  '  independent  de- 
pendence,' if  our  dependence  be  merely 
nominal  and  theoretical,  and  our  in- 
dependence real  and  practical,  so  far 
as  is  com)'atib!e  with  the  allegiance  of 
British  subjects  to  the  British  Crown, 
— if  we  have  the  substance  of  the  lat- 
ter, under  the  shadow  of  the  former, 
should  we  be  wise  to  let  that  shadow 
frighten  us  into    risking   the  loss  of 


that  substance  by  grasping  at  its  own 
shadow  1  How  much  of  the  substance 
of  dei)endence  we  should  get  rid  of  by 
fleeing  from  its  shadow,  how  little  of 
the  substance  of  independence  it  re- 
mains for  us  to  fail  to  acquire  by  merely 
grasping  at  its  shadow,  can  only  be 
further  shown  by  de))icting  the  dream 
of  our  would-be  revolutionists  as  real- 
ized. 

Let  us  suppose  for  a  moment  the 
ties  uniting  Canada  with  the  British 
Empire,  or  ratlier  incorporating  her 
with  it,  peaceably  severed  by  some 
mysterious  process  hitherto  unknown 
alike  to  the  laws  or  the  constitution 
of  the  one  or  the  other.  Let  us  sup- 
pose some  Imperial  British  Minister 
bold  enough  to  have  advised  a  British 
Monarch  to  repudiate  the  warm  and 
devoted  loyalty  of  his  Canadian  sub- 
jects, absolve  them  from  their  allegi- 
ance to  the  Crown  of  the  United 
Kingdom,  and  thus  pluck  out  and 
throw  away  one  of  the  brightest  jew- 
els of  that  Crown,  and  deliberately 
prepare  to  hand  down  to  his  succes- 
sors an  empire  shorn  of  a  material  por- 
tion of  the  territory,  power  and  pres- 
tige which  belonged  to  it  when  he  re- 
ceived it  'in  trust  for  them.  That 
Minister  would  not  be  Mr.  Gladstone, 
or  one  of  his  opinions.  But  suppose 
the  thing  to  have  been  done : — to 
what  would  the  change  practically 
amount  1  and  to  what  immediate 
measures  would  it  necessarily  give 
rise?  Why,  mainly  to  this  and  to 
these.  We  should  no  longer  be  fel- 
low-subjects with,  and  members  of^ 
the  greatest  people  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  but  a  little,  weak,  and  scattered 
separate  community,  severed  from  all 
our  traditions  and  with  a  history  to 
make  for  ourselves.  For  want  of  a 
monarch  we  should  be  driven  to  stifle 
all  our  pi'edilections  and  improvise  for 
ourselves  some  form  of  republic  or 
other  purely  democratic  govei'nment. 
The  sum  it  now  costs  us  to  have  our 
Government  well  and  permanently 
and  stably  administered,  in  accordance 
with  our  own   wishes,   as  these  may 


CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


119 


change  from  time  to  time,  in  the  name 
of  an  hei-cditary  Sovereign,  by  a  Gov- 
ernor-General who  is  an  accident  as 
far  as  we  are  concerned,  but  wlio  is 
guided  by  the  advice  of  Canadian 
INIinisters,  amenable  to  a  Canadian  par- 
liamentary majority,  would  be  avail- 
able towards  paying  "the  salary  and 
defraying  the  other  expenses  of  a  Pre- 
sident, periodically  elected  amid  all  the 
intrigues  and  rancours,  bribery  and  cor- 
ruption, incident  to  party  strife.  A 
President  elected  for  a  short  term  can- 
not well  be  trusted  with  the  appoint- 
ment for  life  of  judicial  or  other  offi- 
cers. Hence  the  necessity  for  further 
and  constantly  recurring  elections  of 
every  kind,  with  all  their  debasing  and 
demoralizing  influences.  Hence,  also, 
an  imperious  necessity  for  at  once 
proclaiming  and  acting  upon  the 
maxim  that  '  to  the  victors  belong 
the  spoils '  as  regulating  the  tenure  of 
all  appointments  to  civil  office  vin- 
der  the  government.  Then  farewell 
to  official  dignity,  purity  and  integrity. 
Farewell  to  a  Judiciary  and  a  Civil  Ser- 
vice such  as  are  the  glory  of  our  lands. 
Home  and  Colonial.  Nor  can  a  Pre- 
sident elected  absolute  Dictator  for  a 
term  of  years  be  subject  to  the  control 
or  censure  of  a  legislature.  Hence,  no 
more  Responsible  Ministers  bound  to 
explain  the  measures  of  Government 
on  the  floor  of  Parliament,  and  to 
stand  or  fall,  retain  or  lose  power,  ac- 
cording as  those  measures  are  or  ai'e 
not  acceptable  to  a  majority  of  the 
repi'esentatives  of  the  people.  Instead 
of  them,  secretaries  appointed  and  re- 
moved at  the  will  and  pleasure  of  the 
President  explaining  in  written  or 
printed  reports  and  messages  as  much 
or  as  little  of  their  master's  policy  as 
he  pleases  to  disclose  to  a  legislature 
that  is  powerless  to  influence,  guide  or 
control  it,  and  with  respect  to  whose 
acts  he  has  a  qualifled  veto  and  no  in- 
itiative voice. 

If  that  would  be  'independence,'  give 
us  rather  whatever  of  'dependence'  may 
be  implied  in  our  being  ruled,  as  our 
fellow-subjects  in  the  United  Kingdom 


are  ruled,  by  our  beloved  Queen,  act- 
ing on  the  advice  of  Privy  Councillors 
acceptable  to  the  majority.  The  advice 
of  Her  Majesty's  Canadian  Privy 
Councillors,  it  is  true,  is  not  tendered 
to  Her  Majesty  in  j)erson.  Distance 
forbids.  lint  it  is  tendered  to,  and 
acted  upon  by,  her  chosen  representa- 
tive and  deputy. 

But  separation  from  our  Queen,  and 
the  loss  of  that  responsible  or  parlia- 
mentaiy    government     which     is   the 
glory  of  the  British'  Constitution,  sub- 
stituting for  it  some  weak   imitation 
of  the  weakest  features  of  its  Ameri- 
can counterpart,  the  provision  for  ex- 
ecutive government,  though  really  the 
great  change  concealed  by,  and  stealth- 
ily advocated  under,  the  above  high- 
sounding  title  would  be  accompanied 
by  two  consequences.      We  should  no 
longer  be  '  dependents'  upon  the  Royal 
Navy    for   the  defence    of    our   tidal 
harbours,    or  of  our   ships  and  com- 
merce   on    the    high   seas,    nor   upon 
British  diplomatic  or  consular  agents 
for  the  protection  of  our  persons  and 
property  when  travelling  abroad.   Hav- 
ing attained   to   the    complete  'inde- 
pendence '    we  are  told  we  ought  to 
covet,  it  would,  of  course,  be  our  high 
privilege,  as  well  as  a  matter  of  indis- 
pensable necessity,  to  build,  man,  arm, 
equip,    provision    and     maintain,    at 
whatever  cost,  a  fleet  of  vessels  of  war 
on  a  scale  commensurate  with  the  ton- 
nage of    our    merchant  shipping  and 
the  extent  and  distribution  of  our  for- 
eign commerce.     We  should  also  have 
to  maintain  an  envoy  and  minister  at 
every  seat  of  government,  and  a  con- 
sul' at  every  place  where   merchants 
most  do   congregate,  in   the  civilized 
world — and    perhaps    also    at    some 
places  not  by  any  means  civilized.    So 
far  as  the  first  of  these  items  of  '  de- 
pendence' is  concerned,  our  pride  could 
surely  be  satisfied  by  our  availing  our- 
selves of  our  power  to  add  ships  to 
the  Royal  Navy,  in  ])roportion  to  our 
means,  after  we  shall  have  got  through 
with,  and  our  finances   shall  have  in 
some  degree  recovered  from,  the  great 


120 


CANADIAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


expenditure  incurred  in  the  interest 
of  the  Empire  at  large,  for  fortifica- 
tions, for  a  trans-continental  railway, 
and  for  the  extinction  of  aboriginal 
and  corporate  claims  to  vast  and 
valuable  tracts  thereby  finally  secured 
to  the  British  Crown.  So  far  as  the 
second  of  them  is  concerned  there  is 
really  nothing  in  it  that  need  be  hurt- 
ful to  our  pride  at  all.  As  subjects  of 
the  Queen,  we  may  freely  avail  our- 
selves of  the  services  of  our  foreign 
agents,  our  fellow  subjects  paying  for 
those  services,  when  custom  admits  of 
our  so  doing,  and  feeling,  when  it  does 
not,  that  the  cost  of  their  maintenance 
is  in  no  way  increased  by  our  having  a 
common  title  with  others  to  their  ser- 
vice. 

Disregarding  the  sneers  of  those 
who  cannot  rise  to,  or  appreciate  the 
elevation  of,  our  sentiments,  we  glory 
in  our  character  of  subjects  of  a  great 
and  good  Queen  and  inhabitants  of  an 
integral  portion  of  a  great  empire. 
Emigrants  fi-om  the  United  Kingdom 
who  have  settled  in  this  land  upon  the 
faith  of  treaties,  royal  proclamations, 
and  Acts  of  Parliament,  toiled  and 
suffered  in  reclaiming  it  from  a  state 
of  nature,  and  the  descendants  of  such 
emigrants,  or  of  those  who  won  this 
land  for  the  British  Crown  from  foe- 
men  worthy  of  their  steel,  or  of  such 
foemen — *  becomesubjects  of  the  King' 
more  than  a  century  ago — loyally  and 
gallantly  maintaining  that  inherited 
character  in  peace  and  in  war,  or 
cf  those  who,  nearly  as  long  ago,  sacri- 
ficed almost  all  they  held  most  dear, 
except  their  allegiance,  in  flying  to 
trackless  northern  wilds  and  forests 
to  preserve  that  allegiance — the  cha- 
racter of  British  subjects  is  our  sacred 
birthright.  It  is  a  clierished  attribute 
and  possession  of  which  we  cannot 
lawfully  be  deprived  without  our  con- 
sent, of  which  our  Sovereign  cannot 
have  the  slightest  desire,  or  any  of  our 
fellow  subjects  the  slightest  shadow  of 
a  pretext  of  right,  to  despoil  us.  We 
are  satisfied  that  our  maintaining  and 
perpetuating  the  enjoyment  of  that 


birthright  by  ourselves  and  our  pos- 
terity will  be  a  source  of  sti-ength, 
and  not  of  weakness,  to  the  Empire. 
We  do  not  desire  to  do  so  at  any 
avoidable  cost  to  others,  or  without 
such  sacrifices  as  it  may  from  time  to 
time  be  necessary  for  ourselves  and 
our  descendants  to  make  for  that  pur- 
pose. Mutual  forbearance,  and  an  un- 
selfish desire  on  the  part  of  all  con- 
cerned, to  make  the  connection  mutu- 
ally beneficial  must,  of  course,  be  the 
life  and  soul  of  a  tie  apparently  so 
slender  as  that  (being,  to  all  appear- 
ance, one  of  sentiment  and  affection 
only,  though,  if  only  well  understood, 
of  interest  also)  which  binds  together 
the  different  portions  of  the  British 
Empire.  To  secvire  the  exercise,  in 
public  matters,  of  such  politic  forbear- 
ance and  unselfishness,  the  wisest 
statesmanship  on  all  hands  will  con- 
stantly be  required.  Fortunately  for 
all  parties,  the  nature  of  the  free  in- 
stitutions of  the  United  Kingdom  and 
its  offshoots  is  such  as  to  afford  a 
guarantee  of  such  statesmanship,  in 
the  successive  selection,  in  each  com- 
munity, of  men  of  tried  and  approved 
prudence  and  ability  as  advisers  of  the 
Crown.  It  is  only  by  slow  degrees, 
through  discussion,  negotiation,  ad- 
ministrative action,  and  occasional 
legislation,  and  not  by  any  one  act  of 
constitution-mongering,  that  we  may 
hope  to  see  the  various  independent 
communities  now  constituting  the 
British  Empire  so  welded  together  as 
to  form,  for  common  purposes,  both  in 
peace  and  in  war,  but  one  harmonious 
and  consentaneous  community,  under 
one  legislature  and  one  executive — 
each  portion  being  meanwhile  free  and 
self-supporting  for  all  other  purposes. 
To  this  end  all  the  cohesive  elements 
of  our  institutions  and  constitutions 
will  have  to  be  carefully  fostered,  cul- 
tivated, and  strengthened,  and  all 
their  centrifugal  tendencies  combat 
ed  to  the  utmost,  and  if  possible  sub- 
dued. 

Among  other  things,  the  cohesive 
force  of  collective  names  for  the  Em- 


AGRICOLA.  121 


pire  and  its  various  inhabitants  ought 
jiot  to  be  overlooked  or  despised. 
What  more  appropriate  ones  could  be 
adopted  than  such  as  are  suggested  by 
the  name  of  our  beloved  Queen  1  The 
Eiljpire  of  Victoria  would  be  a  proud 


and  appropriate  title  for  a  group  of 
nations  under  the  mild  sway  of  a  be- 
loved *  Em}iress  of  the  Victorians.'  Of 
the  British  Empire,  as  a  whole,  we  de- 
voutly say,  Esto  perjMua. 


AGRICOLA. 

(C.    C.    TACITI    'AGRICOLA/   C.    46.) 
BY   JOHN   READE,    MONTREAL. 


IF  for  the  righteous  dead  a  rest  remains, 
If,  as  the  wise  have  thought,  great  souls  survive 
The  bodily  frame,  such  rest,  0  friend,  be  thine  ! 
And  us,  thy  household,  yearning  for  thy  face, 
From  weak  regret  and  womanish  tears  recall 
To  thoughts  of  that  which  even  love's  own  law 
Forbids  us  to  deplore — thy  d  athless  life 
Of  virtue,  in  our  lives,  not  words,  best  praised. 

Be  to  us  an  ensample — thus,  in  sooth. 
We  yield  thee  real  honour.     We  who  loved 
Thy  presence,  making  ours  thy  deeds  and  words. 
May  have  thee  still  in  more  than  memory. 
Even  thy  soul's  true  self.     Marble  or  bronze 
Or  canvas  may  preserve  the  cherished  face, 
(And  well  it  is  to  have  it  thus  preserved), 
But  outward  form  and  that  which  outlines  it 
Perish  in  time.     The  soul  lives  on  for  ever. 
And  not  in  marble,  canvass,  or  in  bronze. 
But  in  our  thoughts  and  deeds  from  day  to  day, 
Its  likeness  is  transmitted.     0  our  friend. 
Whatever  in  thee  we  admired  or  loved 
Remains  and  will  remain  in  good  men's  minds 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 

And,  although 
Good  men  have  lived  and  laboured  and  their  names 
Have  been  forgotten,  like  the  inglorious  herd, 
'Twill  not  be  so  with  thee,  Agricola. 
Thy  name  and  fame  shall  live  from  age  to  age 
In  this,  love's  record  of  thy  noble  deeds. 


122 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


MODEEN   LIFE   AND   NERVOUS   FORCE.* 


RY  DAVID  K.  BROWX,  TORONTO. 


HAVE  you  ever  paused  amid  the 
rush,  the  rattle,  and  the  roar 
of  modern  life,  to  think  of  the  steady, 
solemn,  sweet  repose  of  the  days  that 
are  no  more — the  days  we  speak  of 
when  we  say  *  the  good  old  times  1 '  If 
YOU  have  shut  your  ears  to  the  tur- 
moil of  the  streets,  the  din  of  the  mar- 
ket-place ;  if  you  have  switched  off  the 
telephone  wire,  that  wakes  with  its 
iDud  alarm  the  seclusion  of  your  family 
retreat ;  if  you  have  cast  aside  the 
newspaper,  with  its  thousand  tongues 
speaking  loudly  yet  silently ;  if  you 
hive  turned  down  your  gas  jet,  and 
drawn  up  your  easy  armchair  to 
the  open  fire-place,  and  let  fancy  have 
wing,  she  must  have  borne  you  back 
to  the  good  old  times  when  George  the 
Third  was  King.  Before  your  mind's 
eye  must  have  floated  visions  of  travel 
by  stage  coach,  of  time-reading  by 
dials,  of  wigs  and  queues,  and  canes 
and  snufF  boxes,  of  knee  breeches,  and 
shoon,  and  a  picture  must  have  arisen 
before  you  of  a  life  spent  by  gentle 
folks  in  dalliance  and  easy  pursuit  of 
pleasures.  As  the  coals  in  your  tire 
barn  down,  and  a  sombre  shadow 
creeps  over  the  glow  of  the  live  embers, 
the  picture  before  you  has  changed, 
and  you  see  the  common  peojile  of  that 
day,  toiling  from  morn  till  night,  but 
with  disposition  fit  for  such  drug- 
gery.  You  see  them  without  the 
power  of  thinking  for  themselves,  con- 
tent that  the  squire  should  rule  their 
temporal  intei-ests,  and  the  parson  at- 
tend to  their  spiritual  welfare.  In 
them  you  see  resignation  to  their  lot, 


*  A  paper  read  before  a  few  friends,  and 
published  at  their  request. 


a  pervading  belief  in  their  foreordina- 
tion  to  be  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers 
of  water.  In  the  streets  there  is  no 
bustle.  My  lord's  carriage,  with  its 
powdered  footmen,  slowly  rumbles 
along.  My  lady  steps  from  her  chair, 
and  indolently  sails  into  the  milliner's 
store.  The  dray-horse  drags  his  load 
along,  with  the  wainer  nodding  him- 
self to  sleep.  For  a  moment  the  drowsy 
street  is  aroused  by  the  noisy  rattle 
of  a  stage  coach,  bearing  its  burden  of 
rusticity  into  the  heart  of  the  city.  It 
is  but  for  a  moment,  and  the  shadows 
creep  along  as  lazily  as  ever.  As  the 
sun  declines  in  the  west,  lethai'gy  suc- 
ceeds to  drowsiness,  and  all  is  sunk 
in  the  stupor  of  the  day's  death.  The 
great  world  has  slowly  plodded  through 
its  diurnal  duties ;  only  the  little 
world  of  fashion  and  riot  remains  as 
the  night  wears  on  to  disturb  the  uni- 
versal sleep  with  intermittent  noisy 
bursts  of  revelry  that,  like  the  howl- 
ing of  dogs  in  deserted  streets,  make 
the  stillness  more  profound.  Waking 
from  such  a  reverie,  you  must  have 
asked  yourself  :  can  it  be  that  we  are 
flesh  of  their  flesh,  and  bone  of  their 
bone  1  Are  we  the  same  people,  men- 
tally and  physically  1  Or  have  we 
who  live  in  this  age  of  feverish  acti- 
vity undergone  a  change  ?  Has  the 
invention  of  the  steam-engine  been  ac- 
companied by  a  corresponding  increase 
of  activity  1  Has  the  telegraph,  which 
annihilates  space,  been  accompanied 
by  an  acceleration  of  human  thought? 
In  a  word,  has  the  human  frame 
changed  with  the  development  of  in- 
vention ;  has  the  human  mind  in- 
creased in  ])Ower  with  the  increase  in 
knowledge  ? 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


123 


It  is  the  purpose  of  this  papei"  to  at- 
tempt an  answer  to  these  questions. 
It  is  my  intention  to  answer  very 
biielly,  and  in  answering  1  will  hardly 
do  more  than  suggest  by  a  lew  exam- 
ples, conclusions  which  you  will  have 
ample  means  at  hand  of  verifying. 
Thereafter  I  will  pass  to  a  considera- 
tion of  a  new  subject,  which  will  ere 
long  engage  much  attention  in  the 
medical  world,  this  subject  being  a 
phenomenon  of  the  highest  civilization. 

I  will  now  proceed  to  discuss  briefly 
the  physical  aspect  of  my  subject. 
That  the  power  of  man,  exerted  through 
tools,  has  increased  beyond  com])uta- 
tion,  is  a  fact  too  obvious  to  be  disputed. 
Has  he  increased  physically  1  1  think 
he  has.  I  discard  at  once  all  mytho- 
logical stories.  In  the  days  of  Her- 
cules and  jNIilo  they  did  not  scrutinize 
the  records  as  they  do  now  ;  so  we  will 
come  down  somewhat  nearer  to  our 
own  time.  Walking,  I  think,  is  the 
finest  test  of  our  physical  endurance. 
Until  O'Leary,  the  Chicago  postman, 
revived  long-distance  walking,  the  feat 
of  Capt.  Barclay  was  looked  upon  as 
something  that,  having  been  achieved 
once,  had  been  achieved  for  all  time. 
The  captain  walked  1,000  miles  in 
1,000  hours,  being  allowed  to  walk 
two  miles  consecutively.  Thus  he 
could  have  an  hour  and  a  half's 
rest.  In  the  last  year  or  two,  Wil- 
liam Gale,  a  midget  of  a  man,  has 
walked  4/JOO  quarter  miles  in  4,000 
quarter  hours,  beginning  each  quarter 
mile  on  the  sti-oke  of  each  quarter. 
Thus  he  never  had  more  than  ten  min- 
utes' sleep  consecutively  in  nearly  42 
days.  This,  to  my  mind,  proves  that 
physical  endurance  to-day  is  greater 
than  it  has  hitherto  been.  Twenty  years 
ago  a  man  would  have  been  regarded  as 
a  lunatic  who  would  have  ventured  the 
ojunion  that  a  man  could  walk  520 
niiles  in  six  days,  or  run  560  odd  miles 
in  the  same  time.  Yet  O'Leary  and 
Rowell  have  done  this.  Dr.  Winship 
has  lifted  3,000  lbs.  in  our  own  day, 
a  feat  of  strength  unexcelled  by  any 
other  authenticated  record.      Hanlan 


has  rowed  faster  than  ever  man  rowed 
before.  Myers  has  cut  down  all  the 
short  distance  sprint  records.  Donald 
Dinnie,  Rory  McLennan,  and  others, 
have  surpassed  all  previous  recorded 
feats  in  heavy  weight  athletics.  And  so 
I  might  cite  instances,  in  all  the  round 
of  muscular  tests,  down  even  to  })rize- 
tighters.  The  prize  ring,  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  think,  is  dead,  and  there  re- 
main no  longer  the  men  who  could 
equal  the  great  brutes  of  days  gone 
by.  Yet  those  who  are  said  to  be 
well  informed  upon  such  matters  are 
of  opinion  that  in  the  man  Sullivan, 
who  is  to  tight  with  the  man  Ryan  a 
few  months  hence,  there  is  a  physical 
type  equal,  if  not  supei'ior,  to  any  of 
the  notable  prize-fighters  whose  doings 
are  recorded  in  BelVs  Life.  I  think  a 
survey  of  the  field  of  athletics  will 
convince  any  one  that  the  representa 
tive  muscular  men  of  to-day  excel 
those  of  any  preceding  period  in  the 
history  of  our  race. 

But  it  may  be  urged  that,  though 
isolated  instances  show  a  pre-eminence, 
the  common  run  of  men  do  not  show 
any  increase  of  physical  capacity  over 
their  forefathers.  I  think  they  do 
most  unmistakably  show  a  marked 
advance.  .  If  we  turn  to  the  army,  I 
think  it  will  be  admitted  that  the  Abys- 
sinian, Ashautee,  and  Afghan  cam- 
paigns, and  the  Indian  mutiny, show  in- 
stances of  forced  marching  under  diffi- 
culties excelled  by  none  of  the  marches 
in  the  Peninsular  campaign.  If  we 
turn  to  the  fields,  we  see  harvesters 
working  during  longer  hours,  and  with 
greater  rapidity,  than  our  grandfathers 
ever  dreamt  of.  The  English  navvy 
undergoes  greater  physical  fatigue 
than  four  men  could  have  stood  a  cen- 
tury ago.  The  mechanic  no  longer 
has  time  to  whistle  and  smoke,  and 
talk  village  politics  when  he  is  at  work. 
The  steam-engine  sets  the  factory  in 
motion.  Every  oi)erative  springs  into 
position,  and  stand  by  he  must  or  fall, 
while  the  engine  moves — he  does  not 
fall,  but  bears  the  inexorable  strain  ; 
it  may  be  with  difiiculty,  but  he  bears 


124. 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


bis  burden.  In  manual  labour  alone, 
now-a-days,  a  month's  work  is  crowd- 
ed into  a  week  ;  yet  those  who  earn 
their  living  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow 
are  superior  in  ]>hysique  to  their  pre- 
decessors of  half  a  century  ago,  as  any 
old  man  can  testify,  or  any  young  man 
can  learn  if  he  will  read  of  the  past, 
and  compare  it  with  the  present. 

However,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  fall 
into  the  error  that  strength  means 
health — for  it  does  not,  though  the 
converse  is  true.  It  is  a  remarkable 
fact  that  capacity  for  toil  is  often 
found  associated  with  wretched  health. 
Let  me  recall  to  you  a  few  instances  : 

Napoleon  was  a  dyspeptic  and  died 
of  hereditary  disease,  yet  he  remained 
for  weeks  together  in  the  saddle,  twenty 
hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  and  toiled 
so  hard  that  he  nearly  killed  his  secre- 
taries. Julius  Cc'esar  was  a  weak  man 
physically,  yet  he  endured  tremendous 
fatigue.  Alexander  Pope,  the  hunch- 
back poet,  who  has  been  called  a  drop 
of  pure  spirit  in  cotton  wool,  could 
not  stand  erect  unless  he  was  sewed 
up  in  canvas  stays.  His  life  was  dis- 
ease, yet  see  what  great  mental  labour 
be  endured.  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 
suffered  from  scrofula  that  twisted 
and  contorted  him.  He  was  a  prey 
to  melancholy,  and  at  times  was  so 
prostrated  physically  that  it  was  labour 
to  tell  the  hour  on  the  clock.  Yet  he 
did  the  work,  as  Mathews  says,  of  an 
academy.  Torstenson,  the  Swedish 
General,  astonished  Europe  by  the 
rapidity  of  his  movements,  yet  he  had 
to  be  borne  about  on  a  litter.  The 
hero  of  the  Plains  of  Abraham  carried 
the  seeds  of  several  diseases  in  his 
system  from  infancy.  Palmerston 
laboured  away  in  his  office  when  suf- 
fering excruciating  agony  from  gout. 
Dr.  Kane,  the  Arctic  traveller,  was  a 
sailor,  yet  he  never  went  to  sea  with- 
out being  sea-sick.  He  had  heart- 
disease  and  chronic  rheumatism ;  yet 
great  burly  men  perished  in  the  Arc- 
tic winter  which  he  struggled  through. 

Your  reading  will  easily  suggest 
hundreds  of  additional  names  to  this 


list,  and  which  is  cited  to  show  that 
physical  and  mental  endurance  do  not 
necessarily  depend  upon  magnificent 
brute  strength.  What  then  is  the 
mainspring  of  endurance  1  I  cannot 
attempt  to  define  it  to  you  with  a 
specialist's  precision.  I  call  it,  and 
will  call  it  for  the  purpose  of  this  pa- 
per, nervous  force.  Do  not  confuse 
strength  of  nerve  with  nervous  fox'ce, 
they  are  diflferent  entirely.  A  man 
may  have  nerve  enough  to  have  his 
flesh  pierced  with  red  hot  pincers  and 
never  wince,  yet  be  so  deficient  in 
nervous  force  as  to  be  unable  to  en- 
dure six  hours'  steady  work  of  head  or 
hands.  What  I  mean  by  nervous 
force  I  can  perhaps  bring  home  to  you 
by  saying  it  is  the  '  git-thar  '  of  the 
Western  man  ;  it  is  that  within  you 
which  enables  you  to  make  one  more 
effort  when  your  judgment  tells  you 
that  you  are  played  out ;  it  is  your 
grit,  your  stamina,  your  cut-and-come- 
againness.  It  does  not  depend,, as  we 
have  seen  in  the  instances  cited,  either 
upon  the  iron  nerve,  nor  yet  \;pon  the 
muscle  of  steel ;  in  a  word,  it  is  the 
spirit  of  the  man.  The  effect,  then, 
of  modern  life  upon  this  source  of 
strength  is  what  we  purpose  briefly  to 
consider. 

In  our  preliminary  remarks  it  has 
been  shown  that  the  present  race  of 
men  is  just  as  richly  endowed  with 
nervous  force  as  any  other ;  yet  at  no 
preceding  period  of  the  world's  history 
have  nervous  diseases  or  nervous  ex- 
haustion been  so  prevalent.  The 
Greeks  were  a  highly  civilized  people, 
and  so  were  the  Romans,  judged  by 
even  our  own  standard  ;  yet  the  Greek 
language  possesses  no  word  signifying 
nervous  exhaustion,  nor  yet  has  the 
Latin  language,  if  memory  serves  me. 
Even  in  Britain  and  Germany  nervous 
exhaustion  is  comparatively  rare, while 
in  some  countries  of  Europe  it  is  al- 
most unknown.  It  is  when  man  finds 
himself  among  the  multiplied  energies 
of  the  New  World  civilization  that  he 
begins  to  find  his  nervous  force  fail 
him. 


I 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


125 


Before  proceeding  to  discuss  the 
causes  which  produce,  in  a  race  more 
ichly  endowed  than  any  preceding 
generation  with  nervous  force,  nervous 
exhaustion  in  a  degree  hitherto  un- 
heard of,  perhaps  it  might  be  as  well 
that  I  rapidly  enumerate  what  ad- 
vanced physicians  now  consider  signs 
of  neurasthenia,  or  nervous  exhaus- 
tion. The  varieties  of  neurasthenia 
are  not  organic,  but  it  is  found  that 
those  who  suffer  most  from  neuras- 
thenia are  those  who  are  or  nervous 
temperament,  that  is  to  say,  those 
in  whom  there  is  a  predisposition  to 
diseases  of  the  nervous  system  such  as 
neuralgia,  dyspepsia,  sick-headache, 
functional  paralysis,  insanity,  etc.  This 
first  sign  is  called  the  nervous  diethe- 
sis,and  it  has  these  peculiarities :  First, 
a  fine  organization,  soft  hair,  delicate 
skin,  well-chiselled  feature,  fine  emo- 
tional nature,  etc.  The  second  pecu- 
liarity is  liability  to  recurring  attacks 
of  such  nervous  diseases  as  we  have 
instanced  from  childhood's  convulsions 
to  slow  paralysis  and  softening  of  the 
brain  in  old  age.  A  third  peculiarity 
of  the  nervous  diathesis  is  the  com- 
parative immunity  from  fever  and  in- 
flammatory disease.  Fevers  and  in- 
flammations are  far  more  fatal  among 
those  enjoying  rude  health  than  among 
those  who  are  always  feeling  sick  and 
do  not  know  what  is  the  matter  with 
them. 

Another  sign  of  the  failure  of  ner- 
vous force  is  increased  busce[)tibility 
to  stimulants  and  narcotics.  You 
have  all  noticed  that  the  young  men 
of  to-day  cannot  drink  as  much  liquor 
as  in  days  gone  by.  It  is  very  com- 
mon to  blame  the  liquor.  It  is  bad 
enough  in  all  conscience  ;  but  were  it 
of  the  best,  the  capacity  for  carrying 
liquor  like  a  gentleman,  as  the  old  say- 
ing is,  has  greatly  decreased.  There 
are  no  five-bottle  men  now  among  the 
rising  generation.  Indeed  my  own 
observation  leads  me  to  believe  that 
the  custom  of  drinking  to  excess  is  dy- 
ing out  among  young  men,  and  in 
thirty  years  will  be  dead  ;  simply  be- 


cause each  year  adds  to  the  delicacy 
of  the  nervous  organization,  and  there- 
fore to  the  suffering  attendant  upon  a 
disturbance  of  it.  Nature  is  curing 
what  temperance  evangelists  never 
will  cure  in  the  educated,  though  they 
may  terrify  the  ignorant  into  abstin- 
ence. Some  time  ago  I  had  the  priv- 
ilege, as  such  of  you  as  encourage 
our  national  magazine,  the  Canadian 
Monthly,  know,  of  contributing  a 
paper,  upon  '  The  Drink  Question,'  in 
which  I  contended  that  a  great  deal 
of  drunkenness  was  caused  from  a 
hereditary  predisposition  to  indulge  in 
intoxicating  liquor.  The  views  laid 
down  in  that  paper  were  discussed 
in  some  Scotch  and  American  news- 
papers, and  generally  accepted  ;  but 
I  was  not  satisfied  that  I  had  more 
than  accounted  for  one  phase  of 
the  prevalence  of  drunkenness.  Dr. 
Beard,  the  author  of  'Amei'ican  Ner- 
vousness,' seems  to  me  to  compass 
the  sources  of  this  gigantic  evil  when 
he  demonstrates,  or  rather  asserts, 
that  inebriety  is  an  almost  inevitable 
consequence  of  nervous  exhaustion  ; 
and  ever  since  reading  that  opinion 
I  have  been  keeping  my  eyes  open 
to  test  its  truth,  and  my  experience 
coincides  with  Dr.  Beard's  opinions, 
for  I  have  observed  that  those  of  my 
acquaintances,  who  have  gone  on  '  a 
big  spree ' — and  every  man  has  such 
acquaintances,  sometimes  he  has  only 
to  know  himself — have  done  so  after 
a  spell  of  exhausting  mental  work,  or 
after  a  period  of  worry,  or  at  the  end 
of  a  time  in  which  the  constitution 
had  from  other  causes  become  en- 
feebled. Now  do  not  hold  up  your 
hands  in  horror  at  this,  for  it  is  inevit- 
able, if  something  worse  is  not  to  hap- 
pen. At  a  certain  stage  of  nervous 
exhaustion,  if  work  be  not  stopped, 
inebriety  follows,  or  if  inebriety  does 
not  follow,  then  look  out  for  epilepsy. 
If  epilepsy  pass  you  by,  insanity  has 
you  as  its  victim.  The  temptation  is 
strong  to  enlarge  upon  this  point,  but 
I  must  pass  on  to  notice  other  signs 
of    nervous    exhaustion,    and    among 


V2Q 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


■which,  are  the  noticeable  increase  in 
sensitiveness  to  drugs.  Physicians 
often  now-a-days  have  to  prescribe 
only  one-sixth  of  the  old  dose.  An- 
other sign  is  the  absence  of  thirst. 
Few  peoi^le  drink  water,  even  when 
they  can  get  it  purer  than  we  unfor- 
tunately can.  I  have  noticed  this 
in  myself — and  I  am  much  less  af- 
fected by  neurasthenia  than  the  ma- 
jority of  my  friends — that  even  when 
absolutely  abstemious.  I  have  no  de- 
sire for  water,  and  very  little  desire 
for  Huids  of  any  sort.  Even  soup  is 
not  palatable,  unless  I  have  previous- 
ly spent  myself  in  physical  exercise. 
When  I  discontinue  the  use  of  tobacco 
in  any  shape  or  form,  I  find  the  absence 
of  thirst  even  more  noticeable,  especi- 
ally after  a  spell  of  hard  reading  or 
writing  at  night.  Dr.  Brimton  and  Dr. 
Salisbury  both  hold  that  indigestion 
is  a  cause  of  nervous  exhaustion  ;  and 
Dr.  Beard,  while  agreeing  with  this, 
also  holds  that  nervous  exhaustion 
may  be  a  cause  of  indigestion  and  thus 
indigestion  become  a  sign  of  neuras- 
thenia. At  all  events,  an  undisputed 
sign  of  lessened  nervous  force  is  the 
sensitiveness  of  the  digestive  organs, 
which  is  manifested  in  the  rejection  of 
coarse  foods  and  the  smallness  of  the 
quantity  consumed.  Nearsightedness 
and  weakness  of  the  eyes  is  another 
sign  of  nervous  exhaustion.  You  will 
at  once  say  that  the  Germans  must  be  a 
nervously  exhausted  people,  for  almost 
every  third  German  wears  glasses. 
This  is  not  so,  however,  for  much  of 
German  myopia  may  be  laid  at  the 
door  of  their  type  and  MSS.  Again, 
the  Germans  are  not  so  richly  endowed 
with  nervous  force  as  our  own  people, 
and  the  excessive  use  of  the  one  organ, 
such  as  the  eye,  produces  in  them  a 
local  disease  of  the  eye,  not  the  con- 
stitutional disease  neurasthenia,  which 
results  in  the  American  breakingdown, 
with  the  consequence  that  his  eyes  be- 
come nearsighted. 

Another  sign  of  over-taxed  nervous 
force  is  the  early  and  rapid  decay  of 
the  teeth.     Such  people  as  the  Chin- 


ese and  Indians,  who  have  no  drain 
upon  their  mental  force,  all  have  good 
teeth,  a  peculiarity  also  of  idiots,  as 
Dr.  Kingsley  says.  I  need  not  enlarge 
upon  this,  for  Americans  and  Cana- 
dians are  always  on  the  trot  to  the 
dentists,  and  if  it  be  not  due  to  the 
higher  civilization  of  this  continent, 
then  I  don't  know  where  to  look  for 
the  cause.  Other  signs  are  the  great 
increase  of  baldness  among  young  men; 
greater  sensitiveness  to  heat  and  cold. 
A  lymphatic  Englishman  does  not 
need  an  overcoat  in  Canada,  even  up- 
on the  coldest  day,  if  he  is  a  new  ar-  k 
rival.  After  he  has  been  in  the  hurly-  '■ 
burly  of  our  life  here  for  a  few  years,  ^ 
he  can  shiver  with  the  best  of  us. 

To  the  tax  which  advancing  civiliz- 
ation lays  upon  nervous  force  is  attri- 
butable   the    great   increase   in    such 

!  diseases  as  nervous  dyspepsia,  sick- 
headache,  nearsightedness,  chorea,  in- 

j  somnia,  asthenopia,  hay-fever,  hypo- 
chondria, hysteria,  neurasthenia  in  its 
cerebral,  spinal,  sexual,  dij^estive  and 
other  varieties,  epilepsy,  inebriety,  and 
insanity.     Diseases  such  as  diabetes, 

i  Bright's  disease,  hay-fever,  chronic 
catarrh,  etc.,  are  largely  attributable 
to  the  tax  on  nervous  force. 

In  woman  the  effects  of  our  higher 
civilization  is  even  more  plainly  seen 
than  in  man.  The  entrancing  beauty 
of  our  women — and  no  city  in  the 
world  has  as  large  a  proportion  of 
lovely  women  as  the  native  Canadians 
of  Toronto, — is  due  to  the  delicacy  of 
their  nervous  temperament,  a  delicacy 
which  shews  itself  even  in  dress,  but  is 
more  noticeable  in  dentition,  puberty, 
change  of  life,  parturition,  and  the 
dangers  now  attendant  upon  child-  I 
birth,  which  are  in  many  cases  so  great  , 
and  hazardous  that  means  condemned 
by  the  law  have  to  be  resorted  to  for 
saving  life.  The  decreasing  number 
of  the  A  merican  family  is  due  to  the 
enormous  demands  of  the  higher  civi- 
lization upon  the  American  woman. 
She  has  not  the  margin  of  nervous 
force  to  stand  the  strain  of  child- 
bearing. 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


127 


These  signs  of  nervous  exhaustion 
could  be  enhirged  upon  indefinitely ; 
but  surticient  has  been  said  to  show 
that  the  overtaxing  of  nervous  force  is 
very  widespread  indeed.  In  proceed- 
ing to  briefly  consider  the  causes  of 
this  nervelessness,  or,  as  the  medical 
terra  is,  •  nervousness,'  it  may  be  said 
in  the  first  place,  that  it  is  essentially 
a  condition  alone  of  American  civili- 
zation, and  the  geographical  location 
of  this  condition  does  not  extend  north 
of  Toronto,  nor  south  of  the  Ohio 
^river,  nor  west  of  the  Mississippi  States. 
That  is  to  say,  that  the  area  of  over- 
taxed nervous  force  is  co-equal  with 
the  area  of  highest  civilized  activity. 
Furthei-more,  the  exhaustion  of  ner- 
vous force  only  manifests  itself  among 
the  brain  workers  of  this  civilization, 
or  among  those  who  are  the  offspring 
or  life-partners  of  brain  workers.  Mus- 
cle-workers are  the  same  in  this  area 
as  they  are  elsewhere.  The  delver  and 
ditcher  here  can  gox-ge  himself  with 
meat  and  liquor  just  as  freely  as  the 
Red  Indian  on  the  plains,  and  suffer 
as  little  discomfort  or  permanent  in- 
jury therefrom.  The  diseases  arising 
from  nervous  exhaustion  are  the  pi'o- 
duct  and  consequence  of  higher  civili- 
zation. Dr.  Beard  uses  an  excellent 
simile  when  he  says  that  Edison's  sys- 
tem of  electric  light  gives  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  effects  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion on  the  nervous  system.  The 
central  electric  machine  supplies  a  cer- 
tain number  of  lamps  with  a  light  of 
an  ascertained  power.  Every  addi- 
tional lamp  placed  upon  the  circuit 
means  a  decrease  in  the  power  of  all 
the  other  lamps.  By  adding  lamps  in- 
definitely, the  power  of  each  may  de- 
crease until  it  be  a  faint  flicker.  The 
addition  of  a  single  lamp  more  may 
negative  the  circuit.  The  engine  is 
man's  nervous  force,  each  lamp  is  a 
demand  of  civilization,  each  new  obli- 
gation which  man  assumes  decreases 
his  power  to  meet  the  demands  of  his 
life,  and  so  his  existence  ceases  under 
the  strain. 

Such  additional  lamps  upon'the  ner- 


vous circuit  in  recent  times  have  been 
the  invention  of  printing,  steam  power, 
electricity,  newspapers,  political  ma- 
chinery, freedom  in  religious  discus- 
sion, activity  of  philanthropy,  the 
heightening  and  extending  complexity 
of  education,  etc.  Where  the  dyna- 
mic power  of  the  central  engine  has 
not  increased,  nervous  prostration  has 
ensued.  That  upon  the  whole  the 
nervous  force  of  the  people  has  in- 
creased is  undeniable ;  but  it  is  also 
painfully  apparent  that  in  many  cases 
the  attempt  is  being  made  to  supply 
more  lamps  of  civilization  than  the 
nervous  machine  can  genei-ate  force  to 
keep  lit.  Glancing  rapidly  in  detail 
at  some  of  these  lamps,  the  first  that 
may  be  mentioned  is  the  specialization 
j  ■  of  labour.  In  the  making  of  a  watch, 
I  for  instance,  a  mechanic  now  spends  a 
life  time  in  the  turning  out  of  one 
particular  kind  of  wheel.  Here  is  an 
exclusive  concentration  of  mind  and 
muscle  which,  being  reinforced  with 
over-heating  and  bad  ventilation,  pro- 
duces exhaustion. 

Speaking  of  watches  naturally  sug- 
gests the  necessity  of  punctuality.  In 
this  century  there  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  a'  great  progressive  movement, 
having  as  its  objective  point  a  reduc- 
tion of  all  human  life  into  an  exacti- 
tude of  movement  which  can  be  com- 
pared only  to  the  absolutely  certain 
response  of  every  wheel  to  the  motion 
of  the  pendulum.  The  day  was  when 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  keeping  an  ap- 
pointment did  not  matter  much.  If 
a  man  is  two  minutes  late  now-a-days 
he  will  find  the  engagement  fallen 
through.  The  necessity  for  punctual- 
ity is  most  exhausting.  It  is  my  ex- 
perience that  if  I  have  to  rise  in  flie 
morning  before  my  customary  hour,  I . 
might  as  well  not  go  to  bed  at  all  for 
all  the  benefit  that  sleeping  'on  tension' 
does  me.  Watches  and  clocks  are 
among  the  biggest  curses  that  civiliza- 
tion has  imposed  on  man.  They  make 
life  one  eternal  fidget.  In  waking,  it 
is  an  everlasting  struggle  to  be  on  time, 
and  in  sleeping,  it  is  slumber  with  one 


128 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


eye  shut  and  the  other  on  the  dial,  lest 
poor  nature  should  suit  herself  as  to 
the  repose  necessary  for  the  repair  of 
nervous  waste.  I  never  saw  a  man 
yet  who  prided  himself  upon  his  punc- 
tuality that  was  not  a  cross-grained 
fellow  of  uncertain  temper,  and,  in  the 
matter  of  work,  a  man  of  greater  pro- 
fessions than  performances. 

The  telegraph,  too,  is  a  great  ner- 
vous thief.  Formerly  a  merchant 
could  aflford  to  take  matters  easily. 
Now  he  has  all  the  ends  of  the  earth 
as  his  next  door  neighbours,  and  has 
to  study  fractional  differences  in  mar- 
kets thousands  of  miles  apart. 

The  newsp.iper  which  you  read  at 
breakfast  has  been  put  together  in  the 
last  twelve  hours,  and  if  it  be  a  strain 
on  you  to  read  it,  what  do  you  think 
must  be  the  strain  upon  those  who, 
during  the  weary  night,  have  been 
piecing  together  disjointed  scraps  of 
news,  and  rendering  intelligible  to  the 
reader  brief  despatches  of  far-away 
events,  a  knowledge  of  which  the  jour- 
nalist must  acquire  by  some  means  or 
another.  And  all  this  must  be  done 
in  the  never-ceasing  race  against  time, 
that  you  may  read  before  you  go  to  busi- 
ness. The  work  of  preparing  your 
evening  paper  is  even  more  exhaust- 
ing, for  the  labour  has  to  be  performed 
in  a  much  shorter  time. 

Another  cause  of  nervous  exhaus- 
tion is  the  noises  of  modern  life.  With 
what  a  babble  of  sound  the  air  is  laden 
cannot  well  be  appreciated,  unless  we 
pause  upon  a  Sunday  morning  and 
conti'ast  the  stillness  then  prevailing 
with  the  niufiled  roar  of  a  week  day. 
Noises  produce  exhaustion,  but  not 
death.  Vile  odours  produce  nervous 
exhaustion,  but  they  are  rarely  fatal. 
Sewer  gas  and  other  atmospheric  poi- 
sons are  almost  odourless.  People  who 
live  in  such  stench-holes  as  a  tan-yard 
are  as  long  lived  as  any  others. 

Railroad  travelling  lias  a  tendency 
to  nervous  exhaustion  in  most  cases. 
In  some  people,  to  make  use  of  a  bull, 
it  causes  sea-sickness.     Railway  em- 


ployes suffer  frequently  from  neuras- 
thenia. 

What  I  think,  however,  is  the  great- 
est cause,  is  the  nipidity  with  which 
all  new  ideas  are  absorbed  among  us. 
Yesterday  the  telephone  was  not 
known.  To-day  the  city  is  covered 
with  a  net-work  of  wires,  and  we  con- 
verse while  miles  apart ;  yes,  and 
fume  and  fret  at  the  delay  if  connec- 
tion is  not  made  between  the  instru- 
ments in  half-a-minute.  Yesterday 
we  were  content  to  wait  the  pleasure 
of  the  tardy  message-boy  ;  to-day  we 
grumble  at  the  loss  of  half-a-minute 
— grumbling  is  drawing  on  nervous 
force. 

The  increase  in  the  amount  of  busi- 
ness transacted  is  a  great  cause  of 
nervous  exhaustion.  William  H.Van- 
derbilt  and  Jay  Gould  control  busi- 
ness interests  of  their  own  exceeding 
in  magnitude  the  commerce  of  the 
classic  days  of  Greece  or  Rome. 

Stock-brokers  and  speculators  suffer 
more  than  any  other  from  nervous 
exhaustion,  and  this  will  be  at  once 
comprehended  when  it  is  recollected, 
that  the  stock  gambler  risks  social, 
commercial,  and  religious  position  in 
his  ventures.  His  anxiety  is  a  con- 
stant drain  on  his  nervous  force. 

I  cannot  do  more  now  than  simply 
name  such  other  causes,  as  the  in- 
creased capacity  for  soitow,  love  and 
philanthropy,  the  constant  repression 
of  emotion  demanded  by  society,  do- 
mestic and  financial  trouble,  the  burn- 
ing religious  and  political  issues  of  the 
time,  the  great  freedom  of  life  on  this 
continent,  the  habit  of  forethought,, 
the  peculiarities  of  climate,  its  dry- 
ness, and  extremes  of  heat  and  cold. 
On  this  one  aspect  of  the  question 
alone  a  whole  book  might  be  written. 
Were  it  not  that  popularopinion  seems 
to  attribute  all  the  nervous  diseases 
now  prevalent  to  this  cause,  I  would 
have  gone  into  climate  at  considerable 
length.  I  have,  however,  preferred 
to  dwell  on  other  points,  so  that  I 
might  bring  home  the  conviction  that 


MODERN  LIFE  AND  NERVOUS  FORCE. 


129 


I 


the  exliaustion  of  nervous  force,  now 
so  common,  is  a  resultant  from  our 
high  civilization  in  the  first  place, 
though  it  is  supplemented  by  pecu- 
liarities of  climate. 

From  this  hasty  review  it  might 
naturally  be  supposed  that  the  future 
of  the  race  is  a  particularly  black 
look-out.  And  so  it  would  be  were 
the  brain- working  class  not  constantly 
recruited  })hysically  from  the  muscle- 
workers.  To  the  absence  of  caste  on 
this  continent  is  to  be  attributed  the 
never-failing  enei'gy  of  the  people,  as 
a  whole.  There  is  a  constant  mixing 
and  mingling  of  the  people  by  marri- 
age, with  the  result  that  this  contin- 
ent presents  more  men  of  marked  and 
varied  ability  in  proportion  to  popu- 
lation than  any  country  in  the  world. 

Nor  is  the  prospect  for  individuals 
altogether  a  desolate  look-out.  There 
is  this  about  neurasthenia — it  is  not 
killing,  though  it  be  prostrating.  It  is 
only  in  men  of  extreme  will-power 
and  physical  debility  that  neurasthenia 
works  death.  In  men  of  lesser  will- 
power it  terminates  in  inebriety,  epi- 
lepsy or  insanity.  But  in  those  who 
temper  will-power  with  reason,  ner- 
vous exhaustion  is  never  allowed  to 
go  to  extremes.  When  such  men  real- 
ize their  danger  they  take  the  only 
remedy,  rest  with  relaxation,  and  thus 
it  is  that  though  they  may  say  that 
they  never  knew  what  a  day's  robust 
health  is,  yet  the  freedom  from  fevers 
and  inflammations  which  the  nervous 
diathesis  en.^ures,  gives  them  rich  pro- 
mise of  long  life.  It  is  a  fact  ascer- 
tained beyond  the  slightest  grounds 
for  dispute  that  brain-workers,  that  is 
to  say,  the  class  most  affected  by  our 
higher  civilization,  are  longer-lived 
than  muscle-workers.  The  average 
life  of  tive  hundred  of  the  greatest  men 
the   world  ever  saw  is  64*20  years. 


The  average  of  death  all  over  is  51, 
after  men  have  reached  20  years  of 
age.  Thus  great  men,  great  brain- 
workers,  exceed  in  longevity  farmers 
and  clergymen  by  two  or  three  years ; 
physiciansand  lawyers bysix  year.«,and 
day-labourers  and  mechanics  by  a  no 
less  startling  difference  than  nineteen 
or  twenty  years.  The  condition  of  a 
neurasthenic  is,  therefore,  not  without 
comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  his 
chances  of  long-life  are  greater  than 
that  of  a  burly  ditcher  and  delver. 

There  is  no  necessity  to  fear  that 
the  fate  of  the  leaders  in  life  will 
always  be  the  same,  for  their  condi- 
tion at  present  is  like  that  of  a  man 
aroused  from  sleep.  He  does  not 
know  very  well  what  he  is  doing.  As 
soon  as  he  becomes  accustomed  to  the 
light,  he  will  flounder  about  less,  and 
by  the  expenditure  of  less  labour  ac- 
complish more.  The  work  of  reor- 
ganizing the  social  system  to  bring  it 
into  conformity  with  the  new  condi- 
tion of  life  has  begun.  Enlightened 
methods  are  being  introduced  into 
education,  the  gospel  of  rest  is  being 
preached,  attention  is  being  paid  to 
physical  culture  as  well  as  to  mental 
acquirements  ;  the  schoolmaster  of 
science  is  abroad,  and  human  nature 
is  striving  to  suit  itself  to  the  newer 
civilization. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  say  to  those 
who  may  have  a  desire  to  pursue  this- 
subject  further,  that  they  will  find 
an  admirable  treatise  on  the  subject  of 
'  American  Nervousness,'  written  by 
Dr.  Beard,  a  pioneer  in  this  line  of 
thought.  Upon  this  work  I  have 
largely  drawn,  while  at  the  same  time 
availing  myself  of  other  sources  of 
information,  none  of  which  I  have 
found  more  instinictive  than  intelli- 
gent reflection  upon  my  own  past  and 
present  life. 


130 


OMNE  IGNOTUM  PRO  MAGNIFICO. 

OMNE  IGNOTUM  PRO  MAGNIFICO 
(or  untrodden  ways). 

BY    '  FIDELIS,'    KINGSTON. 


■yTTHERE  close  the  curving  mountains  drew 

VV       To  clasp  the  stream  in  their  embrace, 
With  every  outline,  curve  and  hue, 
Reflected  in  its  placid  face  ; — 

The  ploughman  stopped  his  team,  to  watch 
The  train— as  swift  it  thundered  by  ; 

Soiiie  distant  glimpse  of  life  to  catch 
He  strains  his  eager,  wistful  eye. 

His  glossy  horses  mildly  stand 

With  wonder  in  their  patient  eyes, 

As,  through  the  tranquil  mountain  land. 
The  snorting  monster  onward  flies. 

The  morning  freshness  is  on  him, 

Just  wakened  from  his  balmy  dreams,— 

The  wayfarers,— all  soiled  and  dim, 
Think  longingly  of  mountain  streams. 

Oh  for  the  joyous  mountain  air, — 
The  long  delightful  Autumn  day 

Among  the  hills  ;— the  ploughman  there 
Must  have  perpetual  holiday  ! 

And  he,  as  all  day  long  he  guides 

His  steady  plough  with  patient  hand, 

Thinks  of  the  flying  train  that  glides 
Into  some  fair  enchanted  land. 

Where — day  by  day — no  plodding  round 
Wearies  the  frame  and  dulls  the  mind ; — 

W^here  life  thrills  keen  to  sight  and  sound, 
With  plough  and  furrows  left  behind. 

Even  so,  to  each,  the  untrod  ways 
Of  life  are  touched  by  fancy's  glow. 

That  ever  sheds  its  brightest  rays 
Upon  the  page  we  do  not  know  ! 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN.}     "} 


131 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


BY    A.    E.    WETHERALD,    FEXWICK,    OXT. 


PHILIP  KALE'S  occupation  was 
that  of  a  clerk  in  a  city  drug 
store  ;  his  appearance  was  dark,  slight 
and  prepossessing ;  his  age  twenty- 
three  ;  his  manner  reserved  to  the 
verge  of  taciturnity  ;  his  views  of  re- 
ligion and  life  alike  tinged  with  un- 
healthy niorljidness,  the  consequence 
of* an  hereditary  predisposition  to  dys- 
pepsia. He  believed  devoutly  in  the 
theory  that  it  was  a  most  unfortunate 
thing  to  be  alive,  but  that  being  alive 
nothing  remained  but  to  make  the 
best  of  it  ;  and  he  strove  to  adhere 
strictly  to  his  idea  of  the  highest  plane 
of  duty,  which  consisted,  chiefly,  in 
never  complaining — that  was  a  weak- 
ness ;  never  mingling  in  society — that 
was  a  folly  ;  and  in  throwing  his  whole 
heart  into  his  work — that  was  a  ne- 
cessity if  life  was  to  be  made  endur- 
able. Negative  rules  of  conduct  are 
comparatively  easy  to  follow,  but  the 
positive  decree  that  one  shall  throw 
one's  heart  into  one's  work — and  keep 
it  there — is  difficult  to  enforce.  Philip 
found  it  so,  at  any  rate^  and  he  was 
struck  with  the  added  and  melancholy 
fact  that  his  occupation  was  one  in 
which  enthusiasm  was  not  required, 
and  absorbing  interest  little  needed. 
It  wanted  a  certain  kind  and  amount 
of  knowledge,  with  carefulness  and 
despatch,  but  in  return  it  refused  to 
absorb  his  empty  fears  and  perplexi- 
ties, his  ever-dce[)ening  depression  of 
spirit.  He  began  to  think  very  little 
o/ himself  and  a  great  deal  about  him- 
self, and  to  feel  sorry  for  every  one 
else.  If  they  were  unfortunate  or 
miserable,  he  pitied  them,  because, 
poor  fellows,  they  were  as  badly  oflf  as 


I   he  was  ;  and  if  they  were  light-hearted 
I   and  gay,    because  they  were  uncon- 
scious of  the   misery  that  was  really 
j   their  portion.     With  the  first  heats  of 
;    summer   came  a  time  when  he    lost 
j   his  appetite,  and  when   the  familiar 
[   sights  and  sounds  of  the  city  became 
■    exquisitely  painful  to  him.  His  dogged 
resolution  kept  him   up,  but  it  could 
I    not  prevent  him  from  turning  weak 
!    and  pallid,  nor   keep  his  hands  from 
trembling      His  employer  noticed  it. 
'Why,   Kale!'    he  exclaimed,  one 
morning,   taking  the  young  man  by 
■  the  shoulder,  '  you're  sick.' 

'A  little   that  Avay,'    said    Philip, 
1   with  a  wan  smile  ;    '  It's  the  warm 
weather,  I  suppose.' 

'  Better  take  a  holiday  of  a  week  or 
two.      A  run   up   in   the  country  will 
I    do  you  good.' 

Philip's   first   feeling   was   one    of 
blankness.  His  home  and  friends  were 
in  the  city.      He  knew  no  one  outside 
I    of  it.      But  stay — there  was  his  Aunt 
I    Ruth,  a  widowed  sister  of  his  father's, 
!   whom  he  had  once  visited  long  years 
I   before  ;  he  could  go  and  see  her.     He 
!   sent  a  telegram  announcing  his  com- 
'.   ing  without  delay,   and  prepared  for 
j   departure    with    pleasanter   emotions 
than  he  had  ever  expected  to  expe- 
;   rience  again.     He  reproached  himself 
for  not  having  yet  outgrown  the  boy- 
ishness of  being  elated  at  the  idea  of 
[   change. 

]  Mrs.  Ruth  Pinkney  lived  in  soli- 
tary contentment,  on  a  small  place  of 
'  two  or  three  acres,  several  miles  from 
j  the  nearest  railway  station.  Her  estate 
1  was  not  large  enough  to  be  considered 
i   a  farm,  but  it  might  properly  be  called 


132 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


a  garden,  as  within  its  borders  grew 
almost  every  variety  of  vegetable  and 
fruit  with  which  its  owner  was  ac- 
quainted. She  was  also  blest  with  a 
faithful  man  servant  and  hand-maiden, 
who  performed  the  heaviest  of  the  out- 
door and  household  labour.  A  row  of 
stately  trees  near  the  fence  screened 
the  quaint,  old-fashioned  house  from 
the  gaze  of  passers-by,  without  de- 
priving it  of  its  daily  portion  of  sun- 
shine. Tlie  square,  grassy  front  yard 
was  cut  into  halves  by  a  straight 
gjavel  walk,  on  either  side  of  wliich 
bloomed  flowers  as  sweet  and  odd  and 
unworldly  as  their  mistress. 

When  the  stage  containing  her 
nephew  stopped  at  the  gate,  Mrs. 
Piukney,  or  rather  Ruth  Pinkney,  as 
she  would  best  like  to  be  called — for 
she  is  a  Quakeress-  smoothed  her  thin 
locks  of  grey  hair  and  the  voluminous 
folds  of  her  grey  dress,  neither  of 
which  required  smoothing  in  the 
slightest  degree,  and,  clasping  her 
bands  in  a  delicate,  old-fashioned  way 
at  her  waist,  went  down  to  meet  her 
young  kinsman  with  a  sweet  smile  of 
welcome.  She  sjioke  little  until  the 
stage  had  rattled  away  again,  and 
then,  reaching  up  her  two  hands  to 
his  shoulders,  she  softly  said  : 

*  Dear  boy,  1  am  rejoiced  to  see 
thee  once  more.  It  was  very  good  of 
thee  to  think  of  paying  thy  old  aunt 
a  visit.' 

It  is  pleasant  to  be  pi-aised  for  doing 
what  we  please,  so  Philip  Kale  thought 
as  he  kissed  the  lovely  old  face  up- 
lifted to  his,  and  expressed  his  plea- 
sure at  seeing  it  again. 

'  But  how  poorly  thee  is  looking,' 
continued  his  aunt,  glancing  at  him 
keenly  over  her  spectacles.  Thee  has 
done  wisely  to  come  into  the  pure 
country  air.  We  shall  see  what  fresh 
eggs  and  new  milk  will  do  for  thee  ; 
we  have  them  both  in  abundance.' 

*  Oh,  dear  Aunt,'  said  Philip,  seat- 
ing himself  on  the  pleasant  porch  be- 
side her,  '  you  have  a  very  squeamish 
guest  on  your  hands.  I'm  afraid  I 
can't  digest  your  nice  eggs  and  milk. 


I'd  like  to,  but  my  stomach  is  very 
weak.' 

'  Just  like  thy  father,'  murmured 
Puth  Pinkney.  '  I  see  thee  favours 
him  in  many  ways.  But  he  used  to 
say  that  no  one  could  cook  for  him 
but  sister  Pvuth  ;  so  if  it  is  thy  sto- 
mach that  is  disordered,  I'll  engage  to 
send  thee  back  in  improved  health  at 
the  end  of  thy  stay.' 

Philip  gave  a  trustful  sigh  of  relief, 
and  his  hostess  rose  to  show  him  to 
his  room.  It  was  not  very  large,  but 
it  had  three  windows ;  the  walls  were 
white-washed,  and  the  floor  covered 
with  a  sober-hued  rag  carpet.  There 
were  a  great  many  green  and  climbing 
plants  growing  near  the  light.  A  single 
picture  relieved  the  wall,  representing 
broad-hipped  maidens  with  their  rus- 
tic swains  attendant  upon  a  flock  of 
fine  looking  sheep.  As  a  work  of  art 
it  was  not  satisfactory,  but  it  was  in 
sweet  and  peaceful  '  unity,'  as  Ruth 
Pinkney  would  have  expressed  it,  with 
the  general  effect  of  the  room.  Be- 
neath Philip's  armour  of  defence,  his 
hard  and  worldly  exterior,  there  beat 
a  sensitive  heart,  easily  impressed  by 
outside  influences  ;  and  it  yielded  rea- 
dily to  the  brooding  spirit  of  })eace 
that  hovered  almost  in  visible  form 
over  his  aunt's  abode.  It  gladdened 
him  to  think  that,  sick  and  unrestful 
and  life-weary  as  he  was,  he  could  yet 
enter  into  blessed  communion  with 
the  deepunworldliness  of  his  surround- 
ings. Looking  from  his  western  win- 
dow he  could  see  the  same  gnarled  old 
pear  trees  and  rows  of  gooseberry 
bushes  that  had  delighted  his  boyish 
heart  years  before.  The  familiar  scene 
made  him  almost  willing  to  believe 
that  he  was  a  boy  again,  instead  of  a 
man,  grown  old,  not  with  years,  but 
with  cares  and  doubts,  and  a  deepen- 
ing despondency.  All  his  old  trou- 
bles seemed  to  resolve  themselves  into 
a  dark,  distant  cloud,  and  to  float  away 
out  of  sight,  leaving  his  sky  blue  and 
serenely  beautiful.  The  veriest  trifles 
afforded  him  pleasure.-  He  was  even 
grateful  that  his  slippers   were    not 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


133 


I 


gaudy  carpet  ones,  and  that  they  did 
not  squeak. 

Philip  spent  the  days  of  his  vacation 
in  the  way  that  best  suited  him.  He 
went  to  Led  and  rose  early  ;  he  dug  in 
the  garden  till  his  strength  gave  out, 
and  then  read  Whittier  to  his  aunt  in 
the  shady  front  porch,  while  she 
shelled  peas  for  dinner ;  he  picked 
berries  in  the  same  little  tin  pail  in 
which  he  had  picked  them  on  his  pre- 
vious visit,  and  ran  to  empty  it  in  the 
big  pan  under  the  apple  tree,  with  al- 
most the  same  light  step.  His  out  door 
labours,  combined  with  Ruth  Pinkney's 
unapproachable  cookery,  gave  him  a 
slight  but  increasing  appetite.  He 
learned  how  to  '  can  '  fruit,  to  make  the 
best  soups,  and  the  lightest  Graham 
gems,  and  he  envied  women  their  in- 
alienable right  to  practise  and  perfect 
the  culinary  art.  As  a  housemaid  he 
was  not  beyond  reproach.  On  one 
occasion,  when  he  had  been  entrusted 
with  the  delicate  task  of  brushing  off 
the  pantry  shelves,  he  whisked  down 
and  broke  a  china  mug,  with  the 
words,  '  A  Gift,'  on  it  in  gilt  letters. 
He  carried  the  fragments  with  a  rue- 
ful countenance  to  his  hostess,  and  she 
surveyed  them  with  an  air  of  mock 
severity  and  with  a  deeply-drawn  sigh, 

'  Thee  is  a  reckless  youth,  nephew 
Philip,'  said  she, '  I  fear  I  shall  have  to 
give  thee  an  eldering.' 

*  An  eldering.  Aunt  Ruth  1  Do  you 
mean  to  chastise  me  with  a  branch  of 
elder  bush]' 

'  No,  no,  foolish  boy  !  "Whenever 
the  giddy  young  people  of  our  society 
misbehave  themselves,  the  elders  in  the 
meeting  are  constrained  to  admonish 
them.  That  is  what  some  among  us 
call  an  •  eldering.' 

Philip  saw  small  signs  of  giddiness 
among  the  Quaker  youth  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood when  he  and  his  aunt  went 
to  '  Fourth  day  '  meeting  ;  yet  neither 
young  nor  old  had  an  air  of  dispirited 
solemnity.  It  appeared  an  odd  thing 
to  him  to  meet  for  worship  on  a  week- 
day moi-ning,  and  the  deep  hush  that 
fell  upon  the  assembly  seemed  to  offer 


him  special  opportunities  for  studying 
the  quaint  physiognomies  of  some  of 
the  Friends  who  sat  facing  the  meet- 
ing, and  to  meditate  upon  this  pecu- 
liar form  of  religious  service. 

*  I  don't  like  this  method  of  divid- 
ing off  the  men  and  women  into  sepa- 
rate companies,'  he  said  to  himself. 
'  It  is  too  forcibly  a  reminder  of  that 
text  about  the  sheep  being  on  one  side 
and  the  goats  on  the  other.  How  still 
every  one  is  !  Silence  is  golden,  and 
I  should  think  it  might  easily  become 
as  heavy  and  chilling  and  blunt  as  ciht/ 
kind  of  metal.  I  wonder  what  being 
'  moved  to  speak '  really  means. 
Aunt  Ruth  talks  of  it  as  if  it  were 
some  heavenly  injunction  laid  upon 
the  soul  of  the  speaker,  which  must  be 
instantly  obeyed  ;  but  I  suspect  it  is 
oftener  the  prompting  of  duty  which 
must  come  into  the  heart  of  every 
practised  preacher  to  do  his  part  to- 
ward keeping  up  the  interest  of  the 
meeting.  Yet  nobody  looks  in  the 
least  anxious  or  responsible,  and  that 
does  not  accord  with  my  theory.' 
Then  his  mind  wandered  to  the  dress 
of  the  women.  '  I  like  those  soft, 
grey  patternless  shawls,  with  the  three 
folds  at  the  back  of  the  neck,  but  I 
can't  admire  the  bonnets.  Those  silk 
crinkles  in  the  crown  are  very  un- 
seemly, to  say  the  least.  What  a  grand 
face  and  figure  that  woman  sitting  at 
the  head  of  the  meeting  has  !  She  is 
immeasurably  more  striking  and  im- 
pressive than  a  scoi-e  of  stylish  girls, 
with  their  fashionable  gew  gaws  and 
gibberish. ' 

At  this  moment  the  woman  who 
had  won  his  admiration  untied  her 
bonnet  with  trembling  fingers,  and, 
falling  upon  her  knees,  gave  utterance 
to  strong  and  fervent  supplication. 
The  high  intense  voice  praying  that 
'  our  hearts  may  be  purified  from  every 
vain  and  wayward  thought,  and  made 
fit  for  the  indwelling  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,'  smote  upon  Philip  as  if  it  had 
been  a  personal  rebuke.  He  had  risen 
with  the  rest  of  the  congregation,  and 
when  he  sat  down  again,  he  felt  as  if 


134 


t[HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


her  prayer  liad  been  answered.  The 
service  made  a  more  forcible  impres- 
sion upon  his  mind  from  the  fact  that 
sounds  reached  them  through  the 
open  door  of  mowers  sharpening  their 
scythes,  and  occasionally  of  a  passing 
lumber  waggon.  The  deep  religious- 
ness of  everyday  life  came  over  him 
as  it  had  never  done  before. 

He  talked  this  over  with  Ruth 
Pinkney  on  their  way  home.  It  was 
so  easy  to  talk  with  her  ;  and  the  sym- 
pathetic old  lady — who,  like  most  old 
people,  liked  to  be  contided  in  by  her 
youngers,  just  as  most  young  people 
like  to  be  asked  for  opinions  by  their 
elders — felt  more  drawn  towards  him 
than  ever.  When  they  reached  home 
he  lay  dow-n  on  the  chintz-covered 
lounge,  and  Ruth  Pinkney  brought  a 
pillow  for  him  as  downy  and  white 
as  a  summer  cloud,  and  arranged 
the  shutters,  with  a  view  to  letting  in 
the  most  air  with  the  least  light. 
Philip  thought  his  Aunt  Ruth  almost 
an  ideal  of  womanhood,  and  felt  that 
it  would  be  forever  impossible  for  him 
to  admire  a  dress  on  any  female 
form  whatever  that  was  not  grey  in 
colour,  and  whose  skirt  was  not  of  gen- 
erous amplitude,  and  made  precisely 
the  same  behind  that  it  was  before. 
She  came  and  sat  down  beside  him, 
and  he  twitched  a  fold  of  her  gown  be- 
tween his  nervous  lingers. 

'  Oh,  dear  Aunt,'  he  said,  '  I  wish  I 
could  be  still,  and  happy,  and  good,  like 
you.' 

The  Quakeress  mused  much  upon 
this  saying,  and  the  young  man  who 
had  made  it,  as  she  laid  the  table  for 
dinner. 

'  I  feel  a  call  to  do  something  for 
him,'  she  murmured  to  herself,  'but  I 
can't  see  my  way  clear  yet.  Dear  boy  ! 
my  heart  feels  greatly  tendered  to- 
wards him.' 

Not  many  days  after,  Philip  went 
back  to  his  work,  strengthened  and  re- 
freshed by  the  visit,  but  more  discon- 
tented with  his  city  life  than  ever. 
His  Aunt  mourned  for  him.  and  Thos. 
Shaw,  the  serving  man,  and  Charlotte 


Acres,  the  serving  woman,  saw  him  de- 
part with  real  regret.  He  seemed  to 
belong  to  them,  and  to  the  place,  yet 
doomed  to  perpetual  exile.  Early  in 
the  succeeding  winter  Ruth  Pinkney 
was  stricken  down  with  a  sickness 
from  which  she  never  recovered.  Philip 
was  deeply  grieved  by  the  tidings,  and 
begged  her  to  let  him  know  should 
she  become  worse.  She  continued  in 
much  the  same  condition  until  spring, 
when  she  suddenly  and  peacefully  died. 
Her  nephew  had  abundant  proof  that 
she  had  not  forgotten  him,  for  in 
her  will,  along  with  numerous  be- 
quests to  surviving  relatives,  and  her 
faithful  servants,  she  bequeathed  to 
him  her  house,  with  all  that  it  con- 
tained, and  the  land  surrounding  it. 
Ruth  Pinkney  had  '  seen  her  way 
clear  '  at  the  last. 

It  was  not  a  dazzling  fortune,  but 
if  anything  could  have  consoled  Philip 
Kale  for  the  loss  of  his  best  friend,  it 
was  the  fact  of  his  new  possessions. 
He  threw  up  his  situation — it  was 
hardly  a  position — in  the  city,  and 
came  down  to  it  at  once.  His  sorrow 
was  temporarily  quenched  by  the  joy 
and  pride  of  ownership.  He  would 
live  for  himself,  and  by  himself,  and 
in  precisely  the  way  that  best  suited 
himself.  He  said,  with  an  exiiltant 
throb  of  satisfaction,  that  he  could 
not  afford  to  keep  help,  and  that  the 
out-door  and  in-door  work  he  would 
do  would  be  light  labour  enough,  even 
for  a  sick  man.  Thomas  and  Char- 
lotte had  long  contemplated  a  matri- 
monial union,  and,  in  accordance  with 
their  misstress's  wishes,  were  united 
shortly  after  her  death.  They  were 
to  be  Philip's  nearest  neighbours,  and 
Charlotte  was  to  come  over  once  a 
week  and  do  his  washing  and  ironing, 
and  give  the  house  a  thorough  sweep- 
ing. The  young  man  felt  perfectly 
equal  to  every  other  department  of 
household  labour,  and  his  brain  teemed 
with  new  experiments  in  hygienic 
cookery,  and  plans  for  living  in  luxury 
and  gaining  health  and  strength  at 
the  nominal  expense  of  five  cents  per 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


135 


meal.  It  was  late  in  March  when  he 
took  possession  of  his  new  property — 
a  time  of  year  when  the  pleasantest 
of  country  places  looks  forlorn  ;  but 
he  gloried  in  the  fact  that  it  was  all 
his  own,  and  walked  untiringly  over 
almost  every  foot  of  it,  making  mental 
arrangements  for  Spring  work.  When 
he  entered  the  house  he  walked  slower 
and  felt  graver.  Everything  was  elo- 
quent of  the  loving  and  lovely  woman 
who  had  departed  from  the  place  for 
ever.  His  eyes  grew  moist,  and  he 
hung  his  head  at  thought  of  his  joy- 
ous forgetfulness  of  the  great  loss 
which  had  brought  him  this  great  gain. 
As  he  opened  the  door  into  what  had 
been  his  Aunt's  room,  he  saw  the  dear 
old  gi-ey  dress  hanging  up  on  the  wall, 
and  an  uncontrollable  impulse  made 
him  lay  his  face  in  the  folds  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  he  came  softly  out  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  next  month  was  a  very  busy 
one  for  the  young  master  of,  what  was 
known  in  the  neighbourhood  as,  the. 
Pinkney  place.  He  did  not  work 
much,  but  he  thought  and  planned  a 
great  deal.  He  had  a  passion  for 
flowers  as  great  as  his  ignorance  con- 
cerning their  cultivation  ;  hence  the 
long  hours  he  spent  in  the  study  of 
horticultural  monthlies  and  floral 
guides.  He  made  a  map  of  the  house 
and  grounds,  with  the  exact  location 
and  name  of  every  vegetable  bed, 
every  berry  bush,  every  climbing 
plant,  and  every  diSerent  flower  that 
had  been,  or  should  be,  marked  there- 
on. Thomas  had  already  made  the 
hot  beds,  and  promised  his  aid  and  ex- 
perience at  transplanting  time.  He 
puzzled  long  over  an  empty  lot  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  which  his  Aunt  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  loaning  to  a  neigh- 
bour every  summer  for  the  pasturage 
of  his  cow,  for  which  she  received  a 
small  money  consideration.  It  was 
out  of  the  question  for  the  young 
farmer  to  allow  any  portion  of  his 
property  to  be  let  out  to  a  stranger, 
and  he  finally  resolved  to  plant  it  with 
fruit  trees.     To  be  sure,  there  was  a 


prospect  of  more  apples  and  pears  on 
the  trees  now  standing  than  he  could 
possibly  use,  but  there  were  plenty  of 
ways — remunerative  ones,  too, — in 
which  to  dispose  of  surplus  fruit.  Be- 
sides, he  wanted  to  do  something  on 
a  grand  scale  by  way  of  celebrating 
his  release  from  the  drudgery  he  des- 
pised, and  the  consecration  of  his 
powers  to  what  he  was  fond  of  call- 
ing, with  little  expense  of  originality, 
the  noblest  employment  of  man.  He 
forgot  his  dyspeptic  fears  and  his  once 
ever-present  dread  of  the  morrow — 
forgot,  or  laughed  at  them.  The  sun- 
shine and  the  soft  airs  that  visited  his 
abotle  seemed  a  part  of  his  good  for- 
tune, and  he  never  wearied  of  medi- 
tating upon  and  rejoicing  in  his  riches. 
How  delightful  it  was  to  leave  his 
books  and  his  papers  scattered  over 
the  table  at  night,  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  they  would  remain  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  position  till  the  next 
evening,  without  the  interference  of 
some  vain  housemaid,  who  would  most 
probably  indulge  the  hon-ible  propen- 
sity of  her  class  in  doing  what  she 
imagined  was '  putting  things  to  rights.' 
He  had  little  time  or  need  for  cook- 
ing. There  were  vegetables  and  a  great 
deal  of  canned  fruit  in  the  cellar  ;  tea, 
butter  and  sugar  he  never  used  ;  some- 
times he  purchased  a  few  scraps  of 
meat  from  a  passing  butcher  and  made 
an  appetizing  stew  ;  but  the  supply  of 
bread  never  troubled  him  ;  his  first 
batch  turned  out  so  hard  that  it  bid 
fair  to  last  him  his  natural  life. 

With  the  improvement  in  his  health 
there  came  a  sturdy  happiness  to  the 
mind  of  Philip  Kale.  He  had  no  long- 
ing for  society  ;  he  had  had  over  much 
of  it  of  an  uncongenial  sort  all  his  life. 
To  cut  loose  from  the  meaningless  and 
artificial  restrictions  of  the  multitude, 
to  come  close  to  the  heart  of  nature, 
and  live  for  her  impi-ovement  and  for 
his  own — this  was  liberty,  this  was 
freedom,  this  was  the  elixir  of  life  ! 
Here  was  his  world,  his  garden  of 
Eden  ;  and  he  was  the  first  man.  He 
had  not  yet  dreamed  of  the  possibility 


136 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


of  an  Eve,  though  sometimes  the  re- 
membrance of  the  grey  gown  led  him 
to  imagine  that  his  life  was  not  quite 
rounded,  not  yet  complete.   This  fancy, 
however,  did  not  intrude  itself  very 
often,  as  he  had  no  time  to  indulge 
fancies  of  any  kind.      He  was  such  a 
a  very  busy  young  man.    Thomas  was 
hired,   of  course,   to    do  most  of  the 
work,  but  then  it  was   always  neces- 
sary for  Philip  to  stand  near   and  see 
exactly  how  it  was  done,  and  why  ifc 
■was  done   so,  and  what  would  be  the 
results  if  it  were  done  otherwise.     He 
laughed  over  his  own  mistakes  as  he 
had  never  hughed  at  anything  in  his 
life  before.     He  ceased   to   walk,  at 
least  out  of  doors,  and  fell  into  a  habit 
of  light  hearted  and   light-footed  run- 
ning.    It    was  a  truthful  and  rhyth- 
mic remark  of  Mrs.   Kale's  that  her 
sickly  son,   if  he  was   able  to  walk, 
would  want  to  run  or   fly,   and  if  he 
■was  not  able  to  walk,  would  be  ready 
to  lay  down   and   die.      He  had  been 
resigned  to  the  thought  of  death  most 
of  the  time  that  he  could  x-emember, 
but  now  he  was  more  than  resigned  to 
life.    He  sported — no  other  word  will 
express  the  vanity  he  feltinhis  strange 
attire — a  suit  of  coarse  clothes  much 
too  large  for  him,  and  a  broad  straw 
hat,    neither  of  which  could   conceal 
the  handsome  lines  of  his  comely  face 
and  slight  figui-e.    When  the  novelty  of 
his  situation  failed  a  little,  and  all  his 
plans  were  in  good  working  order,  he 
lapsed    into   a    quieter    contentment. 
Then  it  was  that   he   rearranged   all 
the  books  in  the  tall  old  bookcase,  and 
read,  just  before  he  retii-ed,  some  pas- 
sages that  Ruth  Pinkney  had  marked 
in  her  favourite  authors.   He  felt  very 
grateful,  very  glad.      He  longed  at  in- 
tervals to  do  good  to  others,  but  he 
still  took  pleasure  in  saying  to  himself 
that  he  was  doing  more  good  to  others 
by  keeping  away  from   them  than  he 
could  do  in  any  other  way.     This  was 
selfish,  but  he  seemed  to   be   continu- 
ally steeped  in  an  ecstatic  conscious- 
ness of  self.     He  revelled  in  the  grow- 
ing and  greening  grass,  in  the  length- 


ening and  brightening  days,  in  the 
blissful  chonis  of  the  birds,  singing 
the  return  of  Spring  to  this  earthly 
paradise.  He  spent  balmy  May  after- 
noons in  the  hammock  under  one  of 
the  trees  near  the  road,  watching  a 
pair  of  birds  building  their  nest  on  a 
branch  near  by. 

One  day  his  attention  -was  arrested 
by  an  object  which  proved  even  moi'e 
interesting  than  nest-building.  This 
was  a  young  lady  on  horseback,  riding 
by.  If  she  had  been  a  stately  and 
beautiful  damsel,  as  lithe  and  supple 
as  the  whip  she  bore,  and  enthroned  on 
a  fleet  and  graceful  steed,  Philip  Kale, 
as  a  young  man  who  knew  much  more 
of  novels  than  of  real  life,  would  easily 
have  supposed  that  that  was  just  what 
might  have  been  expected.  But  this 
youthful  equestrienne  was  of  an  en- 
tirely different  type.  She  was  evi- 
dently unaccustomed  to  the  saddle ; 
the  animal  she  rode  was  a  heavy  farm 
horse,  and  she  herself,  attired  in  a  blue 
calico  dress  and  wide  straw  hat,  was 
rather  round  faced  and  chubby.  Philip 
found  nothing  romantic,  but  a  good 
deal  that  was  comical,  in  the  scene,  as 
the  young  girl,  swaying  and  clinging 
in  a  frightened  manner  to  the  saddle, 
came  along,  accompanied  by  a  sturdy 
boy,  presumably  her  brother,  who  rode 
beside  hei',  barebacked.  Philip  was 
glad  that  the  thick  intermingling  bran- 
ches of  the  trees  allowed  him  to  see 
and  hear  without  danger  of  detection. 
At  a  few  yards  from  his  gate  the 
young  lady  slipped  to  the  ground,  say- 
ing, in  a  despairing  tone — 

'  It's  no  use  trying  any  more.  I 
never  can  learn  to  ride  !  ' 

'  That's  a  pity,'  said  the  boy,  hope- 
fully. 

She  buried  her  face  in  the  horse's 
mane.  The  sympathetic  brute  imme- 
diately lapsed  upon  three  legs,  and 
hung  his  head  lower  than  ever.  Then 
a  sudden  infusion  of  resolution  came 
over  her. 

'  But  I  ivill  learn  !  '  she  cried. 

'  That's  the  right  way  to  talk,'  said 
her  companion.     '  It  must  be  mighty 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


137 


mean,  the  first  time  you're  on  a  horse. 
I  can't  remember  when  I  was.' 

'  I  know  I'm  old  and  stiff,'  contin- 
ued the  courageous  voice,  '  but  if  my 
ambition  is  not  greater  than  my  stu- 
pidity, then  I'll  give  ui)!  '  She  thought 
over  what  she  said  a  moment,  and, 
laughingly,  added,  '  Highly  ])robable.' 

'  I've  heard  it  said  that  peojile  ought 
to  learn  without  a  saddle — nothing  but 
a  strap  and  a  blanket— but  you'd  turn 
a  sideways  somerset  rightaway.'  Then, 
encouragingly  :  '  I  believe  you'd  do 
first  rate  if  you  weren't  scared,' 

'  But  I  can't  help  being  scared,'  said 
the  girl.  '  All  the  horse's  muscles  and 
sinews,  and  fibres  and  things,  keep 
moving  in  such  an  awful  way.' 

'  And  his  legs,  too ! '  added  the 
youth,  soberly,  and  then  he  burst  into 
a  roar  of  laughter. 

'  Oh,  don't  laugh,  Joe  ;  someone 
will  hear  you,  and  fancy  what  a  pic- 
ture we  make.  Who  lives  in  that 
house  since  Mrs.  Pinkney  died  ? ' 

'  Nobody  worth  mentioning,'  re- 
turned Joe,  with  a  boy's  outspoken 
contempt  for  one  whose  acquaintance 
he  found  it  impossible  to  make.  '  Some 
mighty  stuck-up  acting  fellow  from  the 
city.      Well,  shall  we  get  on  ? ' 

'  I  suppose  so  ;  but  you'll  have  to 
help  me  to  mount  first.' 

This  was  rather  a  difiicult  task,  but 
with  a  great  many  '  Yo  heaves,'  and 
strenuous  eSbrts  on  the  part  of  Joe, 
the  young  lady  was  fairly  mounted  at 
last. 

*  Good  gracious,  girl,  he  muttered, 
as  he  arranged  the  blue  drapery,  '  you 
are  a  lift  !  I  should  think  you  must 
weigh  as  much  as  seventy-five  stone.' 

'  Do  you  know  the  weight  of  a 
stone  1 '  inquired  his  sister,  severely. 

*  N — no,  not  exactly  ;  but,  of  course, 
I  don't  mean  very  big  stones.  Just 
middling  sized  ones.' 

They  rode  off,  and  the  eavesdropper 
rose  up,  feeling  much  refreshed.  He 
was  interested  in  the  pretty  country 
girl  who  had  candour  enough  to  con- 
fess her  fright,  and  pluck  enough  to 
resolve  upon  overcoming  it.     He  had 


no  one  to  talk  with  or  question  about 
her,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shaw  had  depart- 
ed, leaving  with  him  minute  diiections 
for  the  care  of  a  house  and  garden. 
He  walked  up  and  down  the  veran- 
da a  few  times,  laughing  at  the  re- 
collection of  her  comical  way  of  riding, 
and  then  he  went  in  and  ]jicked  up  a 
favourite  book,  and  forgot  all  about 
her. 

But  the  next  afternoon  she  passed 
again,  this  time  alone,  and  on  succeed- 
ing days  she  did  not  fail  to  make  her 
appearance.  Philip  soon  knew  what 
hour  to  expect  her,  and  he  whs  gen- 
erally in  his  hammock  at  that  time. 
Naturally  he  wished  to  see  if  she  made 
any  im|)rovement  in  the  equestrian  art, 
and  the  results  of  his  daily  observa- 
tion were,  that  she  did  not  so  much 
gain  in  skill  as  lose  in  fear,  and  that 
her  peculiar  style  of  horsemanship, 
though  seemingly  capable  of  promot- 
ing her  health  and  pleasure,  was  not 
of  a  kind  to  win,  even  under  the  most 
favourable  circumstances,  the  plaudits 
of  the  crowd.  Yet,  with  all  her  im- 
perfections, he  did  not  cease  to  watch 
her.  The  drooping  hat  brim  nearly 
concealed  her  face,  but  on  one  occasion 
it  was  clearly  revealed  to  him.  This 
was  when  her  hat,  loosely  tied  with  a 
blue  ribbon,  was  blown  from  her  head. 
Philip  longed  to  rush  after  it,  but  he 
restrained  himself,  and  she  dismount- 
ed and  went  after  it  herself.  She  had 
pale  brown  hair,  and  her  face  was 
fresh  and  blonde,  and  pretty.  He 
wished  many  times  during  the  remain- 
der of  the  day  that  he  had  gone  and 
picked  up  her  hat;  then,  next  day,  she 
would  be  sure  to  favour  him  with  a 
slight  glance  of  recognition,  and  he 
might  be  emboldened  to  make  a  bow. 
In  the  present  monotony  of  his  life, 
such  an  incident  would  assume  the 
proportions  of  an  adventure.  Her 
prefei'ence  for  riding  past  his  house 
was  easily  explained  ;  the  road  near 
which  it  stood  was  little  more  than  a 
lane,  and  scarcely  ev^r  used  save  by 
pedestrians.  She  was  the  only  lady 
he   had   seen    since    coming  into    the 


138 


HOW  THE  MODEPN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN, 


country,  and  he  grew,  unconsciously, 
to  look  forward  to  his  brief  daily 
glimpses  of  her.  In  the  character  of 
Adam  in  Paradise,  he  felt  a  peculiar 
fitness  in  calling  her  Eve  ;  and  he  ap- 
preciated the  interested  glances  which 
she  occasionally  threw  over  into  the 
garden  of  Eden,  and  her  probable 
wondering  at  the  non-appearance  of 
its  master.  Philip  was  unwilling  to 
take  fate  in  his  own  hands,  but  how 
he  wished  that  some  favouring  wind  of 
fortune  would — blow  her  hat  oft" again. 
He  felt  assui'ed  that  she  had  never 
seen  him.  Once  he  had  not  started 
for  the  hammock  until  she  was  in 
sight,  but  her  head  was  turned  the 
other  way.  One  Saturday  it  rained, 
so  he  did  not  see  her,  and  on  Sunday 
he  could  not  expect  to,  but  she  was 
continually  present  in  his  thoughts. 
The  youthful  hermit,  who  had  gloried 
in  his  solitude,  was  ashamed  of  him- 
self for  longing  to  see  the  one  strange 
face  that  had  invaded  it. 

Early  the  next  morning  Charlotte 
Shaw  came  to  wash,  and  Philip  Kale 
sat  out  on  the  back  porch  and  talked 
with  her.  He  found  it  very  pleasant 
to  be  able  to  talk  once  a  week — even 
if  it  were  solely  upon  trivial  topics. 
He  began  to  realize  that  the  true  aim 
of  conversation  was  not  to  gain  or  im- 
part knowledge,  but  for  sympatliy,  in- 
spiration, the  sense  of  companionship, 
and  the  exercise  of  one's  mental  and 
vocal  powers.  He  blushed  to  think 
that  he,  who  had  fallen  to  sleep  the 
night  before  over  a  favourite  volume 
of  poems,  was  now  absorbing  with 
eager  interest  the  empty  gossip  of  the 
neighbourhood.  With  assumed  indif- 
ference he  inquired  the  name  of  the 
heavy  young  lady  who  so  frequently 
rode  on  horseback. 

'  You  must  mean  Miss  Harding. 
They  call  her  Eve  (Philip  started),  but 
I  believe  her  right  name  is  Eva.  I 
don't  think  she  is  heavy,  Mr.  Kale  ; 
leastways,  she  walks  across  a  room  just 
like  a  kitten,  and  carries  herself  so 
prettily.  She  used  to  think  the  world 
and  all  of  vour  Aunt,  and  she  was  over 


hei'e  a  few  da3's  before  she  died.  My  \ 
but  didn't  Mrs.  Pinkney  sound  your 
praises  to  her,  though.'  Philip  blushed. 
'  On  her  way  out  she  stopped  in  at 
the  kitchen,  and  says  she,  "  Is  young 
Mr.  Kale  at  all  like  his  Aunt  ?"  "  Law, 
Miss,"  says  I,  "  they're  as  like  as  two 
peaches  ;  one  of  them  ripe  and  ready 
to  fall,  and  the  other  rather  hardish 
yet."  Then  she  praises  up  your  Aunt, 
and  praises  up  the  place,  and  finally 
says,  just  as  she's  going  :  "  There's  no 
portrait  of  Mrs.  Pinkney's  nephew  ly- 
ing about,  is  there  1 "  "  No,  Miss  Hard- 
ing," says  I,  "there  beant.'^' 

If  Mrs.  Shaw  had  any  particular 
design  in  view  in  thus  dwelling  upon 
the  details  of  Miss  Harding's  know- 
ledge of  Philip,  she  did  not  reveal  it 
in  her  face,  which  looked  stolid  and 
sensible  as  before.  Philip  felt  alter- 
nate heats  and  chills ;  but  he  led  the 
conversation  to  a  more  impersonal 
ground.  After  that  revelation  he  felt 
that  there  was  a  svibtle  sympathy  esta- 
blished between  the  spirit  of  his  un- 
known Eve  and  himself,  and  wondered 
how  he  could  have  found  so  much  joy 
in  life  before  it  was  illuminated  by  the 
daily  vision  of  a  sweet-faced  girl,  rid- 
ing by  on  a  farm-horse. 

About  this  time  he  received  a  let- 
ter from  his  mothei',  reproaching  him 
in  half-playful  terms  for  so  abruptly 
cutting  himself  loose  from  family  and 
friends  to  live  in  the  woods,  as  she 
could  not  doubt  he  did,  in  a  half  bar- 
baric state,  and  commanding  him,  if 
he  had  any  remains  of  filial  or  pater- 
nal aflTection  left,  to  make  it  manifest 
by  an  immediate  visit  to  his  father's 
house.  Philip  felt,  as  his  Aunt  Ruth 
would  probably  have  expressed  it,  a 
distinct  '  call '  to  go.  He  had  a  great 
deal  of  repressed  aftection  for  his  pa- 
rents and  brothers  and  sister.  He 
wished  to  show  them  that  his  '  half- 
barbaric  '  life  was  making  a  new  man 
of  him,  physically  and  mentally.  He 
warned  to  contrast  the  satisfying  plea- 
sure of  solitude  with  the  empty  de- 
lights of  society.  Perhaps  he  had  an 
unacknowledged  feeling  that  the  for- 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


139 


mer  needed  all  the  advantages  of  a 
strong  conti-ast  to  brighten  the  dull 
colours  that  had  glowed  so  warmly  for 
him  at  first.  Whatever  may  have 
been  the  number  or  nature  of  his  mo- 
tives, he  was  fully  determined  to  go. 
Thomas  would  have  an  eye  to  his  gar- 
den, and  Charlotte  would  improve  his 
absence  in  prosecuting  the  necessary 
and  unpleasant  labour  of  house  clean- 
ing. When  he  arrived  in  the  city  he 
felt  rather  jaded,  but  the  abrupt  change 
from  his  solitary  nook  to  the  thronged 
and bustlingstreets broughthim  afacti- 
tious  excitement,  an  exhilaration  of 
spirit,  and  a  quickened  expression, 
which,  in  conjunction  with  his  tanned 
complexion, hisfrequent  burs  tsof  laugh- 
ter, and  brilliant  flow  of  conversation, 
transformed  him  entirely  in  the  eyes 
of  his  own  family.  He  was  the  hero 
of  the  hour  ;  and  the  enthusiastic  way 
in  which  he  related  his  rural  expe- 
riences gave  them  something  of  the 
thrill  and  strangeness  of  adventures 
on  sea  or  foreign  shores  to  his  inter- 
ested group  of  listeners.  He  sat  on 
the  sofa  beside  his  sister  Fanny,  and 
trifled  with  the  long  braid  of  hair  that 
fell  down  her  back. 

'  And  I  suppose  you  never  miss 
going  to  Quaker  meeting  1 '  said  this 
young  lady. 

*  Oh,  yes  ;  I  miss  it  every  time,'  said 
her  brother,  with  a  little  frown  and  a 
slight  shade  of  embarrassment.  '  But 
I  guess  my  loss  is  their  gain,  and  vice 
versa.  The  trouble  is,  if  I  go  once  I 
shall  feel  a  kind  of  obligation  to  go 
again — and  again  ;  and  I  don't  want 
to  be  inveigled  into  getting  mixed  up 
with  even  the  best  kind  of  other  peo- 
ple. ' 

'  The  usual  exception  with  regard  to 
present  company,  I  suppose.  Flat- 
tered, I'm  sure  ! ' 

*  Well,  I  thought,'  remarked  Mrs. 
Kale,  '  that  Friends  considered  them- 
selves apart  from  the  world.' 

'That  is  the  way  I  consider  myself,' 
said  her  son,  significantly. 

*  You  should  attend  Divine  service 
somewhere,'  said  Mr.  Kale,  gravely. 


I  '  Yes,  sir,'  said  Philip ;  but  he  men- 
tally decided  to  meditate  upon  his 
father's  statement  for  sevei-al  months, 
at  least,  before  he  ventured  to  put  it 
into  practice. 

'  Don't  you  long,  sometimes,  for  the 
sight  of  a  woman's  dress  1 '  asked 
Fanny.  Philip  had  carefully  omitted 
making  any  mention  of  Eve. 

'  Oh,  I  can  appreciate  them  all  the 
more  when  I  do  see  them.  This  is  a 
pretty  muslin  you  have  on.  Just  the 
colour  of  peach  blossoms,  isn't  it  ?  I 
believe  I  like  blue  better.  Very  odd 
that  peach  blossoms  should  come  out 
before  the  leaves.' 

His  sister  laughed.  '  Oh,  I  dare 
say,'  said  she,  '  but  there  are  some 
things  that  strike  me  as  odder  even 
than  that.  How  long  are  you  going  to 
keep  it  up,  Philiy  ? ' 

The  young  man  sprang  with  a 
quick,  nervous  motion  to  his  feet,  so 
as  to  face  his  sister.  '  I'm  not  keep- 
ing it  up  at  all,'  he  said,  '  it's  keeping 
me  up  !  my  health  and  spirits,  and 
everything  !  Do  you  think  I'm  the 
least  bit  tired  of  it  ? ' 

Everyone  looked  at  him,  and  every 
one  was  constrained  to  admit,  '  No.' 
Then  he  crossed  the  room  to  his  mo- 
ther's side,  and  had  a  little  talk  with 
her    concerning  some    domestic    mat- 
j    ters,  which  had  proved  in  his  experi- 
!    ence  rather  unmanageable.  Mrs.  Kale 
!   had  never  been  more  interested  in  her 
I    son  than  now.     From  the  days  of  his 
!    sickly  childhood,  when  he  alternated 
1    from   excited    joyousness    to    fretful 
morbidness,  she  had  always  considered 
I    him  a  queer  boy  ;  and  she  was  glad 
now  that  his  queerness  had  found  vent 
I    for  itself.      How   brown  and  earnest, 
I    and  wide  awake  he  was.     Though  she 
had  never  been  neglectful  of  him,  she 
!    felt  a  motherly  pang  that  he  had  gone 
i    so  completely  out  of  her  life  before  be- 
i    coming  what  he  was  ;    that  it  was  in 
scenes  remote  from  her  presence  and 
influence  that  he  had  risen  to  a  higher 
plane  of  life.      She  was  a  handsome, 
worldly-faced    woman,   with    a    smile 
and  manner  rather   too   hard    to  be 


no 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN: 


agreeable.  When  they  went  up  stairs 
together,  she  stood  on  the  landing,  say- 
ing good  night,  with  a  strange,  wist- 
ful expression,  to  Philip,  a  few  steps 
teneath  her.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder  a  moment.  She  caught  her 
breath,  and  then  bent  over  him.  *  You 
are  a  good  fellow,  Phil.  ! '  she  cried, 
the  tears  coming  into  her  eyes.  '  I  am 
sure  you  will  never  forget  your  mo- 
ther.' 

In  a  week  or  two  Philip  returned  to 
the  country.  It  was  impossible,  he 
said,  for  a  farmer  to  be  long  absent 
from  his  crops  during  the  growing  sea- 
son, and  his  mother  saw  him  depart 
with  more  regret  than  she  had  ever 
imagined  his  absence  would  cause  her. 
If  Philip  was  not  glad  to  leave  his  old 
borne,  he  was  not  sorry  to  return  to 
his  new  one.  He  wanted  to  see  if  his 
strawberries  were  ripe,  and  if  Miss 
Harding  still  rode  daily  past  his 
gate.  Her  importance  in  his  thoughts 
had  d  swindled  considerably  since  he 
had  seen  and  talked  with  other  charm- 
ing young  ladies,  friends  of  his  sister, 
who  were  quite  as  pretty  as  the  un- 
skilled young  equestrieyine.  He  could 
not  help  feeling  glad,  for  the  sake  of 
the  world,  that  there  were  so  many 
sweet  and  good  yo\ing  women  in  it ; 
but  that  one  of  them  could  be  immea- 
surably fairer,  and  more  to  be  desired, 
than  her  sisters, — this  was  the  empty 
fancy  of  lovers,  or  of  idle  and  roman- 
tic young  men  who  spent  a  certain 
ipart  of  every  afternoon  in  a  hammock. 
He  had  outgrown  all  that  now. 

With  these  practical  and  prudent  re- 
flections in  his  mind,  it  was  rather 
strange  that  Philip  Kale,  on  stepping 
out  of  the  car  into  the  presence  of 
Miss  Harding  and  a  number  of  other 
people,  should  have  experienced  a  sud- 
denly increasing  beating  of  the  heart. 
He  could  not  understand  it  at  all.  It 
was  unreasonable,  it  was  abominable, 
but  it  was  so.  The  boy,  Joe,  was  ap- 
parently going  on  a  journey,  and  his 
sister  had  accompanied  him  to  the  de- 
pot. Philip  stood  not  far  from  her,  as 
he  could  easily  do  in  the  crowd  with- 


out being  noticed.  She  was  laughing, 
and  he  told  himself  angrily  that  he 
couldn't  bear  girls  that  laughed  in 
public.  She  had  evidently  been  teas- 
ing Joe  unmercifully,  for  on  the 
youth's  face  were  exhibited  mingled 
emotions  of  rage,  mirth,  and  despair. 

'  You're  real  mean,'  he  blurted  out. 

'  And  the  boy's  honest,'  thought 
Philip,  his  mind  reverting  to  '  nobody 
worth  mentioning.' 

'  Well,  Joe,'  said  his  sister,  sobered 
at  once,  '  it's  better  for  you  to  think 
so,  than  for  me  to  be  so  !  You  know 
I  don't  mean  anything.' 

'  And  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that, 
either,  Eva.' 

'  Then  there's  no  meanness  about 
either  of  us,'  said  Eva,  laughing  again. 

Philip  told  himself  that  he  had 
never  heard  a  young  lady  make  puns 
before,  and  he  never  wanted  to  again, 

'  But  now,' exclaimed  Miss  Harding, 
*  you  must  go !  Good  by,  my  dear 
fellow.     Be  sure  you  write.' 

Philip  said  that  '  my  dear  fellow ' 
was  simply  disgusting.  But  he  knew 
that  his  angry  thoughts  amounted  to 
nothing  at  all.  They  were  merely  the 
last  effort  of  nature  to  preserve  him 
in  his  boasted  independence.  It  was 
too  late.  His  heart  was  irrevocably 
in  the  possession  of  Miss  Eva  Harding. 

He  decided  to  walk  out  to  his  home. 
It  was  healthful  exercise,  and  would 
do  him  good.  A  long  walk  in  the 
country  on  a  June  day  is  a  beautiful 
thing  in  theory,  but  Philip  found  that 
in  practice  it  had  several  drawbacks. 
The  sun  was  hot,  the  scenery  was  dull, 
and  he  himself  was  not  in  the  full 
glow  of  health  and  vigour.  Every 
carriage  that  swept  past  left  a  cloud 
of  dust  for  him  to  travel  through.  He 
was  feeling  very  much  incensed  by 
this  fact,  when  a  fresh  sound  of 
wheels  from  behind  caused  him  to 
turn  a  vengeful  glance  in  that  direc- 
tion. There  he  saw  Miss  Harding, 
looking  very  cool  and  contented,  sit- 
ting in  a  buggy,  and  drawn  by  a  horse 
much  better  looking  than  the  one 
with  which  she  usually  appeared.  She 


BOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


141 


drove  in  a  very  leisurely  fashion,  look- 
ing hard  at  Philip's  back,  and  wonder- 
ing if  it  would  be  very  improper  for  a 
young  lady  of  acknowledged  social 
position,  driving  in  her  own  convey- 
ance, to  offer  a  ride  to  a  stranger  who 
was  so  evidently  respectable,  weak, 
and  weary.  She  was  very  kind  heart- 
ed, had  a  habit  of  acting  quickly  upon 
her  generous  impulses,  and  was,  more- 
over, an  original  young  lady,  with  a 
liking  for  doing  original  things.  All 
of  these  forces  combined  to  stop  the 
horse  just  as  he  reached   Philip's  side. 

'  If  you  care  to  ride,  I  can  i-eadily 
accommodate  you,'  she  I'emarked. 

There  was  mingled  embarassment, 
defiance,  and  kindness  in  the  tones  ; 
but  the  young  man  chose  to  recognise 
the  latter  quality  alone,  as  he  said, 
with  a  bright  glance  at  her — 

*  Oh,  thank  you,  I  would  indeed.  It 
makes  my  head  ache  badly,  walking 
in  the  sun.     You  are  very  kind.' 

He  got  in  at  the  left  side,  allowing 
her  to  retain  the  reins.  She  was  evi- 
dently quite  reassured  by  his  words 
and  manner. 

Philip's  heart  beat  quick.  He  ob- 
served with  pleasure  that  his  compan- 
ion looked  incomparably  better  in  a 
buggy  tlian  she  did  on  horseback  ; 
that  her  hat,  which  had  a  blue  feather 
in  it,  displayed  a  forehead,  milk  white 
and  boldly  rounded,  with  a  single  thick 
lock,  not  fringe,  of  fair  hair  falling 
across  it,  that  her  eyes  were  not  pene- 
trating nor  searching,  but  deep  and 
placid  ;  that  her  pretty  shoulders  were 
femininely  narrow,  and  that  she  had 
those  easy,  restful  ways  of  leaning 
back  and  looking  around  so  delightful 
to  a  nervous  man.  He  forgot  all  the 
harsh  things  he  had  thought  about  her, 
and  was  sure  that  nowhere  upon  earth 
existed  the  girl  so  wonderfully  sweet 
and  wholesome  looking  as  the  one  be- 
side him.  As  a  dyspeptic,  he  knew 
the  worth  and  rarity  of  this  combina- 
tion of  two  of  the  best  qualities  in 
nature. 

*  How  far  do  you  go  1 '  she  asked. 
Philip  hesitated.     It  would  sound 


rather  queer  to  say,  '  to  my  house,'  be- 
sides, that  would  necessitate  all  kinds 
of  explanations,  which  he  had  no  de- 
sire to  make.  He  had  not  dissemVjled 
bef<ire,  but  it  is  never  too  late  to  learn 
bad  as  well  as  good  practices.  '  To 
Mr.  Kale's,'  he  replied,  '  I  believe  it 
is  some  distance  from  here.' 

'  It's  a  little  way  this  side  of  our 
place,'  she  said,  '  up  a  green  lane.  You 
have  never  been  in  this  part  of  the 
country  before  1 ' 

'  Oh,  yes ;  I  was  here  a  long  time 
ago,  when  Mrs.  Pinkney  was  living. 
Her  nephew  is  a  sort  of  connection  of 
mine.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
could  call  it  a  relationship  or  not.  Did 
you  know  Mrs.  Pinkney  1 ' 

'  Very  well,  indeed.  She  was  a  dear 
friend  of  mine.  Our  neighbourhood 
felt  its  loss  deeply  when  she  died  last 
winter.  I  never  knew  any  one  to  live 
so  entirely  for  others.' 

'  Living  for  others  sounds  very  fine,' 
said  Philip,  argiimentatively.  '  Can 
you  tell  me  precisely  what  it  means  1 ' 

The  young  girl  looked  at  him  a  little 
doubtfully,  as  if  she  half  liked  and 
was  half  afi'aid  of  this  turn  in  the  con- 
versation, '  I  think  I  can  tell  you 
what  it  meant  in  Mrs.  Pinknfy's  case,' 
she  said.  '  She  continually  blessed  and 
gladdened  the  lives  of  those  around 
her  by  her  words,  her  actions,  and, 
perhaps,  most  of  all,  by  the  sweet 
peaceful ness  of  her  presence.  To  every 
one  that  came  in  contact  with  her,  she 
seemed  to  supply  a  special  need,  and 
to  those  who  were  satisfied  with  them- 
selves and  the  world  she  brought  some- 
thing of  the  beauty  of  heavenly  things. 
Why,'  with  a  little  blush  for  the  en- 
thusiasm with  which  she  had  spoken  of 
her  dead  friend  to  a  stranger,  '  she  did 
the  noblest  thing  that  any  one  can  do 
— she  made  the  world  better  because 
of  her  living  in  it.' 

'  Is  that  a  very  uncommon  thing  to 
dor 

*  Oh,  I'm  afraid  it  is  ;  and  I  hate 
to  think  so,  too  !  So  few  people  seem 
to  understand  that  that  is  the  real 
meaning  and  object  of  life  ;  and  even 


142 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


wlien  they  do  understand  it,  they  are 
apt  to  act  upon  it  in  such  a  poor, 
grudging'  discontented  sort  of  way. 
It  is  as  if  they  felt  it  a  miserable  re- 
sponsibility instead  of  a  marvellous 
privilege.  I  hope  you  don't  think  I'm 
gushing.  I  am  a  good  deal  too  much 
in  earnest  for  that.' 

'  I  can  easily  believe  you,'  said 
Philip,  warmly ;  *  and  I  know  Mrs. 
Pinkney  to  have  been  all  that  you 
represent  her.  Does  the  nephew  to 
whom  she  left  her  property  inherit  any 
of  her  virtues  1 ' 

'  Why,  as  to  that,'  replied  Miss 
Hiding,  with  a  short  laugh,  '  it's  dif- 
ficult to  say.  He  has  scarcely  been 
seen  by  any  one  since  he  took  posses- 
sion. I  should  say  that  he  was  en- 
tirely different  from  his  Aunt.  But 
it  is  very  rude  for  me  to  discuss  his 
character  with  you.' 

Philip  thought  so,  too,  but,  instead 
of  saying  that,  he  immediately  ex- 
claimed : 

'  It  would  be  a  positive  kindness  to 
me.  I  am  very  little  acquainted  with 
him,  I  assure  you,  and  understand  him 
still  less,  though  our  habits  and  tastes 
are  identical.  I  was  at  college  the 
same  time  that  he  was,  and  thought 
him  a  terribly  reserved  fellow.  He  is, 
really,  the  last  pei-son  in  the  world 
from  whom  I  should  have  expected  an 
invitation  to  visit.'  Philip  drew  a 
long  breath  at  the  end  of  his  speech. 

'  I  should  think  so,'  said  his  com- 
panion, thoughtfully.  'Why,  he  ap- 
pears to  be  the  most  unsocial  man  you 
could  possibly  imagine.  He  lives  for 
himself  quite  as  completely  as  his  Aunt 
lived  for  others,  and  in  the  same  house 
and  garden,  too  !  It  seems  too  bad  ! 
He  is  not  known  to  go  to  any  church, 
or  to  the  village,  or  anywhere.  He  is 
no  more  to  the  people  among  whom 
he  lives  than  a  snail  in  its  shell,  and 
when  he  dies  I  suppose  will  be  missed 
about  as  much.' 

'  Well,'  said  the  young  man,  feeling 
a  little  shocked,  '  at  least  he  does  no 
harm.' 

'  Not  to  others,  pei-haps,  but  a  great 


deal  to  himself.  It  is  thought  a  very 
terrible  thing  to  be  narrow-minded ; 
but  to  my  thinking  it  is  worse  to  be 
narrow-hearted.  What  can  you  think 
of  a  person  who  digs  out  all  the  roots 
of  affection,  leaving  one  central  plant 
to  twine  around,  and  beautify,  and 
perfume  his  own  best-beloved  self  ? ' 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  Philip 
noticed  how  strong  and  white  her  teeth 
were.  He  was  stung  into  self-defence. 
'  But  it  is  in  solitude  that  mental 
riches  are  acquired,  genuine  personal 
improvement  made.  Surely  one  must 
be  of  some  benefit  to  the  world  who  so 
thoroughly  benefits  one  person  in  it.' 
'  But  don't  you  see  that,  by  con- 
centrating his  efforts  upon  one  per- 
son, he  not  only  fails  to  benefit  the 
rest  of  the  world,  but  himself  as  well  ? 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  gain  mental  and 
matex'ial  riches,  but  that  does  not 
justify  any  one  in  turning  miser. 
Wisdom  in  a  single  brain,  and  gold  in 
a  single  box,  are  worse  than  useless, 
because  they  engender  selfishness  and 
conceit  in  their  owner.  It  is  circula- 
tion that  makes  them  both  useful.' 

The  young  lady  did  not  snap  out  her 
uttei-ances.  She  spoke  in  smooth 
gentle  tones,  as  one  who  had  thought 
long  and  felt  deeply  on  the  subject. 
Philip  tried  to  find  some  of  his  old 
arguments  in  favour  of  a  life  of  soli- 
tude, but  they  slunk  shame-faced  away 
from  him. 

'  Really,'  continued  Mentor,  *  I 
should  apologise  for  speaking  of  your 
friend  in  this  plain  way.' 

'  Oh,'  said  Philip,  'I  am  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  Kale  to  know  that 
your  words  are  not  strictly  applicable 
to  his  case.  He  has  always  been  in 
poor  health,  and  perhaps  that  has 
tended  to  give  him  rather  sickly  views 
of.  life  and  society.  He  finds  it  im- 
possible to  adapt  himself  with  the 
slightest  degree  of  pleasure  to  the 
conditions  and  requirements  of  the 
world.' 

'  Probably  he  thinks  there  is  noth- 
ing in  common  between  him  and  ordi- 
nary people.' 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


*  No,  I'll  do  bim  the  justice  to  say 
I  can't  believe  that  of  him.  I  remem- 
ber hearing  him  say  once,  that  he  had 
a  great  aftection  for  the  world  in  the 
abstract ;  that  in  certain  heroic  moods 
he  felt  that  he  could  gladly  lay  down 
his  life  for  the  sake  of  doing  it  some 
lasting  good,  but  that  he  could  not 
mingle,  useless  and  unappreciated,  with 
its  frivolities  and  frigidities,  merely 
because  most  people  did  so.  At  ano- 
ther time  he  said,  he  fancied  that  each 
member  of  society  was  like  one  of 
those  noise  producers  in  use  at  an  old- 
fashioned  charivari, —  all  discordant 
and  each  trying  to  make  itself  loudest 
heard  ;  and  that  solitude  was  like  a 
great  musician  playing  by  himself  on 
a  sweet  instrument.' 

Miss  Harding  actually  laughed, 
'  Ah,  yes  ;  very  pretty,  very  fine  ! ' 
then  she  stopped  short.  Phili]j's  brown 
eyes,  burning  with  reproach,  were  full 
upon  her.  '  1  beg  your  pardon,'  she 
said,  looking  distressed  ;  '  I  am  rude. 
But,'  with  strenuous  earnestness,  '  I 
wish  that  Mr.  Kale  could  understand 
that  his  fancies,  or  those  of  any  one 
else  on  this  subject,  are,  and  must  al- 
ways be,  of  secondary  importance.  The 
great  fact  remains  that  society  is  or- 
ganized that  its  members  may  help  one 
another;  and  no  one  has  any  right  to 
shirk  his  part.  If  in  any  place  society 
is  frivolous  and  frigid,  it  shows  that 
the  earnest  minded  and  warm-hearted 
people  of  that  place  hold  themselves 
aloof  from  it.  Do  you  think,'  abruptly, 
*  that  it  is  very  unjust  for  me  to  lec- 
ture you  on  account  of  Mi-.  Kale  1' 

'  No,'  replied  Philip  ;  '  if  I  were  not 
in  sympathy  with  him  I  could  not  up- 
hold his  views.  Do  you  think  he  is 
very  selfish  and  shallow  1 ' 

'  No ;  only  greatly  mistaken.  I  hope 
you  will  be  able  to  convert  him  to  my 
— our  views.' 

The  young  man  smiled,  '  Of  course 
you  are  in  the  right,'  he  said.  '  You 
place  it  so  on  a  moral  ground.' 

'  Oh,  no,  excuse  me,  but  I  don't.  It 
is  on  a  moral  ground  already.  It  has 
always  been  firmly  rooted  there.' 


143 

He  pressed  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

'  I  have  made  your  head  worse,'  said 
the  young  girl  regretfully.  She  herself 
from  ex|)erience  had  no  very  clear 
idea  of  what  a  headache  was,  but  she 
felt  a  great  deal  of  pity  for  the  hand- 
some, suffering  young  stranger,  whom 
she  had  been  talking  at  so  forcibly. 
She  wished  from  her  heart  that  she 
could  do  something  for  him,  and  pre- 
sently she  saw  her  opportunity.  Not 
far  ofi",  on  the  road  side,  was  a  group 
of  girl  acquaintances,  coming  towards 
them,  and  casting  interested  glances  at 
the  gentleman  beside  her.  Leaning  a 
little  toward  Philip,  and  turning  her 
full  face  to  him,  Miss  Harding,  with 
bewitching  little  smiles  and  gestures 
of  the  head,  poured  out  a  stream  of 
steady  commonplace  which  lasted  till 
the  girls  had  passed,  breaking  off  only 
to  give  them  a  bow.  Philip  was 
amazed  by  her  look,  manner,  and  espe- 
cially by  what  she  said,  but  he  must 
have  been  blind  not  to  see  that  this 
young  lady  wished  to  give  her  girl 
friends  to  understand  that  she  was  in 
company  with  a  gentleman  whom  she 
highly  appreciated,  and  whose  favour 
she  was  determined  to  win.  There  was 
something  decidedly  flattering  in  this, 
and  Philip  felt  cheered  by  it  a  little. 
Still  he  thought  that  Miss  Harding 
was  a  very  self-assured  young  person, 
and  he  found  it  inconceivable  that  a 
country  girl  whom  he  had  so  often 
laughed  at,  should  be  lording  it  over 
him  in  this  way.  He  wondered  if  he 
should  reveal  himself  to  her  when  they 
reached  his  gate.  That  would  certainly 
bring  a  blush  for  her  rudeness  to  her 
fair  cool  cheek,  if  anything  would. 
But,  perhaps,  with  her  dreadful  lack 
of  sensibility,  she  would  laugh  at  him. 
No,  he  decided  it  would  be  wiser  not 
to  make  a  revelation.  Miss  Harding 
was  very  attentive.  She  audibly  re- 
gretted his  indisposition,  handed  him 
her  parasol,  for  the  sunshine  was  now 
in  their  faces,  and  seemed  so  much 
interested  in  him  that  he  shivered  in 
fear  that  she  would  ask  his  name.  It 
was  just  such  a  thing  as  this  frank 


144. 


HOW  THE  UTODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


matter-of-fact  girl  would  do.  Never- 
theless she  did  not  do  it 

As  thev  went  up  the  grassy  lane, 
and  neared  the  Pinkney  place,  its 
owner  felt  a  glad  thrill  of  ])ride  and 
joy.  How  heavenly  fair  it  looked. 
He  was  sure  that  Charlotte  had  fin- 
ished cleaning  house,  for  the  old 
porch  had  such  a  clean  scrubhud  look. 
The  ijrass  had  grown  thick  and  rank, 
the  tlowers  were  blooming,  tlie  birds 
were  singing ;  there  must  be  young 
ones  in  that  nest  near  the  hammock  by 
this  tini*'.  And  it  was  all  his  own  ! 
He  looked  at  it  with  increasing  de- 
light. The  young  lady  asked  him  if 
it  was  not  strange  that  INIr.  Kale  did 
not  come  out  to  meet  him,  but  he 
did  not  answer,  except  to  thank  her 
cordially  for  the  ride  she  had  given 
him.  When  he  got  out  of  the  buggy 
he  was  surprised  to  see  his  companion 
get  out  also. 

'I've  no  intention  of  leaving  a  sickly 
stranger  alone  in  this  desolate  place,' 
said  she,  with  quite  unnecessary  kind- 
ness, as  she  tied  her  horse  to  the 
fence.  '  We'll  have  good  fun  hunt- 
ing up  the  misanthrope.  Very  likely 
he's  hiding  somewhere.  I've  heard 
he  has  a  habit  of  hiding.' 

She  preceded  him  merrily  through 
the  gate.  Philip  followed  her  me- 
chanically. Every  man's  house  is  his 
castle,  and  his  was  peculiarly  so,  but 
when  a  beautiful  young  woman  opens 
the  castle  gate,  no  man,  or  at  least  no 
gentleman,  can  turn  her  out  againr 
The  modern  Eve  seemed  to  be  in  the 
best  of  spirits.  She  made  a  rush  for 
the  hammock,  and  shook  it  as  though 
in  the  expectation  of  seeing  a  man  slip 
through  the  interstices.  '  Not  here  ! ' 
she  cried.  Then  she  walked  along  the 
whole  line  of  trees,  glancing  up  into 
their  tops,  and  calling  out  frequent 
reports  of  her  lack  of  success  to  her 
stunned  companion  on  the  gravel  walk. 

'  Where  shall  we  look  now  1  she 
asked,  coming  up  with  a  face  brimful 
of  fun. 

*  I  don't  know,'  replied  Philip,  de- 
spairingly. 


'  Perhaps  I'd  best  go  ovei'  to  Mrs, 
Shaw's.  I  know  she  has  a  key  to 
the  house,  and  then  you  could  hunt 
round  inside.' 

'  Oh,  I  don't  think  that  is  necessary,^ 
said  Philip,  uneasily.  'If  he  never 
goes  away  from  home  he  must  be  here 

j    somewhere.' 

I  '  Why,  yes  ! ,  said  the  girl,  stooping 
to  pick  a  flower  ;  '  but  he  seems  to 
have  odd  ideas  of  hospitality.  This 
is  very  unpleasant  for  you.' 

*  It  is,  indeed  ! '  groaned  the  suf- 
ferer. '  You  are  very  good,  but  I 
cannot  allow  myself  to  trespass  fur- 
ther upon  your  kindness.' 

*  Don't  mention  it.  I  hope  you 
didn't  think  me  capable  of  leaving 
you  in  this  strait  after  the  way  I 
talked  to  you  this  afternoon.' 

They  walked  around  the  house ; 
the  lady  on  the  alert,  leading  the 
way,  the  gentleman  stupidly  follow- 
ing ;  and  came  back  to  the  front  porch 
again. 

'  Well,'  said  Miss  Haixling,  '  I  have 
a  strong  impression  that  Mr.  Kale  is 
somewhere  in  this  place.' 

*  So  have  I,'  said  Philip,  languidly. 
'Furthermore,    I    think    he    is   in 

sight.'  Involuntarily,  Philip  glanced 
around. 

'  I  believe  I  am  speaking  to  Mr. 
Kale.' 

Philip  made  an  exaggerated  bow. 
'That  is  my  name,  and  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  addressing  Miss  Hording. 
To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  lion — 
that  is,  I  am  pleased  to  make  your 
acquaintance.' 

'Oh,  Mr.  Kalel'  said  the  young  girl, 
struggling  between  mirth  and  peni- 
tence,'you  need  not  look  so  aggrieved. 
You  behaved  nearly  as  badly  as  I  did 
all  the  time. 

'  Did  I  ? '  asked  Philip,  in  honest 
doubt. 

'  Indeed  you  did !  You  tried  to 
deceive  me  the  whole  time.' 

'  But  I  didn't  succeed. 

'  No,  but  your  efforts  were  none  the 
less  interesting  on  that  account.  And 
then  you    thought  —  Oh,   you   must 


HOW  THE  MODERN  EVE  ENTERED  EDEN. 


14- 


have  thought  all  kinds  of  horrible 
things  about  my  hehavioui.' 

'  That's  true  !'  emphatically. 

'  Well,  you  see  I  don't  deserve  them. 
If  you  had  been  an  entire  stranger,  I 
wouldn't  have  asked  you  to  ride,  and 
talked  to  you  the  way  I  did  for 
worlds.  y^'Xiy  \  coidihit  !  Not  if  yon 
had  been  ten  times  as  sick  and  fifty 
times  as  respectable  looking  as  you 
are.  But  why,  you  see,  'Siva.  Pink- 
ney  told  me  all  about  you,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Shaw  told  me  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  neif^chbourhood  about  you. 
So  I  am  quite  well  acquainted — be- 
sides, seeing  you  every  day  for  a  long 
time  past.  I  hojje  you  don't  think 
aoin  that  I  am  coarse  and  rude  and 
ill-bred.' 

Philip  looked  at  the  sweet  pleading 
face  and  delicate  blonde  hands,  playing 
with  their  tiny  gloves,  of  the  maiden 
before  him.  How  beautiful  his  Eve 
looked  in  his  Eden  !  '  Some  other 
time,'  he  said  softly,  '  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  you.' 

She  turned  quickly  away.  '  Now 
that  1  have  found  your  host  for  you,  I 
believe  I  had  better  go.  But  first  may 
1  trouble  you  for  a  drink  of  water  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes  !  I  will  get  a  glass  in  a 
moment.' 

He  rushed  to  the  door  and  fumbled 
in  his  pockets  for  the  key,  but  it  could 
not  at  once  be  found.  The  young  lady 
smiled  archly. 

'  Your  key  has  been  listening  to 
your  afternoon's  talk,'  she  said.  '  No 
wonder  it  refuses  to  acknowledge  you 
as  its  owner.' 

Philip  fairly  beamed  at  her.  He 
thought  he  had  never  heard  such  a 
delicious  witticism.  The  door  was 
opened  at  last. 

'  Come  in  and  inspect  bachelor's 
hall  ! '  he  cried. 

He  waited  only  to  see  how  much 
the  room  was  improved  by  her  pre- 
sence, and  then  ran  to  the  pantry. 
Through  the  window  he  could  see  the 
strawberry  bed,  which  reminded  him 
to  take  a  saucer  out  too.  Presently 
he  returned,  bearing  a  glass  of  water 
3 


;   in  one  hand,  and  a  saucer  of  immense 
I    berries  in  the  other. 
I        '  You   see  I  am  not  only  host  and 
I   guest,  but  obedient  servant  too.' 

'  And  gardener  also.  Why  those 
i    are  strawberries  !    How  did  you  make 

them    so    line  ?      I  thought  you    did 

liardly  anything  but  lie   in  the  ham- 
I    mock.' 
'        '  Oh,  that  was  only  when  you a 

little  while  in  the  afternoon.  How 
]  ever  did  you  see  me  through  those 
I  branches  ]  I  never  thought  for  an 
I    instant  this  afternoon  that  you  knew 

me  from  Adam.' 

'J'he  young  lady  laughed. 

'  But,  then,'    he  continued,   '  I  am 

Adam.' 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 
!        '  This  is  the  garden  of  Eden,  you 
j    know.' 

I  '  Why,  how  odd  ! '  she  cried,  be- 
I   tween  two  bites  of  an  especially  large 

!    strawberry;  '  and  I  am  E .   Well, 

1    then,  you  see  I  didn't  know  you  from 

Adam  after  all  !  ' 

Philip  made  no  reply.  She  rose 
!  suddenly,  looking  a  little  embarrassed, 
I  and  said  she  believed  she  had  better 
!  go.  *  I  don't  know  why  it  is,'  she  cried, 
I  tui-ning  round  at  the  door,  '  but  I  feel 
j  contemptible — just  such  a  feeling  as 
I    that  I  experienced  at  boarding  school, 

the  night  I  stole  the  water  melon.      I 

have  been  stealing  your  privacy,  your 

right  to  solitariness,  your — what  shall 

I  call  it—  ? ' 

Philip's  eyes  told  her  that  she  might 

call   it   his  heart,   but  he   dared  not 

trust  himself  to  speak. 

She  walked  away  with  a  rapid  step 
j  and  closed  the  gate  behind  her,  but  it 
'■    was  not  alone. 

'  May  I  call  upon  you  1 '  asked  the 
[  world-weary  misanthrope,  as  he  handed 
I    her  the  reins. 

i  '  Certainly  not,'  was  the  almost 
I  angry  response.  "  Who  ever  heard 
I    of  Adam  leaving  Eden  until — ' 

'  Until    an  angel     obliged   him   to 

leave,'  said  her  ingenious  tormentor, 

with    a   smile.        '  I   shall    certainly 

call.' 


j^g  ON  CROSSING  A  BATTLE-FIELD. 

The  modern  Eve  departed  with  un- 
necessary speed,  but  she  remained 
away  oulv  a  few   months,   and   when 


she  returned  it  was  to  make  the  life 
of  Adam  a  paradise  indeed. 


ON   CKOSSINi;    A   r.ATTLE-FlELD. 


KSPEUANCE. 


STEP  softly  !  gentle  be  your  tread  ; 
This  ground  is  sacred  to  the  dead. 
To  hearts  that  nursed  tlie  martial  fire 
Vriiich  lit  their  glorious  funeral  pyre  ; 
To  lips  that  laughed  at  danger's  form, 
Nor  paled  before  the  baltle-storm  ; 
To  eyes  that  grim  defiance  Hashed 
As  on  their  dauntless  owners  dashed  ; 
To  feet  that  had  noo  learnt  to  tlee 
From  death  or  danger,  but  to  be 
Switt,  when  the  drum  to  battle  beat, 
But  sloir  to  follow  in  retreat. 
No  doubt  it  was  the  thirst  for  fame, 
The  hope  to  win  a  glorious  name, 
That  led  some  daring  spirits  on. 
Peace  to  their  ashes  !     They  are  gone  ; 
But  many  more  were  those  who  fought 
For  what  a  true-born  soldier  ought : 
To  right  his  country's  injured  cause 
And  e'en  with  death  defend  her  laws. 
Some  lost  the  prize  for  which  they  fought, 
JSome  won  the  fame  they  had  not  sought, 
liut  this  07ie  honour  all  may  claim  : 
Or  those  who  fought  for  faith  or  fame  ; 
And  thus  all  claims  are  satisfied  : 
'Twas  in  their  country's  cause  they  died. 
And  those  who  risked  their  lives  for  fame 
Have  now  a  faithful  soldier's  name  ; 
And  those  who  served  their  country's  cause 
Obtained  the  righting  of  her  laws. 
Then  let  all  vain  revilings  cease  ! 
Here  let  their  ashes  rest  in  peace  ! 
And  tread  ye  softly  o'er  the  sod 
Which  death  has  sanctified  to  God. 


THK  FUTURE  OF  CAXADA. 


147 


THE  FUTUKE  OF  CANADA. 


LONCiLKV,    M.A  ,    HALIFAX,    N. 


TIUC  future  of  a  man's  country  is 
one  of  the  ruost  important  public 
considerations  which  can  engage  his 
attention.  It  is  especially  so  when  his 
country  is  young  and  undeveloped, 
and  has  not  yet  worked  out  any  fixed 
destiny.  Any  thoughtful  Canadian 
might  well  feel  a  deep  interest  in  the 
future  of  this  country.  Our  circum- 
st mces  are  peculiar.  There  is  no  his- 
torical parallel  for  the  position  this 
moment  occupied  by  that  portion  of 
this  globe  designated  as  the  Dominion 
of  Canada.  It  embraces  one  of^  the 
largest  areas  of  any  political  divisions 
of  the  world's  surface.  It  is  separated 
from  physical  connection  with  all 
other  nations,  save  the  United  States. 
It  has  a  perfect  political  constitution 
— as  perfect,  at  all  events,  as  any 
other  in  the  world.  It  is  inhabited  by 
four  and  a  half  millions  of  as  intelli- 
gent people  as  are  to  be  found  any- 
where. It  is  in  the  very  vanguard  of 
moral  enlightenment  and  political 
freedom.  It  has  boundless  resources, 
considerable  wealth, a  large  and  expand- 
ing trade,  and  a  growing  —  rapidly 
growing — population.  Yet,  with  all 
these  attributes,  it  has  no  national 
status  at  all,  and  no  Canadian,  no 
matter  how  strong  his  pride  of  country, 
or  how  bright  his  faith  in  its  destiny, 
is  able  even  to  conjecture  what  its 
future  is  to  be.  England  was  inferior 
to  the  Canada  of  to  day,  in  the  mul- 
tiple elements  of  national  strength, 
when  lier  monarch's  name  was  the 
terror  of  Europe. 

In  the  presence  of.  these  facts,  is  it 
wonderful  that  certain  of  the  more 
educated  and  studious  of  our  political 


thinkers   should    take    the    liberty  of 

speculating  a  little  as  to  the  ultimate 

destiny  of  the  country  in  which  they 

j    live,  and   which   they  pro[)Ose  to  be- 

I    queath  to   their  children  when  they 

I    die  1    Would  it  not  be  strange  if  this 

I    matter  never  was  referred  to — if  no 

I   one  of   the    four  millions  of   people, 

many  of  them  broad-minded  and  cul- 

1    tivated  men,  should  ever  stop  to  con- 

j    sider  what   was   likely  to  happen  in 

j    the  future  ?    There  may  be  differences 

[   of  opinion  as  to  whether  the  present  is 

the  proper  time  to  work   out  radical 

changes  in  the  political  status  of  this 

country  ;  but  there  can  be  no  question 

as  to  the  perfect  propriety  of  thinking 

about    the    matter  and    discussing  it 

gravely  and  thoroughly. 

A  person  who  ventures  to  suggest 
that  the  present  state  of  affairs  cannot 
last  forever,  that  important  changes 
must  inevitably  come  in  due  time, 
need  not  be  put  down  as  a  present 
advocate  of  Independence,  an  Annex- 
ationist, or  a  traitor,  A  man  may 
hold  that  Canada  has  no  reason  to  feel 
dissatisfied  with  her  present  position, 
and  still  not  commit  himself  to  the 
doctrine  that  a  condition  which  is  ad- 
vantageous and  desirable  to-day,  may 
not  in  the  course  of  time  become  in- 
convenient, anomalous  and  even  im- 
possible. It  should  be  our  aim  to  look 
at  the  matter  fairly,  without  impati- 
ence on  the  one  hand,  and  without 
dogged  uncompromising  resistance  on 
the  other. 

It  is  not  going  to  very  great  lengths 
to  say  that  distinctive  national  life 
will  never  be  realized  in  Canada  as 
long  as  it  is  a  mere  British  Colony.   It 


148 

does  not  follow  from  this  that  the 
time  is  ripe  for  this  country  to  assume 
the  full  responsibilities  of  national 
life.  If  there  are  manifest  advan- 
tages in  continuing  the  existing  rela- 
tions with  the  British  Empire — if 
there  are  radical  dirticulties  in  the 
way  of  an  immediate  change— then  all 
these  things  shoxdd  be  considered,  and 
the  policy  of  the  country  guided  ac- 
cordingly. It  is  worth  while  to  en- 
deavour to  discover  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible the  exact  nature  of  our  present 
position,  and  balance  the  advantages 
•nd  disadvantages  of  a  change. 

It  is  not  easy  to  see  the  disadvant- 
age to  Canada  of  her  present  colonial 
position.     If  there  are  drawbacks  they 
are  chiedy  of  a  sentimental  character 
— they  are  not  tani.ib'e  or  practical. 
The  fullest  iudepenteace  of  political 
action  is  enjoyed.     The  presence  of  a 
Governor-General   at  Ottawa,  and  a 
few  companies  of  soldiers  at  Halifax, 
which  latter   are   innocent  of  the  re- 
motest interference  in  our  affairs,  are 
the  only  visible  evidences  of  our  Colo- 
nial  status.     The  Governor-Genei-al, 
although   an   exalted   functionary,   is 
not,  in  any  sense  a  potent  factor  in 
our   political    affairs.     We    have   the    , 
very  acme  of  popular  government  in    j 
this  country.     The  real   ruler  is  the    i 
Minister  who  has  a  majority  of  the    i 
House  of  Commons  at  his  back.     No    i 
one  need  have  much  alarm  that  any    ; 
Governor  General,  if  the  existing  sys-    ; 
tern  should  continue  for  any  number    j 
of  years,   will  ever    attempt    to   put    , 
himself  at  issue  with   the    House  of    t 
Commons.     The  Parliament  of  Can-    I 
ada   has    absolute    control   of    every    i 
branch  of    the   public    service.       No    j 
legislation    of    any    vital  importance 
has  been  interfered  with  by  the  Home 
Government  since  18G7,  and  there  is 
no  reasonable  probability  that  any  at- 
tempt whatever  will  be  made  in  that 
dii-ection  in  the  future.     The  succes- 
sive Governments    of    Great  Britain 
have  done  nothing,  since   Confedera- 
tion at  all  events,  which  is  calculated 
to  irritate  the   people  of  Canada,  or 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CANADA. 


make  thera  feel  the  humiliation  of 
their  position  as  a  mere  dependency  of 
the  Crown. 

It  is  urged  that  Canada  occupies  an 
anomalous  position  in  regard  to  the 
making  of  treaties  with  foreign  coun- 
tries, especially  in  relation  to  trade 
and  commerce.  There  seems  to  be 
some  foundation  for  the  complaint. 
As  a  matter  of  right,  Canada  cannot 
conclude  a  treaty,  even  with  her  near 
neighbour,  the  United  States,  except 
through  the  Foreign  Office.  This  is 
unpleasant,  but  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged that  Great  Britain  has  never 
evinced  a  disposition  to  overlook  Can- 
adian interests  when  they  arise  in 
the  negotiations  of  treaties.  The  ob- 
jection to  our  status  in  treaty-making 
is  really  sentimental.  We  have  never 
felt  its  galling  character.  There  is  no 
reason  to  doixbt  that  the  British  Gov- 
ernment would  always  afford  the 
amplest  facilities  for  the  advocacy  of 
Canadian  interests  in  the  negotiations 
of  any  treaty  in  which  Canada  was 
concerned  even  remotely.  The  most  im- 
portant Treaty  ever  concluded,  so  far 
as  Canada  is  concerned,  was  the  Wash- 
ington Treaty.  Canadian  interests 
were,  perhaps,  sacrificed  in  that  piece 
of  business  ;  but  no  just  p.rson  would 
put  the  responsibility  upon  the  Brit- 
ish Government.  On  the  contrary, 
great  care  was  taken  that  Canada 
should  be  well  represented  on  that 
occasion,  and  if  Canada  suffered,  the 
Canadian  Premier  and  Canadian  Par- 
liament are  responsible  for  it.  It  is 
not  altogether  agreeable  to  feel  that 
we  have  no  power  to  make  treaties 
directly,  but  it  is  comforting  to  know- 
that  practically  not  the  remotest  injury 
has  resulted  to  us  from  this  cause,  and 
that  there  is  no  likelihood  that  any 
British  Ministry  will  ever  stand  in 
the  way  of  our  interests.  When  it 
does,  it  will  be  eminently  pi'oper  to 
consider  the  matter,  and  deal  with  it 
as  the  interests  and  honour  of  this 
country  demand. 

Another    disadvantage    of    British 
connection  often  presented  is  our  lia- 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CANADA. 


149 


bility  of  Ijecoming  involved  in  Eng- 
land's wars.  There  is  some  force  in 
this  objection,  but,  like  the  i)receding 
one,  it  is  merely  a  possil)le,  not  a  real  evil. 
And,  besides,  this  objection  is  double- 
edged.  Does  not  Canada  gain  as  much 
l>y  British  naval  and  military  preMige 
as  she  is  likely  to  lose  by  England's 
possible  foreign  wars  ]  Canada  might 
Lfet  involved  in  a  war  herself.  Her 
Hag  might  bo  insulted  upon  the  sea,  or 
her  territory  invaded.  Yet  Great  Bri- 
tain is  expected  to  invoke  the  resour- 
ces of  the  Emi)ire  in  our  defence.  He 
is  a  doubtful  specimen  of  humanity 
who  is  not  willing  to  share  the  for- 
tunes of  such  an  Empire  as  wields  its 
mild  sway  over  portions  of  eveiy  Con- 
tinent. At  all  events,  it  is  sufficient 
for  present  purposes  that  no  real  dan- 
ger exists  of  Canada  suffering  from 
Britain's  foreign  wars.  This  objection 
to  British  Connection  is  scarcely  wor- 
thy of  consideration  by  any  honour- 
able, high-spirited  man  in  this  Do- 
minion. 

But  it  would  not  be  doing  this 
branch  of  the  subject  justice  to  merely 
negative  the  idea  that  British  Connec- 
tion was  a  disadvantage.  It  is  proper 
to  point  out  that  it  involves  advant- 
ages of  a  positive  and  substantial 
character.  The  assumption  of  national 
duties  and  responsibilities  in  1867, 
would  have  been  decidedly  burden- 
some to  the  Canadian  people.  Canada 
is  not  merely  a  young  country,  unable 
to  endure  beyond  a  certain  degree  of 
taxation,  but  from  her  immense  area 
and  vast  undeveloped  regions,  the  ex- 
penditure of  large  sums  of  money  for 
necessary  public  works  was  and  is 
inevitable.  Anything  that  would  have 
interfered  with  that  would  have  been 
n  serious  drawback  to  the  growth  and 
progress  of  the  country.  If  a  war  had 
been  inflicted  upon  us,  it  would  have 
drawn  away  the  money  which  has 
recently  been  expended  in  national 
highways,  and  been  fatal  to  our  pros- 
perity. Every  resource  of  the  country 
is  requisite  for  the  single  work  of  de- 
velopment. Fortunately,  barring  some 


extravagance  in  administration,  Can- 
ada has  been  in  a  position,  during  the 
past  fourteen  years,  to  devote  great 
sums  to  such  works  as  the  Intercolo- 
nial and  Canada  Pacific  Railways,  the 
enlargement  of  Canals,  and  the  open- 
ing up  of  the  North -West.  Such  ap- 
propriations would  have  been  impos 
sible  if  wo  had  started  out  as  an 
independent  nation  in  I  SO  7.  Ambas- 
sadors and  Consuls  would  have  to  be 
sent  to  every  part  of  the  world,  sup- 
ported by  the  Government.  A  regular 
land  force  must  needs  have  been 
created  and  sustained.  An  extensive 
commercial  interest  would  have  de- 
manded no  inconsiderable  fleet  which 
would  have  involved  a  very  large  and 
perpetual  expenditure.  Starting  nati- 
onal life  is  vei\v  expensive.  Sustaining 
it  is  very  trying  to  kingdoms  and  na- 
tions of  greater  wealth  and  population 
than  Canada,  and  terribly  retards  their 
growth.  The  money  which  ought  to  be 
spent  in  useful  undertakings  for  the 
good  of  the  people,  is  of  necessity  squan- 
dered in  trying  to  keep  up  appearances 
before  the  world — in  the  parade  of 
courts  and  the  costly  pageantry  of  State. 
Canada  has  been  spared  all  this  by 
means  of  her  connection  with  Great 
Britain.  Every  British  Ambassador 
or  Minister  represents  every  subject 
— Canadian  as  well  as  Englishman. 
Every  British  Consul  is  a  Canadian 
Consul  as  well.  The  great  commercial 
marine  of  this  country  roams  the  seas 
under  the  flag  of  a  nation  which  rules 
the  sea.  The  honour,  dignity  and  pom)> 
of  State  are  maintained  out  of  a  fund 
to  which  Canadians  do  not  even  con- 
tribute. We  have  been  left  free — 
gloriously  free — to  devote  our  entire 
revenues  to  the  opening  up  of  our 
country,  and  the  development  of  its 
trade  and  resources.  In  this  light, 
British  connection  has  been  a  direct 
and  palpable  advantage.  No  one  who 
regards  the  matter  in  a  purely  utilita- 
rian light  c;in  fail  to  recognise  that 
our  Colonial  position  has  not  been  a 
clog  to  our  advancement,  but  rather  a 
spur — not  a  blight  but  a  blessing. 


150 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CANADA. 


There  is  nothing  in  the  present  out- 
look of  aflairs  in  Canada  which  sug- 
gests the  wisdom  of  our  immediate 
change  in  our  rehitions  with  the  Em- 
pire. Oreat  enterprizes  have  been 
undertaken  whicli  it  will  strain  the 
energies  of  our  jieople  to  carry  forward. 
The  Pacitic  Kailway  is  not  finally  dis- 
posed of,  because  it  has  been  handed 
over  to  a  Syndicate.  The  Govei-nment 
have  still  to  pay  out  in  connection 
with  that  great  work  between  thirty 
and  forty  millions.  These  are  being 
expended  on  the  faith  of  the  sale  of 
hinds,  and  the  expected  rapid  settle- 
ment of  the  North -West.  The  whole 
policy  is,  at  best,  but  a  venture.  The 
results  may  fall  very  far  short  of  the 
glowing  expectations  of  sanguine  poli- 
ticians. Possibly  the  giant  hand  of 
Monopoly  may  stay  the  progress  of 
development,  and  seriously  retard  the 
growth  of  tlie  country.  If  any  acci- 
dent should  befall  the  North -West 
policy  of  the  Government,  it  would  be 
a  grave  matter  for  the  country.  A 
public  debt  of  over  $200,000,000  is 
no  trifle  for  a  country  of  the  popula- 
tion of  Canada.  There  are  those  who 
do  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  the 
burden  of  taxation  upon  the  people  is, 
at  this  moment,  too  heavy,  and  some 
of  them  have  the  credit  of  being  the 
wisest  and  most  honest  of  our  public 
men.  The  fiscal  policy  of  the  country 
is  not  yet  settled,  and  the  character  of 
the  fiscal  policy  is  more  or  less  inter- 
woven with  the  question  of  revenue. 
The  smaller  Provinces  will  soon  be 
calling  for  increased  subsidies,  and  their 
calls  will  have  to  be  heeded.  Altoge- 
ther Canada  is  plunged  into  the  very 
midst  of  responsibilities  on  every  hand. 
Great  problems  require  to  be  worked 
out,  and  it  is  pre-eminently  not  a  time 
to  think  of  inaugurating  a  revolution 
in  the  Government,  and  assuming 
more  and  graver  responsibilitie.s.  The 
idea  of  attempting  to  start  out  in  the 
world  as  an  independent  nation  at  this 
juncture,  would  be  simply  appalling, 
not  only  to  every  sound  and  wise 
statesman,  but  to  every  tax-payer  in 


the  country.  Wliatever  their  indivi- 
dual views  and  preferences,  Canadians 
must  be  content  to  postpone  this  great 
question  until  the  Pacific  Railway  is 
completed,  and  the  problem  of  the 
North -West  definitely  settled. 

There  is  another  reason  of  an  en- 
tirely difierent  character  which  pre- 
cludes the  idea  of  Independence  at  the 
present  time.  The  majority  of  the 
people  are  at  heart  in  love  with  Brit- 
ish institutions  and  attached  to  Brit- 
ish Connection.  In  the  eyes  of  some 
this  may  be  a  piece  of  unpardonable 
weakness  ;  it  may  even  denote  lack  of 
proper  spirit.  No  doubt  many  persons 
honestly  believe  that  it  is  quite  child- 
ish and  silly  for  Canadians,  living  seve- 
ral thousands  of  miles  away  from  Eng- 
land, to  feel  any  great  love  for  a  Gov- 
ernment whose  head-quarters  are  in 
London.  Grantingall those personssay,^ 
andadmitting,  forthesakeof  argument, 
that  there  is  nothing  but  vain  senti- 
mentalism  in  the  idea  of  loyalty — that 
to  be  attached  to  a  European  Govern- 
ment of  any  kind  is  prima  facie  evi- 
dence of  a  poltroon — still,  what  do 
you  propose  to  do  about  it  1  If  two- 
thirds  of  the  people  of  Canada  are 
afilicted  with  this  '  loyalty  '  mania,^ 
are  they  to  be  coerced  by  the  remain- 
ing one-third?  In  this  country  the 
majority  is  supposed  to  rille.  It  is 
quite  possible  that  the  majority  may 
occasionally  be  guided  by  ignorance^ 
prejudice  or  pig-headedness  in  their 
judgments,  but  the  remedy  is  not  co- 
ercion. These  evil  influences  must  be 
overcome  by  reason  and  intelligence. 
The  ignorant  must  be  taught,  theper- 
judiced  must  be  reasoned  with,  the 
pig-headed  must  be  enlightened  and 
presuaded.  So,  admitting  all  that  the 
most  vehement  advocate  of  independ- 
ence may  aflirm  regarding  the  blind 
and  yet  spiritless  condition  of  those 
who  yet  cling  to  British  Connection,  it 
will  still  be  apparent  that  nothing  can 
be  done  until  they  are  suftjciently 
educated  and  enlightened  to  assume 
the  full  stature  of  manhood.  We  must 
deal  gently  even  with  the  prejudices 


TbE  FUTURE  OF  CANADA. 


151 


of  our  fellow-beings.  Some  prejudices 
have  their  origin  in  lofty  virtues.  It 
is  always  better  to  persuade  than  to 
compel. 

Perhaps,    too,    some    a))ology    can 
bo  found  for  those  who   have  yielded 
to  the  weakness  of  loyalty.     The  glo- 
ries of  the  British  Empire  are  not  im- 
aginary, nor  the  Canadian  estimate  of 
them  the  result  of  national  ])rejudice. 
The  coldest  historian  will  be  forced  to 
concede  that  English  arms   have  ex- 
hibited valour  on   a  thousand  fields  ; 
that  the  English  Constitution  is  th(! 
highest  development  of  political  free- 
dom, the  noblest  type  of  political  wis- 
dom ;  that   English   literature  is  en- 
riched   by     the    productions    of   the 
loftiest    genius.       No    Anglo  Saxon, 
wherever  he   may   live,   or  whatever 
form  of  government  he  may  be  under, 
cares  to  relinquish    the  honour  of  be- 
longing to  the  race  and   speaking  the 
language  of  Shakespeare.      On  the  sea 
the  British  nation  has  outstripped  all 
rivalry.     Her  war-ships  have  carried 
her  flag  and  authority  to  every  sec- 
tion of  the  earth.     Her  colonial  pos- 
sessions are  vast,  and  growing  each 
year  in  population,  wealth  and  power. 
Her  Parliament  has  never  been  with- 
out men   of  eloquence,    wisdom    and 
capacity.     Her  archives  are  filled  with 
the  richest  treasures  of  human  pro- 
gresa      Even  a  Canadian,  living  three 
thousand  miles  away,  may  be  pardon- 
ed for  feeling  a  certain   pride  in  be- 
longing to  such  an  Empire,  and  claim- 
ing citizenship  with  such  a  people.   In 
days   gone    by    Canadian    volunteers 
fought  side  by  side  with   the  British 
soldiers    in    defending    this    country 
against  the  invader.     Every    citadel 
and  fortification  in  the  country,  though 
now,  perhaps,  dismantled  and  useless, 
is  associated  with  some  enterprise  re- 
sulting in  a  common  glory.     All  these 
things  have  seemed   to  create  a  j)ro- 
found  feeling  of  loyalty  in  the  hearts 
of  a  great  majoi-ity   of  the  Canadian 
people  which  cannot  be  eradicated  in 
a  day  nor  by  one  sermon  on  the  Gos- 
pel of  Utilitarianism.     There  are  very 


many  intelligent  men  in  Canada  to 
whom  British  Connection  is  an  unim- 
portant matter,  and  who  would  not 
allow  the  glories  of  the  Empire  in  the 
past  to  weigh  with  them  in  the  slight- 
est in  forming  an  opinion  regarding 
the  future  of  this  country  ;  but  they 
are  in  a  minority  now.  If  the  ques- 
tion of  British  Connection  or  no  Brit- 
ish Connection  wei^e  put  to  popular 
vote,  what  constituency  in  this  wide 
Dominion  could  be  relied  upon  to  cast 
a  majority  in  the  negative  1  There- 
fore, however  strongly  any  man  in 
Canada  may  believe  that  Independ- 
ence would  promote  the  welfare  of 
the  country,  he  must  of  necessity  post- 
pone his  hopes  until  a  change  has 
been  eflected  in  the  regnant  sentiment 
of  people  generally. 

But  the  mere  fact  that  the  majority 
of  the  people  of  Canada  are  in  favour 
of  British  connection  does  not  involve 
the  necessity  of  their  being  I'ight,  nor 
interfere  with  the  perfect  right  of  any 
man,  who  thinks  otherwise,  to  urge  his 
views  and  endeavour  to  educate  his 
fellow-countrymen  to  a  proper  under- 
standing of  the  question.  The  aim  of 
what  has  been  said  hitherto  has  been 
to  show  that  the  present  interests  of 
Canada  will  be  best  served  by  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  present  relations  with 
Great  Britain ;  that  the  period  for 
assuming  the  responsibilities  of  nati- 
onal life  has  not  yet  arrived,  and  that 
the  prevalent  sentiment  of  the  people 
is  an  insxtperable  barrier  to  all  present 
ideas  of  a  change  ;  but  it  does  not 
follow  that  the  highest  wisdom  will 
always  be  on  the  side  of  Colonialism. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  years  Canada 
will  have  a  population  of  over  ten  mil- 
lions. The  Pacific  I  vail  way  will  be 
built,  and  paid  for,  it  is  to  be  hoped. 
The  revenue  of  the  country  will  be 
forty  millions,  with  the  present  high 
rate  of  taxation  greatly  reduced.  Under 
such  circumstances,  the  maintenance 
of  an  independent  national  existence, 
with  dignity  and  honour,  will  be  quite 
within  the  scope  of  the  Canadian  peo- 
ple.    Is  it  to  be  supposed  that  the 


152 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CANADA. 


people,  under  such  circumstances,  will 
be  content  with  a  Colonial  status  1 
Can  it  be  possible  that  any  enlightened 
man  in  this  country  is  blind  enough  to 
believe  that  Canada  will  be  forever  a 
British  Colony  ?  In  one  hundred  years 
from  now,  the  Dominion  of  Canada 
will  possess  a  population  of  not  less 
than  thirty,  and,  very  probably,  forty 
millions.  Does  any  one  in  his  senses 
expect  that  a  vast  nation  like  this  is  to 
governed  by  a  humdrum  official  in 
Downing  Street  ?  The  sentiments  of 
loyalty  will  have  passed  through  many 
♦  gradations  before  Canada  contains  a 
population  of  ten  millions.  Every 
other  feeling  must  inevitably  give  way 
to  the  paramount  question  of  national 
interest.  Every  thoughtful  man  must 
see  and  realize  that  the  present  rela- 
tionship between  Canada  and  the  Em- 
pire is  merely  a  probation.  There  can 
be  nothing  tixed  and  definite  about  it. 
If  any  one  could  get  at  the  bottom  of 
the  matter  it  would  be  found  that  our 
leading  public  men  glorify  British 
connection  on  all  occasions,  simply 
because  they  recognise  that  our  pre- 
sent interests  are  bound  up  in  it,  not 
because  of  any  heart-felt  emotion  of 
loyalty.  Why  not  deify  British  con- 
nection? It  is  popular  and  it  runs 
parallel  with  present  interests.  Every 
statesman  sees  that  the  time  has  not 
come  for  a  change.  Why  not  then 
pander  to  popular  prejudices  and  elicit 
a  temporary  burst  of  applause  by  a 
biirning  allusion  to  that  '  old  flag, 
which  for  a  thousand  years,  <tc.  1 ' 
When  the  great  problems  of  internal 
development  are  successfully  worked 
out;  when  the  Xorth-West  begins  to 
fiU  up  in  reality  with  a  thriving  popu- 
lation, exporting  its  shiploads  of  grain 
to  Europe  ;  when  the  population  has 
doubled  and  the  revenue  doubled  with 
it,  and  all  the  initial  difficulties  of  a 
young  nationality  have  been  trium- 
phantly overcome,  is  it  not  the  most 
likely  thing  in  the  world  that  people 
and  politicians  should  sing  quite  ano- 
ther song  ?  By  that  time  the  Canadian 
nation  will  be  worth  glorifying,  and  a 


man  born  in  the  Dominion  will  learn 
to  feel  greater  pride  in  being  called  a 
Canadian  than  a  Briton. 

It  cannot  be  otherwise.   The  di-eam 
j    of  every  truly  patriotic  Canadian  who 
is    sufficiently    enlightened    to    think 
about  the  matter  at  all,  is  a  distinctive 
national  life;  and  a  colonial  position  is 
utterly    incompatible    with   the    very 
idea  of  a  distinctive  national  life.  This 
'    country  has  a  future  before  it,  and  as 
it  grows  older,  its  destiny  will  become 
!    more  and  more   a  vital  question.     A 
[    few  things  are   certain  to  take  place, 
and  from  these  we  can  deduce  proba- 
bilities as  to  the  rest.  That  the  country 
i    will  grow  in  wealth  and  population  is 
certain.   That  when  a  certain  point  of 
:    wealth   and   population  is  reached  a 
,    colonial  position  will  become  impos- 
sible, is  equally  certain.      Only  three 
courses  are  practicable  and  worthy  of 
I    discussion.  First:  Imperial  Federation. 
!    Second  :   Annexation    to    the  United 
,    States  :  Third,  Independence. 

The  first  has  several  warm  and  able 
advocates,   and  ought  not  to  be  dis- 
missed with   a   sneer.     But  really  it 
requires  the  patient   heroism  of  phil- 
;    osophy   to  discover  anything  worthy 
of  a  second   thought  in   all  that  has 
been  said,  or  can  be  said,  in  favour  of 
a  single  political  federation  centering 
in  London    and    extending  over  the 
four  continents  of  the  Globe.     Two 
,    of  the  ablest  public  men  ever  produced 
I    in  British  America,  Joseph  Howe  and 
Edward  Blake,  have  each,  in  diflferent 
'    fashion,  grappled  with  this  great  prob- 
'    lem.    The  result  of  their  best  thoughts 
only  serves  to  show  how  iaipossible  it 
is  for  even  genius   to  give   life  to  a 
.    policy  conspicuously  at  variance  with 
every  ])rinciple  of   sound  reason  and 
national  interest.     It  is  the  business 
and   mission  of  the  Western   Conti- 
nent to  leaven  the  Old   World  with 
]    the  principles  of  a  more  enlarged  free- 
I    dom  and  a  juster  equality,  not  to  bend 
its  neck  to  the  remnants  of  a  feudalism 
!    broken   but  not   desti-oyed,   decaying 
I    but  not  extinct.  A  king,  an  hereditary 
aristocracv,  and  a  State  Church,  would 


THH  FUTURE  OF  CANADA. 


scarcely  be  congenial  to  the  ideas  of  a 
free-born  Canadian,  who  has  always 
enjoyed  a  universal  freedom  as  broad 
as  the  sky,  and  has  imbibed  from  in- 
fancy a  notion  of  equality  which 
would  be  irritated  and  galled  by  closer 
relations  with  a  country  which  still 
preserves  privileged  order  and  wor- 
ships vested  interests.  The  Imperial 
Federation  theory,  hence,  may  be 
safely  laid  aside. 

The  second  .solution  is  far  less  ob- 
jectionable, but  not  less  distasteful 
to  the  instincts,  sentiments  and  tradi- 
tions of  the  Canadian  people.  From 
a  purely  material  or  commercial  stand- 
])oint  much  might  be  urged  in  favour 
of  Annexation.  The  Maritime  Pro- 
vinces, especially,  would  be  sure  to 
grow  rich,  if  allied  to  the  New  Eng- 
land States,  politically  and  commer- 
cially. The  mining  and  agricultural 
interests  of  Nova  Scotia  would  receive 
a  vast  impetus  from  a  free  access 
to  American  ))orts.  American  capital 
would  pour  into  the  country  much 
more  freely  if  a  political  union  was  in 
existence.  Real  estate  would  increase 
in  value.  The  lumbering  industry 
would  be  immensely  revived  and  en- 
larged if  no  hostile  tariff'  was  in  force, 
and  a  market  of  fifty  millions  of  peo- 
ple thrown  open.  A  score  of  other 
advantages  might  easily  be  enumer- 
ated, and  are  patent  to  every  one  who 
takes  the  trouble  to  consider  the  mat- 
ter, and  yet  the  people  of  Canada,  in 
spite  of  many  advantages,  do  not  de- 
sire Annexation.  If  a  des|)atch  from 
Downing  Street  should  arrive  to-mor- 
row and  be  published  in  the  next 
issue  of  the  Canada  Ga-.ette  announc- 
ing that  it  was  the  pleasure  of  Her 
^Majesty's  Government  that  the  Do- 
minion of  Canada  should  withdraw 
from  Britisli  Connection  and  form  a 
political  union  with  the  United  States; 
and,  following  upon  the  heels  of  this 
was  a  resolution  unanimously  adopted 
by  the  American  Congress  offering  to 
admit  the  several  Provinces  of  the 
Dominion  to  the  full  rank  and  privi- 
lege of  States,  the  chances  are  a  hun- 


dred   to  one    that   the    electorate  of 
Canada  would  reject  the   proposition 
by  a  large  majority.      The  feeling  of 
loyalty  which  exists  in  Canada  to-day 
is  inconsistent  with  a  very  lively  ap- 
preciation of    American   institutions. 
A  prejudice  exists  against  American 
ideas    and    the    American    system  of 
government.       There    is,     indeed,     a 
general  admiration  of  the  American 
people.      Their    enlightenment,   free- 
dom  and  A^ersatility  of   capacity  are 
fully  appreciated  and  thoroughly  re- 
cognised.    But  we   have  never   been 
accustomed  to  regard  them  as  a  nation 
with  which  we  desired  political  union. 
The  strongest  and  most  eft'ective  argu- 
j    ment  which   can  be  used  against  any 
j    suggestion  in  favour  of  Independence 
I    is  that  in  our  present  weak  condition 
1    Independence   would  inevitably  lead 
i    to  Annexation.     This  settles  the  mat- 
j    ter  ;  for  very  many  who  see  no  objec- 
I    tion  whatever  to  Independence  would 
I    quickly  scorn  any  proposition  which, 
even  remotely,  hinted  at  Annexation. 
Undoubtedly,  there  are  Annexation- 
ists in  Canada,  btit    they   are   very 
few,  and  those  of  them  who  seek  to 
rise  to  eminent  positions  in  the  coun- 
try by  the  favour  of  the  people,  take 
care  to  conceal  any  lurking  proclivities 
j    they  may  have   in  favour  of   Wash- 
j    ington. 

The  only  really  practical  idea  which 
can  be  entertained  by  the  Canadian 
people  concerning  their  future  is  an 
independent  nationality.  Under  what 
particular  form  of  government  it  is  not 
necessary,  at  this  distance,  to  waste 
time  in  speculating  about.  It  may  be 
a  Limited  Monarchy,  or  more  essen- 
tially democratic  in  its  character.  This 
is  not  of  vital  importance.  In  any 
case,  liberty  will  be  secured  and  the 
real  power  remain  with  the  people. 
When  that  period  is  reached  in  Cana- 
dian history,  when  the  country  is 
strong  enough  to  exist  and  carry  on 
its  affairs  without  the  aid  and  patron- 
age of  Creat  Britain,  events  will  shape 
themselves  ea.sily  and  naturally.  There 
will  be  no  'absorbing'  into  the  United 


154 


FELO  DE  SE: 


States.  The  dream  of  every  patriotic 
Canadian  will  be  realized  in  the  crea- 
tion of  a  wreat  and  independent  na- 
tionality, founded  upon  the  principles 
and  moulded  after  the  models  of  the 
highest  and  best  forms  of  Constitu- 
tional Government,  enlightened  and 
enabled  by  the  broad  and  blessed  in- 
(luences  of  the  Christian  religion,  and 
fortified  and  secured  by  the  manly 
instincts  of  an  intelligent  and  moral 
people.  It  is  of  the  very  highest  mo- 
ment that  a  people  should  be  taught 
to  cherish  lofty  ideals.  Pride  of  coun- 
try is  not  only  intrinsically  worthy, 
but  it  is  essentially  a  useful  factor  in 
the  State.  It  leads  to  national  consol- 
idation, inspires  confidence,  and  ele- 
A^ates  the  national  character.  The  only 
really  sound  idea  to  hold  up  before  the 
people  is  an  independent  nationality 
the  moment  we  are  prepared  to  as- 
sume it.  For  the  present  we  can  afford 
to  be  content.  We  are  enjoying  the 
fullest  liberties  ;  progressing  well,  and 
overcoming  the  initial  difficulties  of 
our  situation.  The  fostering  care  of 
Great  Britain  is  a  present  boon.     The 


!   time  must  come  when  it  will  be  out  of 
I   the    question.     Canada,    with  ten   or 
I    twelve   millions  of  people  or   twenty 
!   millions,  according  to  the  ideas  of  dif- 
I    ferent  persons,  may  be  England's  ally, 
I   but  cannot  be  England's  dependency. 
i   The    unerring    law  of   necessity   will 
I   govern  and  determine  the  matter.  To 
suppose   that   Canadians,    when   they 
were  conscious  of  being  strong  enough 
to  stand  alone,  would  continue  to  seek 
to  cling  to  the  apron-strings  of  a  Euro- 
pean Government,    is    to  affirm   that 
they  are  incapable  of  self-reliance,  and 
destitute  of  the  ordinary  instincts  of 
pride    and   independence.      It  is    the 
highest  duty  of  our  public  men  to  seek 
to  cultivate  a  strong  feeling  of  patrio- 
tism as  opposed  to  mere  loyalty.   Can- 
adians mvist   learn  to  realize  and  feel 
that  they  have   a  great  country,  and 
are  destined  to  become  a  great  nation. 
This  is   the  future  that  should  be  al- 
ways kept  in  view.      Not  Colonialism 
— not  Annexation,  but  Canada  an  in- 
dependent State  —  the  youngest  and 
most  promising  among  the  nations  of 
the  earth. 


FELO    DE    SE.' 


BY   F.    BLAKE   CROFTON. 


OFT  by  that  fountain,  'neath  the  summer  sky, 
He  yearned,  impatient  for  the  strife  to  be — 
To  see,  to  knosv,  to  mount,  the  world  defy, 
And  drink  the  mirage  of  futurity  ! 

But  by  that  fountain,  on  a  wintry  day, 

Was  hid  a  harp  that  burst  from  overstrain 

And,  cased  in  God's  unconsecrated  clay, 
Is  waiting,  tuneless,  to  be  strung  again. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


15; 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


BY    WILLIAM    WYE    SMITH. 


THE    BY-GONE    AGE. 

IN  a  few  centuries,  oi'  even  in  a  few 
generations,  the  fii'st  fifty  years  of 
Canadian  life — the  ways  and  means, 
and  make-shifts,  of  the  men  who  took 
hold  of  the  Bush,  and  made  it  into  an 
inhabited  and  cultivated  country — 
will  be  an  interesting  study.  Then 
people  will  regret  that  so  fewmaterials 
remain  for  the  illustration  of  the  for- 
mative-period of  the  country.  The 
immigration  of  a  family  into  this 
country  will  always  be  held  as  the 
beginning  of  the  family  history.  Hovv 
desirable  would  it  be,  could  we  induce 
the  authorities  at  Ottawa  or  Toronto 
to  encourage  the  preservation  of  such 
family  histories,  by  opening  a  set  of 
books,  to  permanently  register  at  a 
reasonable  fee,  memoranda  concerning 
our  pioneer  families.  We  can  only 
faintly  imagine  how  much  interest 
may  surround  these,  in  the  years  or 
centuries  to  come.  At  the  present 
time  it  is  hard  for  us  to  imagine  the 
truth  that  we  are  living  in  the  form- 
ative, the  heroic  age  of  the  country. 

Every  country  has  its  '  heroic  age.' 
The  first  dwellers  in  most  European 
lands  were  the  veriest  barbarians, 
with  little  else  than  their  bare  hands 
to  begin  the  battle  of  life  ;  and,  until 
touched  by  some  influence  from  with- 
out, with  little  or  no  apparent  desire 
to  improve  their  surroundings.  The 
present  state  of  refinement  has  been 
the  achievement  of  a  long  series  of 
ages.  Tlbeir  '  heroic  age  '  lasted  for 
centuries,  and  has  left  many  memo- 
rials.    We,  in  Canada,  began  under 


different  conditions.  Civilized  and 
enterprising  men  came  to  a  howling 
wilderness,  it  is  true,  yet  with  the 
feelings  and  ambitions  of  free  men, 
and  determined  to  conquer  the  cir- 
cumstances of  their  surroundings. 
Their  heroic  age  lasted  a  generation 
— till  the  old  log  house  gave  place  to 
the  dwelling  of  painted  clapboard — 
or,  perchance  to  that  of  brick  or  stone  : 
till  the  'woods  '  had  melted  away,  even 
to  the  stumps  that  had  been  left  be- 
hind ;  till  the  church,  and  the  school, 
and  the  agricultural  society;  the  town, 
the  fair,  the  daily  paper,  and  lastly 
the  railway,  took  their  places  every 
where.  Perhaps  for  Canada  within 
the  lakes — that  is  the  region  bounded 
by'  the  three  great  lakes  of  Ontario^ 
Erie,  and  Huron — the  garden  of  the 
Dominion,  the  by-gone  age  may  be 
said  to  have  ended  with  the  coming  in 
of  the  railways,  viz.,  from  1850  to 
1855.  As  long  as  the  '  first  settlers  ' 
remained  in  a  township,  that  township 
was  still  under  the  influence  of  their 
ideas  and  habits — it  was  still  for  them 
in  its  •  golden  age.'  Yet  more  golden 
to  look  back  upon,  through  the  vista 
of  fifty  years,  than  when  it  was  a  re- 
ality. 

A  well-to-do,  hale  and  pleasant  old 
gentleman  once  told  me  that  when  he 
was  a  boy,  sleeping  in  the  '  chamber  ' 
of  a  small  log  house,  the  closeness  of 
the  nights,  with  the  '  bush  '  all  round 
them,  and  the  torment  of  the  mosqui- 
toes, was  something  not  to  be  imag- 
ined by  people  of  the  present  day. 
Speaking  of  mosquitoes  reminds  me 
of  a  night  I  once  passed,  sleeping  on 
the  ground,  at  Spanish  River.  The 
heavy,  sultry  air  was  vocal  with  them. 


ISf) 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


and  the  Scotch  plaid,  inside  which  I 
sweltereil  and  rolled  about,  was  punc- 
tured everywhere  with  their  barbs. 
They  are  certainly  the  perfection  of 
skirmishers  !  1  once  called  at  the 
house  of  a  German,  as  he  came  in  for 
his  dinner,  begrimed  with  logging  on 
;v  new  clearing.  Tiie  day  was  very 
hot,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  did  not 
often  wish  that  some  of  those  numer- 
ous and  useless  Grand  Dukes  of  his 
Fatherland  could  be  made  to  take  their 
turn  at  logging  1  '  Yaas,'  said  he, 
with  a  grin  of  anticipated  satisfaction, 
'  and  let  dein  fight  der  mosquitoes  ! ' 

Bush-life  became  a  dread  reality 
when  there  was  notliing  to  eat  in  the 
house,  and  when  none  of  the  neigh- 
bours had  anything  to  lend,  and  there 
was  no  money  to  go  and  buy.  A  set- 
tler now  in  Muskoka,  told  me  of  his 
dragging  a  bag  of  flour  fifteen  miles 
over  the  snow  in  a  deer-skin,  the  hair 
of  which  lies  back  with  so  strong  a 
'  pile  '  that  Norwegians  put  a  patch  of 
it  on  the  bottom  of  their  '  scoots,'  or 
long  wooden  snow-shoes,  to  prevent 
slipping  back  in  ascending  hills.  An- 
other settler,  thirty  miles  from  Tor- 
onto, told  me  of  *  backing  '  flour — i.e., 
carrying  it  on  his  back — twenty  miles 
across  from  Yonge  Street.  •  One  poor 
fellow,  an  English  yeoman,  whose  wi- 
dow I  have  often  seen,  actually  died 
of  starvation  in  the  Township  of  Sulli- 
van. The  little  handful  of  meal  or 
flour  that  was  in  the  house  was  pain- 
fully doled  out  to  the  children,  and 
he  tried  to  support  his  own  life  on 
cow -cabbage  and  dandelion  leaves, 
boiled  into  greens.  Failing  to  sup- 
port life  thus,  after  a  bitter  struggle, 
he  lay  down  and  died.  A  farmer's 
wife  in  Caledon  told  me  that  she  had 
gathered  and  boiled  tender  basswood 
leaves  for  greens,  in  dire  distress  for 
bread.  But  for  the  aid  of  potatoes, 
it  is  diflicult  to  .see  how  families  coukU 
have  lived  ;  and,  even  then,  the  old- 
fa-shioned  species  of  potatoes  were  so 
late  in  ripening  that  the  crop  was  of 
little  use  till  the  summer  was  over. 
The  man  who  introduced  the  *  Early 


Hose '  potato,  a  few  years  ago,  was 
a  greater  benefactor  than  he  knew. 
The  spring  is  the  starving  time.  I 
thought,  last  season,  as  I  was  vainly 
striving  to  eradicate  a  bed  of  Jerusa- 
lem artichokes  from  my  garden,  what 
a  blessing  it  was  that  the  Government 
could  bring  the  Indians,  at  the  slight 
expense  of  sending  an  agent  once  with 
some  bushels  of  artichokes,  to  plant 
on  a  few  of  the  rocky  islands  of  Lake 
Huron.  What  a  diversifying  of  their 
present  recurring  semi  -  starvation  ! 
and  how  it  would  tide  them  over  till 
the  '  Early  Roses '  were  ready  to  dig  ! 
An  adventure  among  the  lads  in 
Inverness,  Lower  Canada,  will  *  illus- 
trate '  the  raising  of  i)otatoes.  The 
settlement  was  made,  fifty  years  ago, 
by  a  large  immigration  of  Highland- 
ers from  Arran,  under  '  Captain  '  Mc- 
Killop.  They  lived  under  blanket- 
tents  for  two  months  before  they  got 
housesup  toshelter  them.  At  last,  such 
fortune,  as  very  stony  and  ungrateful 
land — but  plenty  of  it — could  give 
them,  began  to  smile  on  their  pros- 
pects ;  and  they  were  anxious  to  have 
a  regular  minister  of  the  Gos)iel  to 
settle  among  them  ;  Captain  McKillop 
having  led  their  public  devotions  up 
to  that  time.  They  induced  a  good 
man  to  come  out  from  the  Highlands 
and  to  cast  in  his  lot  with  them  ;  pro- 
mising him  that  though  they  could 
not  give  him  much  money,  they  would 
get  him  a  hundred-acre  lot  of  land, 
and  help  him  to  clear  it  up  and  culti- 
vate it.  This  arrangement  had  gone 
on  for  some  years  ;  the  minister's  farm 
was  gradually  getting  cleared  up,  and 
his  crop,  principally  of  potatoes,  was 
regularly  '  put  in  '  by  his  flock.  But, 
one  spring,  some  of  the  young  men 
demurred  to  this  imposed  task.  They 
said,  such  and  such  families  with 
sons  had  so  many  days'  work  to  do  at 
the  minister's,  while  other  families, 
where  there  were  only  girls,  escaped 
the  impost,  and  this  '  was  not  fair  !  ' 
The  matter  of  planting  the  minister's 
potatoes  seemed  to  hang  fire  !  The 
girls,   however,  heard  of   it,  and  the 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


157 


reason.  Soon  tliey  plotted  together, 
Hiul,  two  or  three  mornings  after, 
fiiy/re  of  tliem,  with  hoes  over  their 
slioulders,  marched  two  and  two  to 
the  minister's  to  put  in  his  crop. 
'  And  were  you  one  of  them  1 '  I  asked 
of  the  middle-aged  lady  who  told  u)e 
the  inciuont.  '  No,'  sht;  said,  '  I  was 
not  then  old  enough,  but  my  eldest 
sister  was  one  of  the  number.'  '  And 
did  they  finish  the  work  V  I  enquired. 
'  Oh,'  said  she,  '  it  was  never  so  quick- 
ly nor  so  well  done,  and  there  never  was 
any  trouble  again  so  long  as  the 
minister  lived.  As  soon  as  the  word 
got  round  the  settlement  that  the 
girls  were  at  work,  all  the  young  men 
turned  in  to  hel|)  them  ! ' 

About  thirty  years  ago,  I  heard  an 
old  friend  tell  of  a  man,  named  Jack- 
son, who,  nearly  a  half-century  before, 
had  married  against  the  wishes  of  his 
friends,  and,  as  the  story  is  told,  '  he 
just  took  his  wife  under  his  arm,  with 
his  gun  and  his  axe,  and  went  back 
into  the  Bush.'  He  camped  at  the 
forks  of  a  river,  forty  miles  back  from 
the  St.  Lawrence.  When  winter 
came,  he  brought  a  fat  deer  in  from 
the  forest,  strapped  a  good  pack  of 
furs  upon  a  light  .sled  he  had  made, 
kissed  his  wife,  and  started  for  Mon- 
treal on  the  ice  of  the  river.  There 
he  exchanged  his  peltry  for  *  store- 
goods,'  and  returned  much  heavier 
laden  tlian  he  went.  His  troubles 
now  were  over.  He  had  plenty  to  eat 
and  to  wear,  and  his  clearing  yearly 
got  larger.  Soon  people  began  to  find 
him  out,  and  to  settle  in  beside  him  ; 
and  when  my  old  friend  knew  him  he 
was  the  '  Squire '  of  the  place,  with 
large  mills  and  other  property. 

No  wonder,  considering  the  tools 
they  had  to  work  with,  and  the  fre- 
quent lack  of  skill  in  those  who  used 
them,  that  the  log  huts  were  some- 
times of  the  roughest  and  smallest.  I 
remember  riding  down  the  Garafraxa 
lload  from  Owen  Sound,  and  of  see- 
ing the  axe,  every  time  it  was  uplift- 
ed, of  a  settler  who  was  chopping  on 
his  wood-pile  at  his  back-door— I  saw 


the  axe  over  the  roof  of  the  house  !  I 
have  seen  the  floors  made  of  thick- 
hewn  basswood ;  and  basswood  lolll 
warp !  Doors,  also,  of  split  cedar, 
with  creaking,  wooden  hinges.  When 
a  boy,  I  have  myself  made  both 
Junges  and  wooden  latches.  But  of 
all  the  contrivances  of  those  days,  the 
most  comical  appurtenance  to  a  log- 
house  was  a  one-legged  bedstead  !  It 
will  be  seen  that  if  stout  green  poles 
from  the  woods  are  inserted  in  holes 
bored  in  the  house-logs,  at  one  corner 
of  the  house,  so  as  to  answer  for  bed- 
rails,  there  is  only  one  corner  of  the 
bed  which  needs  the  support  of  a  leg  ! 
Often  two  of  the  farther  corners  of 
the  house  are  thus  occupied ;  for  a 
log-house,  with  up-and-down  board- 
I  partitions,  is  a  first  stage  toward  opu- 
I  lence  and  luxury,  not  always  attain- 
I  able  by  the  poor  settler.  Two  minis- 
j  tors  once  slept  in  the  house  of  a  Scotch 
I  settler,  in  whose  improved  house  of 
I  after-years  I  myself  have  frequently 
]  spent  the  night.  There  was  but  one 
room  for  both  family  and  guests.  The 
housewife,  on  their  expressing  a  desire 
to  retire  for  the  night,  remembered 
that  there  wassomethingrw/.^j/c/e  she  had 
to  see  about,  and  the  clergymen  made 
use  of  the  opportunity,  thus  purposely 
j  afforded  them,  to  hastily  unrobe.  One, 
however,  hesitated  ami  fumbled,  and 
the  other  had  to  come  to  his  rescue. 
'  Nuw  !  Brother,'  he  said  in  a  vigorous 
whisper,  as  he  held  up  a  quilt  at  arms' 
length  in  front  of  the  bed.  The  screen 
satisfied  the  demands  of  civilization, 
and  all  was  quiet  in  the  corner  before 
the  re-appearance  of  the  honest  ma- 
tron. 

Another  friend,  who  described  tome 
his  predicament,  was  once  in  even  a 
worse  plight  among  the  Ojibway  In- 
dians, north  of  Georgian  Bay  ;  though 
in  this  case  it  was  a  bed  of  skins  on  the 
floor.  The  old  Indian  and  his  son  had 
understood  that  white  men  indulge  in 
'  the  luxury  of  a  light  on  going  to  bed, 
and  they  determined  that  their  guest 
should  be  treated  according  to  civi- 
lized usage.     With  sundry  grunts  and 


158 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


gestures,  pointing  towards  a  certain 
corner  of  the  house,  they  made  him 
understand  that  what  he  saw  there  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  tire  was  his  bed 
for  the  night.  JSo  having  looked  at  the 
red  embers  on  the  hearth,  and  like 
Cowper  having  seen  'images  expressed' 
there  as  long  as  he  thought  it  profit- 
able, he  at  length  sidled  out  to  '  his 
corner.'  But  the  grown  up  son,  hospi- 
tably inclined,  had  been  closely  watch- 
ing for  this  movement ;  and  before  my 
friend  had  reached  his  couch,  the  young 
Indian  was  there  with  a  flaming  torch 
pi  birch-bark,  to  let  the  white  man  see 
his  way  to  bed  !  Had  it  been  the  young 
brave  alone,  the  well-meant  service 
might  have  been  thankfully  received. 
But  the  old  man  and  his  squaw,  and  a 
grown-up  daughter,  were  all,  with  eyes 
agog,  watching  him  1  Never  were  the 
buttons  of  any  man's  waistcoat  so  re- 
fractory !  Yet  he  knew  that  if  he  could 
gain  time  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
the  birch-bark  would  burn  out.  The 
young  man  held  on  to  it,  till  it  must 
have  burned  his  fingers,  and  then  he 
made  a  rush  to  the  hearth  to  get  ano- 
ther piece  lighted.  It  was  '  now  or 
never ! '  Off  went  coat  and  vest  at 
one  cast,  and  under  the  deer-skins  the 
white  man  dived.  When  the  torch  ar- 
rived, there  was  the  pantomime  of 
mutual  congratulations  ! 

In  those  days  people  had  the  desire 
to  educate  their  children  ;  but  the 
opportunities  were  few.  The  elder  sons 
and  daughters  of  many  a  family  had 
little  of  education  to  fall  to  their  share  ; 
though  it  was  always  considered  a  dis- 
grace not  to  be  able  to  read  and  write. 
1  myself,  from  the  age  of  ten  to  eigh- 
teen, only  went  to  school  for  six  months. 
But  often,  in  the  same  families,  the 
younger  children  were  at  a  later  date 
given  an  excellent  education.  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  that  it  was  not  unfre- 
quently  accompanied  with  an  over- 
weening conceit  on  the  j)art  of  those 
thus  exceptionally  favoured.  To-day 
it  may  be  said,  however,  that  there  is 
no  counti-y  where  the  bulk  of  the 
native-born  population  of  middle  age 


have  so  good  an  education.  The  log 
school-house  of  the  bush  gave  a  par- 
tial training  to  the  few  ;  but  the  better 
one  of  modern  days  has  given  a 
thoroughly  good  training  to  the  many. 
The  little  old  school-house  at  the  cross- 
roads was  generally  occupied  about 
half  the  year.  When  three  months 
were  completed,  the  teacher  could  draw 
a  dole  from  the  '  Government  Fund.' 
Sometimes  big,  rough  fellows  would 
give  the  teacher  much  trouble.  I  once 
saw  v/hat  we  little  boys  called  'a  fight ' 
between  one  of  these  roughs  and  the 
master.  At  another  time,  the  rivalrv 
between  two  neighbouring  teachers 
would  assume  a  belligerent  character, 
and  agitate  the  whole  settlement.  1 
remember  two  masters  in  Dumfries 
township  criticising  each  other's  schol- 
arship and  getting  very  hot  over  the 
i  pronunciation  of  a  word  proverbial  for 
its  coolness — '  cucumber.'  One  said 
that  it  was  pronounced  keic-cumhcr, 
and  his  opponent  was  an  ignoramus 
not  to  know  it.  The  other  upheld 
the  pronunciation  of  cow-cnmber,  and 
thought  little  indeed  of  the  scholar- 
j  ship  of  the  man  who  pronounced  it 
I  otherwise  !  Frequently,  in  such  dis- 
I  putes  the  whole  neighbourhood  took 
sides.  Happening  in  at  one  of  these 
schools,  on  one  occasion,  and  glancing 
over  the  copy-books,  where  the  master 
had  been  simultaneously  teaching 
morals  and  penmanship,  I  found  some- 
thing about  an  'evil  toung.'  The 
master,  a  successor  of  the  '  kew-oum- 
ber '  man,  knew  that  there  was  a  w  in 
tongue  somewhere;  but,  clearly,  he  had 
not  got  it  in  the  right  place. 

Thei'e  is  nothing  warmer  than  a  log 
house,  when  it  is  new,  and  well  'daub- 
ed.' I  have  myself  wrought  up  the  clay, 
and  patched  up  the  old  daubing  on  my 
father's  house.  The  first  school-houses 
were  frequently  built  with  open  fires, 
and  '  stick  chimneys.'  In  these  there 
were  no  'jambs'  to  the  fireplace  ;  and 
logs  of  variable  length  could  be  flung 
on  the  fire.  Indeed,  the  cosiest  seat  in 
the  school — so  the  little  boys  always 
thought — was  on  the  end  of  one  of  the 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


loJ) 


iogs  burning  on  the  hearth.     In  the 
•school-house,   the   boys  next   the  tire 
would  be   too  hot,  and  the  ones  next 
t,lie  door  too  cold.     But  it  was  easy  to 
.say  :  '  I'lease,  master,  can  I  warm  my- 
self t '  and  then  the  caloi  ic  equilibrium 
was  restored.     The  desks  were  boards 
fastened  against  the  walls  on  each  side ; 
and  the  benches  were  slabs  from  the 
sawmill,  raised  on  four  legs.    The  slabs 
wou.d   shrink,   and  one  or  two  of  the 
legs    would    get    loose  and  stick    up 
through  !     And  if,  as  sometimes  hap- 
pened, the  bench  had  the  extra  retiue- 
ment  of  a  middle  pair  of  pins,  it  was 
no  easy  to  get  the  middle  pins  a  little 
long,  and  the  end  ones  a  trifle  short,  so 
as   to    get  a  little  '  teetering '  on  it  ! 
The  next  improvement  was  the  short 
neck  of  a  brick  chimney,  and   '  a  Van 
Xorman  stove.'  An  enterprise,  which, 
to  our  own  modern  eye,  will  soon  be- 
come prehistoric,  was  the  iron-toundry 
on  Long  Point,  Lake  Erie.     And  it 
was  really  a   'long   point,' which  ad- 
joined  the   vicinity   1   speak  of  ;  and 
not  what  it  is  now — an  island.     But, 
thirty    years    ago,   the    'sea'     broke 
through  the  land  ;  and  it  will  j)roba- 
bly  always  remain  an  island  hereafter. 
So  with    the    peninsula    at  Toronto, 
which,  by  way  of  unconscious  projdiecy, 
was   always    called  '  The  Island.'     A 
good  many  years  since,  the  lake  broke 
through  a  gap  of  half  a  mile  or  more 
(much  to  tlie  consternation  of  the  city, 
which    feared    for    its    harbour),    and 
made  of  the  peninsula  a  veritable  '  is- 
land.'    The    bog-ore    shewn  over  the 
Long  Point  country,  in  small  boulders, 
kept  the  works  going  for  some  years  ; 
until  the  supply  ran  out.      The  '  Van 
Norman,'   stoves  manufactured  by    a 
gentleman  of  that  name,  were  noted 
for  their  honest  thickness  and  their 
endurance.     Tiiey   were    flat-topped ; 
and    'Mother  Powers'  of  the  Gover- 
nor's Road,  a  neighbour  of  ours,  had 
one  of  them  ;  and  was  said  to  bake  her 
'  buckwheats  '  on  the  top  of  it.     When 
the  cakes  wanted  turning,  it  is  said,  she 
had  one  of  her  girls  at  each  corner  to 
Hop  them  over,  so  mammoth  were  they 


in  their  proportions.  I  had  rather  a 
mathematical  mind  for  a  boy  ;  but  1 
never  could  quite  believe  the  detail.s 
of  this  cake-turning  :  the  parabolic 
curves  were  too  intricate  for  me  1 

Very  few  cook -stoves  were  in  use 
before  1840.  In  1842,  we  moved 
from  one  farm  to  another ;  and  in  our 
new  house  there  were  no  fire-places. 
So  we  rented  a  cooking  stove,  at  a  hire 
of  a  dollar  a  month,  for  a  short  time. 
Hut  getting  rid  of  the  healthy,  cheer- 
ing, open  tire,  was  not  all  clear  gain  ; 
though  certainly  it  wasa  great  conven- 
ience to  the  women,  to  have  the  stove 
for  cooking  and  baking.  Once  I  built 
my  mother  a  mud  oven  ;  and  it  made 
capital  bread  ;  but  had  I  been  ac- 
quainted with  the  mysteries  of  brick- 
making,  I  would  not  ha\e  made  the 
mistake  I  fell  into.  The  oven  was 
about  three  feet  wide,  and  three-and- 
a-hal^  long,  inside  measure.  The 
bottom  was  a  big  flat  stone,  bedded 
in  a  foundation  of  clay  and  supported 
by  short  posts.  I'he  walls  and  to{) 
were  wrought  clay.  The  front  was  of 
stones  and  old  bricks.  The  inside  was 
of  pine  bark,  neatly  rounded  ofl",  to 
support  the  arched  clay  of  the  oven. 
Now,  1  reasoned,  '  If  1  leave  that  till 
it  is  dry,  it  will  crack  and  crumble  ;  if 
I  burn  it  out  while  it  is  soft,  it  will 
be  tougher  and  better.'  So  I  tired  it 
next  morning  before  going  a  couple  of 
miles  distant,  on  an  errand  for  my 
father.  Alas,  for  my  calculations! 
When  I  retuined,  my  oven  was  down 
— a  shapeless  mass  of  wet  and  half- 
burned  clay  1  But  speedily  I  went  to 
work  again,  as  many  a  good  man  has 
done  before,  to  repair  the  disaster  ; 
and  in  a  week  or  two  my  mother  was 
baking  good  bread  anil  })ies  in  my 
oven. 

Twice  I  built  a  chimney,  and  found 
that  with  good  materials,  and  a  little 
of  the  '  plumb'  in  one's  eye,  it  was  not 
a  very  dithcult  job.  Now-a-days,  it 
would,  no  doubt,  pay  better  to  engage 
a  mason  to  do  it.  Apropos  of  chim- 
neys, my  friend,  the  Bev.  Kobert 
Brown,  told  me  a  story  of  a  neighbour 


100 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


of  his,  an  old  Jedburgh  Scotsman,  in 
the  Township  of  Lanark.  Speaking 
of  this  townsliip,  of  all  those  1  have 
been  in,  in  Upper  Canada  (some  of 
the  Lower  Canada  townships  could 
match  it),  I  have  never  seen  such  a 
superabundance  of  stones  as  there  is 
in  Lanark.  Well,  tlie  Jedburgh  man 
arrived  in  the  fall,  while  the  snow 
was  on  the  ground.  He  got  up  a  log 
shanty  in  some  sort  of  a  way,  but 
was  determined,  when  spring  came, 
to  have  a  good  roof  put  on  and  a  pro- 
per chimney  built.  But  his  great 
•trouble  was  to  know  *  If  there  wad  be 
stanes  eneuch  on  his  lot  to  "big"  a  rA?/m- 
la  /  '  The  neighbours  all  assured  him 
that  there  would  be  plenty  of  stones  ! 
Still,  his  anxiety  was  continually  ex- 
pressed in  the  phrase  : — '  He  hoped  he 
wad  find  stanes  eneuch  on  his  lot  to 
big  a  chumla !  '  When  spring  was  near, 
and  the  three  feet  of  snow  began  to 
melt,  the  heads  of  some  of  the  boul- 
ders appeared.  The  old  man  ^vas  now 
in  high  spirits.  'Aw'm  gaun  to  get 
stanes  eneuch  on  ma  lot  to  "  big"  a 
chumla  !  Aw  can  sey  that  ! '  he  ex- 
claimed. But  when  sjjring  fairly 
opened,  and  the  oceans  of  boulders 
appeared — '  Man! '  he  said  afterward, 
'  Aw  could  hae  gotten  stanes  eneuch 
on  my  lot  to  big  a  Jethart  !  '* 

One  of  the  characters  of  the  by- 
gone age  was  the  country  storekeeper. 
In  Lower  Canada  such  were  called 
'  Traders  ;'  but  in  Upper  Canada  they 
were  known  as  '  Storekeepers' — in 
legal  documents,  'Merchants.'  'After 
harvest'  was  the  pay  time  among  their 
customers  ;  which  meant — some  time 
in  the  winter  !  And  too  often  a  good 
balance  was  left  over  for  another  har- 
vest to  put  right.  It  always  appeared 
to  me  a  foolish  thing  to  live  on  the 
proceeds  of  the  '  next  harvest,'  in- 
stead of  spending  the  proceeds  of  the 
last  one  :  for,  in  the  latter  case,  the 
farmer  would  know  exactly  how  much 
he  had  to  live  on,  and  could  thus  keep 

*  Anglici :  '  Jedburgh,'  the  Scottish  Cathe- 


I    out  of  debt.      In  doing  this,  he  could 
I   also   buy   to   much   more    advantage. 
I    But   I  never  farmed    on  ni}'  own  ac- 
I   count,  and  I  never  farmed  on  a  new 
j    place,  unpaid  for,  with  a  large  family 
I   — as  many  of  our  old  neighbours  did — 
1    and  perhaps  made  too  few  allowances 
for   the    ))ressure    of    circumstance.^. 
How  well    I  can  remember   the   old- 
I    fashioned   country    store !     Cow-bells 
I    were   strung  on  a  row  of  nails  in  the 
beams  of  the  ceiling  ;  a  few  ox-bows 
hung  on  the  wall  ;  a  barrel  full  of  axe 
handles  ;  a    spinning-wheel    and   reel 
set  out  as  a  sample  of  more   in  the 
'  storehouse  ; '  a  box  of  gun-flints  on 
the  counter ;  two  pieces  of    moleskin 
trousering,  two  pieces  of  satinette,  and 
as  many  of  homespun  flannel  for  shirt- 
ing,  on   the  shelving  ;  the   barrel  of 
vinegar  behind  the  stove,  worn  bright 
with  the  boys  continually  sitting  on  it ; 
finally,  five  men  and  two  boys  continu- 
ally sitting,  in  relays,  on  the  counter, 
discussing  the  news.  Yes,  the  country 
'  store'  was  an  institution  of  itself.  And 
when  at  nightthe  horses  hitched  to  the 
opposite  fence  were  headed  homeward, 
the  same  effect  was  produced  as  the 
delivery  of  an  individual  mail-bag  at 
every   house — the  news  was  carried  I 
But  there   was,   however,   an  uncon- 
scionable amount  of    '  bad  debts'  con- 
nected with  the  storekeeping  of  those 
j    days  ;  and   no  wonder  that  the  mer- 
I    chants  must  have  succumbed  as  often 
I    as  in  later  times,  though   there   was 
then  mora  chance  of  securing  oneself, 
in   one  way  or  other.     A    merchant 
would    in    payment    take     a     '  note' 
against  somebody,   or  make  a  '  trade' 
with  someone  Ae  owed  money  to,  or 
I    take  a  yoke  of  steers,  or  an  order  on  a 
I   sawmill,  or  a  lot  of  sawlogs  ;  or  he 
I    would   '  turn'  out  a  yoke  of  oxen  and 
a  waggon,  and  then  tike  a  '  quit-claim' 
deed   for  the  '  place'  his  debtor   was 
I    on  :  there   was   always  some  way  of 
getting  a  debt !     All  the  horse-trades 
and    the    Parliamentary    candidates 
were  discussed  in  the  country  stores  ; 
and   where  there    was  not    suflScient 
room  for  the  whole  of  the  local  parlia- 


ILLUSTEATIO.YS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


161 


ment  on  the  counter,  the  rest  sat  on 
nail  kegs.  There  .vas  generally  a  scat- 
tering at  noon,  when  the  stort^keeper 
locked  up  his  stoi-e  for  an  hour  to  go 
to  his  dinner  ;  thongh  SDnietimes  ho 
left  two  of  the  most  regular  of  the 
nail-keg  *  members'  in  charge  till  he 
came  back  again.  I  never  knew  those 
temporarily  in  charge  to  do  anything 
worse  than  hel[)  themselves  to  a  fresh 
bit  of  tobacco  when  their  pipes  gave 
out. 

Some  of  the  old  residents  of  St. 
(leorge,  long  my  home,  will  remember 
old  Mr.  Kyle,  the  Scotch  storekeeper 
— '  Willie  Kyle,'  as  his  more  intimate 
friends,  forty  years  ago,  called  him. 
There  was  nothing  he  loved  so  well  as 
playing  on  the  tiddle  ;  and  many  a 
time  he  used  to  play  '  Owre  the  Moor 
amang  the  Heather,'  when  he  should 
have  been  looking  closer  after  pilfei*- 
ers.  One  winter  he  kept  a  sort  of  '  a 
black-book,'  in  which  he  entered  all 
the  losses  he  had  met  with ;  among 
the  rest,  a  bad  half-dollar  somebody 
had  palmed  oft"  on  him.  Now  let  the 
first  man  he  found  stealing  take  care  ! 
He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  him.  He 
happened  to  be  a  slouching  sort  of  fel- 
low, not  very  long  married.  Somebody 
told  Willie  that  So  and-So's  wife  was 
wearing  a  gown  of  the  same  calico  of 
that  he  had  missed.  Willie  knew  that 
it  had  not  been  bought  at  his  store, 
and  concluded  that  now  he  had  caught 
the  thief.  So  he  sat  down  and  made 
out  a  list  of  all  the  losses  he  had  met 
with  through  the  winter — the  piece  of 
print,  the  bad  half-dollar,  and  every- 
thing else.  This  done,  he  marched  off" 
three  or  four  miles  to  present  his  ac- 
count. Arriving  at  the  farm,  he  found 
the  woman  going  about  with  the  stolen 
print  on  her  back,  quite  innocent  of 
the  whole  afiaii\  The  husband  owned 
that  '  he  did  take  the  c  dico,'  but 
affirmed  that  he  had  taken  nothing 
else  ;  and  as  for  the  bad  half-d(^llar,  'he 
knew  nothing  about  that.'  But  Willie 
had  '  the  whip-hand  '  of  him  this  time. 
He  laid  down  his  ultimatum  thus  : — 
'  You  jist  pey  the  bill,  as  it  stands,  or 


you  pack  off  to  Hamilton  jcyl ! '  And 
the  bill  was  pei/d  ! 

One  night,  in  his  store,  the  con- 
vexity of  the  earth,  and  especially  of 
the  aerial  heavens,  happened  to  come 
up  in  discussion ;  and  Willie  aston- 
ished some  of  the  more  unlearned  of 
his  audience  by  declaring  that  once,  in 
Lower  Canada,  '  he  had  gone  so  far 
north,  that  he  could  not  put  a  six- 
pence between  his  head  and  the  sky  ! ' 
He  then  pau.sed  in  the  tuning  of  his 
fiddle  long  enough  to  say  that  *  there 
was  a  very  good  reason  for  it— he 
hadn't  a  sixpence  left. 

Just  here  let  me  relate,  what  scarce- 
ly belongs  to  any  other  chapter,  the 
experience  of  old  Henry  Brown,  of 
Arran,  Ontario,  in  playing  on  the  fid- 
dle. Henry  was  one  of  the  pioneers 
of  that  township,  and  in  great  demand 
at  all  '  sprees.'     He    played   entirely 

*  by  ear.'  '  Jack,'  said  he,  to  a  young 
friend  of  mine,  his  tongue  well  loos- 
ened with  recent  potations — *  Jack, 
when  you're  playing  the  fiddle,  and 
you'i'e  afraid  the  tune's  going  to  stick, 
just  think  of  the  icords,  and  lay  on  the 
bow  2)roinisciwus  ! ' 

Farmers  sometimes  became  tired  of 

*  hard  work,'  and  looked  to  store-keep- 
ing. They  did  not  always  succeed.  I 
remember  one  who  left  a  good  farm,  in- 
vested its  value  in  vilhige  premises, 
and  began  '  store.'  It  did  not  seem  to 
do.  He  added  to  it  an  unlicensed 
eclectic  medical  practice.  Still  it  did 
not  succeed.  At  last  all  was  gone, 
and  he  suddenly  disappeared.  Another 
sunk  a  large  farm,  only  to  become 
bankrupt  in  a  few  years.  I  could 
greatly  multiply  these  instances  from 
my  own  and  ray  friends'  experience, 
but  they  do  not  need  multiplying. 

A  country  dealer,  with  whom  I 
once  served  a  year,  was  drawing  a 
quart  of  tar  from  a  barrel  on  the  bal- 
cony— we  would  not  have  it  in  the 
stoi*e.  A  passing  farmer  asked,  as  he 
saw  the  amber  fluid  in  the  sunlight, 
'  Is  that  molasses,  Jim  1 '  The  dealer 
answered  in  jest,  '  yes.'  Whereupon 
the  farmer,  with  a   disregard  of  pro- 


162 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


priety  which  bore  its  own  punishment, 
crooked  his  forefinger  through  the  de- 
scending fctreani,  and  got— not  mo- 
lasses, but  something  to  make  a  wry 
mouth  at !  A  rich  farmer  was  once 
carry ing  home  a  heavy  two-gallon  jar 
of  whiskey,  which  was  cheap  in  those 
days,  when  no  '  excise  '  was  imposed. 
My  employer  decoyed  him  out  to  get 
his  advice  on  a  horse-trade  ;  while  I 
was  privately  instructed  to  cliange  his 
jar  of  whiskey  for  one  of  water.  This 
was  soon  done,  and  the  farmer  started 
home.  When  he  arrived  at  his  farm, 
«4ie  thought  he  would  take  a  drop  him- 
self, before  carrying  it  out  to  the  har- 
vest field  to  the  men.  Ho  duly  watered 
it  in  his  glass  ;  but  it  wofully  lacked 
strength.  He  poured  in  more  of  the 
liquor,  but  still  it  was  weak.  He  then 
tried  the  'pure  stuff'  itself,  only  to 
tind  that  it  was  water  !  We  long  ex- 
pected him  to  come  after  the  liquor  ; 
but  he  was  too  proud  to  do  this.  He 
was  always  fond  of  itlaying  jokes  on 
every  one  ;  and  the  feeling  that  he 
himself  had  been  made  a  victim,  was 
a  gieater  punishment  than  the  loss  of 
the  whiskey.  After  standing  under 
the  counter  for  a  month,  it  was  emp- 
tied out  into  the  yard. 

Shortly  after  this  my  employer  was 
riding  along  the  road,  and,  all  unob- 
served himst^lf,  he  saw  the  same  old 
farmer  helping  to  catch  a  fat  sheep, 
for  a  neigh  hour  who  was  '  out  of  meat,' 
and  had  agreed  to  pay  a  certain  price 
for  '  the  pick  of  the  flock.'  A.  had 
caught  a  sheep,  and  then  gave  it  to 
the  owner  of  the  Hock  to  hold,  while  he 
made  a  second  ])lunge  after  another 
that  he  thought  fatter.  As  soon  as 
A.  had  laid  hold  on  another  sheep,  B. 
saw  in  a  moment  that  it  was  inferior 
to  the  one  already  captured,  and  he 
deliberately  tumbled  himself  on  the 
grass,  and  pretended  that  the  sheep  he 
was  a  straddle  had  upset  him  !  Of 
course  A.  had  to  keep  his  second 
choice,  which  was  '  second  '  in  every 
respect. 

A  young  man  with  whom  I  was 
slightly  acquainted  was  once  '  keeping 


store  '  in  a  villagp.     In  conversation 
with  him,  I  spoke  of  the  frequent  dif- 
ficulty of  succeeding  Avith  little  capi- 
tal and  having  to  give  so  much   '  cre- 
dit ; '  and  I  instanced  cases  of  compo- 
sition with  creditors,  after  a  couple  of 
j    years'  flash  and  apparent  success.  '  O, 
j    yes,'  said  my  cool  young  friend  ;  '  O, 
:    yes,  perhaps  so ;    but  then  we  live  on 
i    the  fat  of  the  laud  in  the  meantime  !  ' 
]        In  those  days  the  young   '  bloods  ' 
I    all  rode  on   horseback  ;    now  they  go 
I    in  buggies.     A  favourite  badge — as  it 
j    might  be  called — of  the  young  country 
\    '  bloods '    of  former   days   was  a  red 
I    worsted  '  muffler,'  loosely   tied  round 
I    the  neck,  with  the  long  ends  hanging 
I    down   in  front.       Sunday   afternoons 
j    were  the  chosen  time  for  their  modern 
j    knight-errantry.       And  as  they  went 
I    by,   on   their  creaking  saddles,  with 
j    horse  curvetting  and  jirancing  (obe- 
dient to  a  sly  touch  of  the  spur  on  the 
farther  side  from  the  spectator),  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  pride  and  conceit  could 
grow  in  '  the  woods,'  as  well  as  in  the 
populous  city.      I  lemember  meeting, 
in  a  new  township,  twenty  years  after, 
one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  the  Ex- 
quisites of  my  boyhood.      But  what  a 
difi'erence  !    To  see  him  in  the  nearest 
village,  with  his  flannel  shiit-sleeves 
rolled  up,   minus  any  collar,  and  his 
general  careless  '  old  farmer  '  air,  one 
would  never  suppose  him  to  have  been 
a  '  young  blood  '  in  his  day.   Such  are 
some  of  the  revenges  of  Time  !     In- 
deed, when  a  young  man  cares  nothing 
aboutimprovinghis  mind  in  the  golden 
days  he  is  wasting,  what  remains  for 
him  in  after-life  but  the  tiiodding,  un- 
intellectual  fate  that  naturally  follows 
a  mentally-wasted  youtli. 

Nothing  is  more  interesting  for* 
elderly  people  to  look  upon  than  the 
old  arrangements  for  '  haying  and 
harvest.'  From  Fergus  and  Elora, 
north  and  north-west,  was  a  large  dis- 
trict known  as  '  the  Queen's  Bush,' 
which,  forty  or  forty-five  years  ago,  was 
only  beginning  to  be  settled.  The 
))Oor  fellows  would  come  down  into 
Dumfries  township  by  scores,  seeking 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS  OF  CA  NA  DIA  N  L IFE. 


103 


for  harvest- work,  quite  sure  they  could 
go  back  in  a  mouth  and  find  their  little 
lields  of  spring-wheat  only  just  ready 
for  cutting.  They  got  seventy-five 
cents  a  day  for  haying,  and  a  dollar 
for  wheat-harvesting  ;  in  both  cases 
with  board  added.  1  remember  one 
old  man  we  had,  I  think,  more  than 
one  harvest.  He  was  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Aberdeen,  in  Scotland. 
He  had  been  induced  by  agents  to  go 
to  South  America,  attracted  by  some 
of  Bolivar's  schemes  for  improving  his 
new  Republics,  by  getting  hold  of 
British  immigrants.  There  he  planted 
•  tatties  '  instead  of  indigo  ;  and  they 
got  dead  ripe  when  as  large  as  peas. 
His  principal  crop  C(jnsisted  of  barley, 
instead  of  maize  and  sugar-cane,  and 
it  got  ripe  in  the  *  shot-blade.'  A  fur- 
ther experience  was  his  quarrels  with 
'  the  Spaniards,'  whom  he  '  laid  round 
his  feet  like  mice/'  whether  with 
a  sword  or  a  stick  I  forget  which. 
Finally,  he  became  disgusted  with  the 
country,  and  with  Carracas  in  particu- 
lar, and  came  to  Canada.  No  sooner 
in  the  Queen's  Bush,  than  Macken- 
zie's Rebellion,  in  1837,  broke  out, 
und  our  old  friend,  true  to  his  instincts 
— always  belligerent,  if  not  'patriotic' 
— began  shaping  and  boring  a  big  dry 
idm  log  into  a  cannon,  to  help  to 
achieve  Canadian  independence  !  Some 
of  his  neighbours  got  wind  of  this,  and 
threatened  to  '  inform  '  on  him  ;  and 
he  desisted,  in  time  to  save  trouble  to 
himself. 

When  I  got  older,  we  sometimes 
did  our  own  mowing  ;  and  I  remem- 
ber well  the  sore  bones  the  first  day's 
mowing  always  gave  me.  I  learned 
afterwards,  especially  from  the  East- 
ern Township  farmers  of  Quebec,  that 
(before  they  had  mowing-machines)  it 
was  a  common  habit  with  them  only 
to  mow  half  ^  ^*y>  to  begin  on  :  they 
thus  escaped  the  sore  bones  a  first 
whole  day's  mowing  occasioned  me. 
Once  we  engaged  two  fellows  to  mow. 
Scarcely  had  they  made  a  beginning, 
when  they  begged  in  the  most  abject 
mood  for  '  some  whiskey.'     They  said 


they    '  were    always    furnished    with 
whiskey — they  could  not  work  with- 
out it.'      My   father   was  angry,  and 
said  to  me,   '  Willie,   I  suppose  you'll 
have  to  go  to  the  village  and  get  these 
fellows  a  (juart  of'  whiskey.'      '  What 
will    I   carry   it   in  ] '     '  Oh,   I   don't 
know,  ask  Sam  to  lend  you  one  of  his 
old    boots!'     However,    a    jug    was 
searched  out,   and   I   started   on   my 
mission.      On  the  way  back  I  noticed 
that  I    was   going   to  meet  a  man  on 
horseback.     Had  I  known  who  he  was 
I   should   have   dodged    under   a  low 
bridge  I  was  then  passing.      But  just 
where  the  great  viaduct  now  stands, 
on  the  Great  Western  Railway,  at  St. 
George,  I  met  the  late  Senator  Chris- 
tie, then    a  young  man,  and  my  Sun- 
day school  teacher.      I  remember  that 
I  wished  the  jug  were  small  enough  to 
go  into  my  pocket ;  in  default  of  which 
I  squeezed  it  close  to  my  body,  on  the 
side  opposite  to  him,  as  I  passed,  hop- 
:    ing    that    he    would    not    notice    it. 
,    Luckily,  he  did  not,  and  I  am  glad  to 
say    that    it    was    the    first   and    last 
I    whiskey    ever   [)rovided    for  '  hands ' 
i    on  my  father's  farm. 
!        In  those  days,  harvest  hands  talked 
!    of  being  '  bushed.'     It  literally  meant 
I    that  when  a  man  was  overcome  with 
fatigue    he    took    to    the    hush,     and 
threw    himself   under    the    shade    of 
the  trees  to  recover   himself.      From 
the  proximity  of  the  bush  everywhere, 
advantage  was  thus  often  taken  of  it, 
j    and  the  oftener,  that  in  a  field  bound- 
ed  on   two    or    three    sides  by  thick 
I    wood.s,  the  heat  was  most  suffocating, 
I    and    this    extreme    point  would    fre- 
;    quenlly   be   reached.      Moreover,    the 
I    men    were    olten    getting    u])    strifes 
j    among    themselves — which    the    far- 
mers were  not  averse  to  encoui-age — 
I    and  trying   who  could    '  cut  around 
j    another,  and  who  could  *  bush  '  one  an- 
other.    I  remember  a  man  complain- 
ing of  one  of  our  neighbours  in  this 
wise  :    *  It    ain't   quite    fair  the  way 
Friend  Day  tonuses  his  harvest-hands,' 
he  said.      '  He  comes  down  from  the 
house  and  takes  the  foremost  cradle, 


164 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


and  leads  us  such  a  dicker  for  about  ; 
an  hour  !  Of  course,  we're  bound  to  j 
keep  up  with  him,  and  he  gets  about 
double  work  out  of  us  while  it  lasts. 
And  then  he  goes  up  to  the  house,  | 
and  sits  on  the  porch,  smoking  his  j 
pipe  and  watching  us,  and  resting  for  | 
about  two  hours ;  then,  just  afore  , 
dinner,  he'll  come  down  and  give  us  j 
another  hour.     It  ain't  fair  ! ' 

Things  fit  beautifully  into  one  an-  i 
other  ;  for  just  about  the  time  that 
the  Queen's  Bush  and  its  vicinity  was 
being  cleared  up,  and  men  could  not 
9S0  well  leave  their  own  places  to  cut 
hay  and  wheat  for  us  in  Dumfries, 
the  'reaping-machine  began  to  make 
its  appeara)ice.  In  1851,  Mr.  John 
Shupe,  an  early  partner  in  the  now 
eminent  house  of  Bell  &  Son,  agricul- 
tural implement  manufacturers,  St. 
George,  came  up  to  my  father's  wheat- 
field,  more  than  once,  to  experiment 
with  a  new  '  reaper  '  he  was  invent- 
ing and  improving.  Now-a-days,  it  is 
not  altogether  a  rare  thing  to  see  an 
alert  young  woman,  with  a  riding- 
skirt,  driving  the  reaper,  while,  per- 
liaps,  her  two  brothers  are  binding, 
and  the  '  guidman  '  is  putting  up  the 
shocks — a  veritable  family  harvest- 
party. 

A  few  old  characters  of  a  former 
age  still  linger  on  the  scene.  One  of 
them  I  recall.  Grandfather  Yanevery 
by  name,  a  survivor  of  Butler's  Ran- 
gers, of  the  time  of  the  American  Re- 
volution. If  I  am  not  astray,  he  sub- 
sequently served  in  the  War  of  1812. 
He  was  '  down  '  on  the  Americans 
generally,  and  on  President  Madison 
in  particular.  He  was  never  tired  of 
repeating  anecdotes  and  narrating 
the  exploits  of  '  Cap-tain  Mac-don-akl,' 
as  he  would  shake  the  words  out  with 
his  pdsied  voice.  As  a  sample  of  the 
useless  rubbish  with  which  the  old 
man's  mind  was  filled,  he  would  often 
relate  to  us  the  following  story.  On 
one  occasion  he  found  a  companion  of 
his  rating  and  scolding  his  mother, 
just  as  if  the  old  lady  had  been  pre- 
sent.     '  I  said  to  him,'  the  garrulous 


old  man  remarked,  '  Your  mother 
must  be  dead  long  ago,  for  you  are  an 
old  man  ;  and  why  do  you  talk  about 
your  mother  in  that  way  V  '  Well, 
said  his  companion,  '  slie  used  to  tell 
me,  when  I  was  a  boy,  to  take  care 
and  not  cut  my  fingers,  but  she  never 
told  me  not  to  cut  my  tltumbs,  and 
there,  I've  gone  and  cut  my  thumb  !  ' 
Some  years  after,  I  came  across- 
an  old  man,  living  in  the  woods  in 
the  County  of  Grey,  who  had  been 
at  the  defence  of  Acre,  under  Sir 
Sidney  Smith,  when  beseiged  by  Bo- 
naparte in  1800.  He  said  that 
when  there,  he  and  a  comp<>nion  '  got 
leave,'  and  rambled  south  on  the  sea- 
shore to  the  foot  of  Mount  Carmel. 
*  Then  you  crossed  the  Kishon  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,'  I  said.  '  No, 
thei-e  was  a  little  river  just  after  we 
left  Acre  [Belus],  but  there  was  no 
other  ri\er  all  round  the  Bay  to- 
Mount  Carmel.'  We  could  not  agree 
on  the  point  at  all,  Vjut  I  afterwards 
discovered  that  the  Kishon  got  so  low- 
in  the  summer — at  least  in  modern 
times — that  no  mouth  is  visible.  It 
merely  percolates  through  bars  of  gia- 
vel  and  sand  washed  up  by  the  sea. 

John  Buckberry,  senior,  well -re- 
membered yet  about  St.  George,  told 
me,  when  1  was  a  boy,  of  the  excite- 
ment when  war  broke  out  in  1812, 
He  had  heard  the  alarming  news,  and 
was  racing  along  the  road,  on  foot,  to 
report  it  at  home,  when  he  passed  a 
field  where  an  old  neighbour  was  sow- 
ing buckwheat.  He  hailed  him  from 
the  roadside — '  The  Americau.s  ha$ 
declared  IVar  ! '  The  old  man  drop- 
ped his  seed-bag  and  held  up  his- 
hands  in  astonishment  ac  such  rash 
thoughtlessness.  '  WhatdotheymeanV 
cried  he,  '  declarin'  war  at  this  time 
o'year,  when  everybody's  busy  sowin' 
their  buckwheat  ! '  War  was  declared 
by  the  Americans  on  the  18th  of  June, 
1812. 

It  is  only  to  those  who  have  been 
away  from  a  neighbourhood  and  have 
come  again  to  visit  it,  who  can  rightly 
estimate  the  improvements  that  go  on. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


1G5 


tn  a  comparatively  new  township. 
With  one  farmer  it  may  be  a  new 
gate ;  with  another,  a  neglected  cor- 
ner cleared  up  ;  this  one,  a  bit  of  new 
and  better  fence  ;  that,  a  new  house 
or  barn,  or  a  young  orchard  set  out ;  or 
it  may  be  a  garden  enclosed,  or  some 
shade  trees  planted  in  front  ; — such 
changes  in  the  aggregate  and  added  to 
from  year  to  year,  soon  wonderfully 
alter  the  face  of  the  landscape.  And 
the  change  is  just  as  great  in  the 
towns.  For  instance,  I  rememV)er 
(ialt  as  it  was  in  1837.  South  Water 
8treet  was  a  i-ow  of  log  houses.  One 
bridge  (Main  Street),  no  dam ;  no  hy- 
draulic canal  ;  no  water  power  from 
the  river.  On  the  south-west  corner 
of  Main  and  Water  Streets  stood  a 
iittle  red-]iainted  one-storej^  '  store,' 
where  J.  K.  Andi-ews  sold  goods  and 
kept  the  post-office.  There  was  no- 
thing on  the  west  side  of  the  river 
that  I  remember,  but  the  Kirk,  the 
Queen's  Arms  Hotel,  and  the  Hon. 
William  Dickson's  house.  An  un- 
savoury green  pond  was  in  the  middle 
of  Main  Street,  crossed  by  a  new  stone 
viaduct.  The  population  was  proba- 
bly under  500.  A  year  or  two  aftei'- 
wards,  a  '  Fair'  was  instituted  in  the 
autumn.  Two  or  three  yoke  of  oxen 
might  be  sold  ;  and  I  know  a  good 
deal  of  whiskey  and  beer  were  drunk, 
and  a  good  many  mutton  pies  eaten. 
That,  at  first,  was  nearly  all  the  busi- 
ness done.  In  1844  or  184."),  Mr.  B. 
C.  Hearle,  a  little  man,  who  wore  a 
short  coat,  started  a  newspaper  in 
Gait.  Peter  Jaffray,  who  bought  him 
out,  described  his  '  plant'  to  me,  as 
consisting  chiefly  of  a  lot  of  old  worn- 
type,  which  he  thought  '  must  have 
been  in  use  since  the  war  of  1812  ! ' 
However,  Hearle  went  on  with  the 
paper  for  a  year  or  two.  It  was  called 
the  Dumfries  Courier  ;  and  in  that 
journal  I  made  my  literary  debut.  A 
'  poem,'  painfully  elaborated,  and 
dreadfully  sentimental,  was  secretly 
copied  out,  and  mailed  (postage  i},d.), 
and  in  due  time  appeared,  I  don't 
know   whether  my   parents  ever  saw 


it  ;  I  cannot  remember  that  they  did. 
My  only  confidant  was  the  late  Joseph 
Caldwell  Brown,  who  was  about  my 
own  age.  He  too,  was  '  Fame-struck  ;' 
but  he  affected  the  '  heroic'  in  ))rose. 
He  had  a  '  story' — of  the  age  of  chi- 
valry, I  remember — in  the  Brantford 
Courier,  which  ran  through  four 
weeks'  issues.  He  told  me  that  he 
got  '  dreadfully  sick  of  it'  before  he 
got  through.  The  fact  was,  he  said, 
he  had  introduced  so  oiany  characters 
he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
them  ;  and  determining  that  it  should 
not  run  on  beyond  four  weeks,  he 
made  his  hero  tumble  off  his  horse 
and  break  his  neck.  By  similar  and 
summary  process  he  got  rid  of  the 
rest  of  the  characters,  and  wound  up 
his  story  !  Mr.  Henry  Lemon,  the 
proprietor,  meeting  him  afterwards 
observed  :  '  That  the  story  wasn't 
quite  so  good  at  the  end,  as  it  was  at 
the  beginning.,  '  iVo,'  said  Brown,  de- 
murely. I  have  been  an  editor  my- 
self, and  have  since  learned  that  it  is 
always  safest  to  have  the  whole  of  a 
story  in  hand  befoi'e  inserting  any 
part  of  it  ! 

Hearle  was  determined  not  to  offend 
anybody;  and  the  Courier  was  not  only 
neutral,  but  perfectly  milk-and-water- 
ish  in  all  political  matters.  As  far  as 
it  was  concerned,  '  Duke'  Campbell's 
strictures  were  not  deserved.  The 
'  Duke '  lived  on  the  river  bank,  a 
couple  of  miles  below  Calt,  and  was 
quite  an  oracle  in  his  day.  '  Na,  na  ! ' 
he  used  to  remark,  '  Nane  o'  your 
newspapers  here  !  Ye  are  a'  in  pairties 
and  diveesions  already ;  and  if  ye  get 
&.  paper  among  ye,  ye'll  just  be  pykin' 
each  other's  een  out ! '  However,  '  the 
press '  came  in  :  and  it  has  not,  on  the 
whole,  turned  out  a  bad  thing  for  Gait ! 
The  Ucporter,  as  the  new  ])aper  was 
called,  which  succeeded  the  Courier, 
took  the  same  neutral  position  in  poli- 
tics. But  not  long  afterward.s,  when 
the  Reformer  was  started  by  Mr.  Ains- 
lie,  and  very  pronouncedly  took  up  the 
Liberal  side,  it  became  a  sort  of  neces- 
sity that   the  Ecporter  should  be   the 


166 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


Conservative  mouthpiece,  though  still 
nomirmlly  'independent.'  Both  my 
brother,  John  Anderson  Smith,  and 
myself  have,  from  time  to  time,  been 
indebted  to  the  Clalt  press  for  space, 
always  courteously  given  us — he  with 
humorous  sketches,  I  with  rhyme — 
and  for  kindly  editorial  notices. 

One  of  the  charcters  I  best  remem- 
ber was  Francis  McElroy.  lie  was,  I 
think,  a  wheelwright ;  but  started  a 
Temperance  Hotel  at  the  head  of 
Main  Sti-eet.  A  Gait  citizen  is  re- 
ported as  coming  home  from  a  Tem- 
plrance  meeting,  and  soliloquizing 
thus  :  ''  '  Yon  Frankie  McElroy  wad 
gar  a  body  believe  onything  !  There  he 
was  threepin'  [insisting,]  that  the  wine 
at  the  waddiu'  in  Cana  o'  Galilee  was 
nae  wine  ava,  but  just  a  kind  o'  treacle 
drink/!  And  the  poor  howlets  o'  Jews 
didna'  ken  nae  better,  but  gat  roarin' 
fou  on't  ! '  Frankie  was  not,  perhaps, 
altogether  unaccustomed  to  the  long 
bow  ;  as  for  instance  :  He  on  one  oc- 
casion addressed  a  party  of  us  thus — 
we  had  been  talking  of  foi-eign  coun- 
tries. '  Once  when  I  was  down  in  Texas, 
I  just  happened  to  think  how  they  used 
to  live  on  fill  sand  7nilk  in  olden  times. 
You  know  we  read  of  Abraham  and 
those  fellows  living  on  "figs  and  milk." 
Well,  I  tried  it ;— took  a  breakfast  of 
it — and  it  did  not  go  so  bad  at  all,  I 
tell  you  ! '  I  said  nothing,  but  doubted 
the  correctness  of  the  quotation,  and 
have  never  got  over  doubting  it ! 

Two  other  characters  of  those  old  days 
were  Mr.  Benn  and  Mr.  Burnett,  both 
shoemakers,  and  both  Liljerals  of  the 
most  pronounced  type ;  with  a  good 
deal  of  eloquence,  and  no  end  of  bold- 
ness and  perseverance.  They  were  a 
sad  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  aristocratic 
party.  Their  dismay  was  something 
like  that  of  the  Squire  and  family  at 
'  BracebridgeHall,'  when  the  'Eadical' 
came  to  the  village, — as  depicted  in  the 
lively  pages  of  Washington  Irving. 
One  of  these — I  think,  it  was  in  a 
Hamilton  paper  1  read  it — struggling 
with  the  Latin  proverb,  Ne  sntor  ultra 


crepidam,  got  off  the  following  (presu- 
mably original)  rendering  : — 

'  Cobblers  should  mind  their  pegs  and  awls ; 
For  they  shine  bust  when  in  their  stalls; 
On  i)oints  of  leather  they  may  dilate 
More  fitly  than  on  th(<se  of  State  ! ' 

My  own  village,  St.  George,  to 
which  I  have  often  trotted  barefoot — 
Nature's  buskins  were  fashionable  in 
those  days — was  so  small,  that  it  was 
a  standing  joke  that  immigrants  fre- 
quently went  into  the  store  or  tavern 
there,  to  ask  '  how  far  it  was  to  St. 
George  ] '  There  was  not  a  brick  nor 
a  stone  house  in  the  place ;  there 
was  not  a  sidewalk,  nor  a  church, 
nor  a  school,  nor  a  steam  engine, 
nor  a  piano  !  Dr.  Stimson  intro- 
duced the  first  piano  the  village 
could  boast  of,  and  Robert  Snowball, 
the  first  steam-engine.  I  raised  $120 
i  and  started  a  library  ;  others  have  im- 
i  proved  the  place  since.  It  is  now  one 
I  of  the  prettiest  villages  in  Ontario ; 
and  has  long  outlived  the  description 
given  of  it  by  honest  John  Macpher- 
son,  the  bootmaker,  '  This  is  ^  finished 
city  !  for  you  don't  see  any  new  houses 
going  up  and  cumbering  the  streets 
with  bricks  and  lumber. 

Brantford  had,  in  1837,  about  a 
thousand  inhabitants.  Most  of  the 
stores  were  wooden  buildings,  which 
stood  endwise  to  the  street,  with  the 
slope  of  the  roof  hidden  behind  a  bat- 
tlement en  echelon, — what  the  Scotch 
would  call  a  *  corbie-stair,' — only  of  an 
exaggerated  type.  John  A.  Wilkes  & 
Sons  and  P.  Cockshutt  were  among 
the  leading  dealers.  The  Mansion 
House,  a  great  rambling,  wooden  tav- 
ern, with  a  two-storey  veranda,  stood 
on  the  western  corner  of  the  Market- 
square  and  Colborne  Street;  only  there 
was  no  'market-square,' at  least  known 
or  used  as  such,  then.  The  Post-office 
was  in  a  little  building,  with  a  picket 
fence  and  a  small  door-yard  in  fronts 
with  an  evergreen  tree  at  each  corner 
of  it.  The  site  was  the  spot  long  occu- 
pied by  Leeming  k  Patterson,  confec- 
tioners ;  only  on  twelve  or  fifteen  feet 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


1G7 


of  a  higher  level — for  the  street  has 
since  then  been  very  much  lowered  at 
the  west  end.  It  rose,  with  about  an 
even  grade,  all  the  way  from  where 
the  Engine  house  is  now,  to  the  brink 
of  the  steep  hill  that  led  down  to  the 
bridge  over  the  river.  How  vividly 
do  I  remember  'a  young  blood,'  stuf- 
fing imaginary  letters  into  liis  coat 
tail  pockets,  and  sj)ringing  into  the 
saddle,  in  front  of  the  little  Post-office, 
and  clattering  down  the  street  on  a 
small  i>ony  that  lifted  its  feet  (juicker, 
r  think,  than  ever  I  saw  any  other 
able  to  do.  And  this,  I  was  told,  he 
did  several  times  a  day.  T^is  break- 
Jieck  course  would  be  brought  up  at 
the  Mansion  House  ;  and  on  the  way, 
of  course,  he  was,  or  imagined  he  was, 
'  the  admired  of  all  the  ladies  ! ' 
Twenty  years  after,  I  was  a  witness  in 
a  case  before  Judge  Jones,  in  the 
Courthouse.  A  man,  having  fallen 
asleep  on  one  of  the  empty  benches, 
burst  out  into  a  tremendous  bellow,  in 
some  frightful  dream.  '  Remove  that 
man,'  very  quietly  ordered  the  Judge. 
Not  at  all  as  quietly,  however,  did  the 
constable  take  hold  of  him.  '  Come 
out  o'  here,'  said  he,  roughly,  as  he 
collared  the  poor  fellow,  who  was  curl- 
ing himself  up  for  another  sleep.  He 
quickly  hustled  the  poor,  disconsolate- 
looking  ci-eature  into  the  street.  '  Who 
is  that  man  1  '  I  whispered  to  some- 
body.     '  Old  Jim ,'  answered  the 

other.  The  same  man  ;  the  Exquisite 
of  twenty  years  before  !  A  year  or 
two  after,  he  was  found  dead  in  a  dis- 
reputable den  on  Vinegar  hill.  '  0, 
Spirit  of  Wine  !  if  there  were  no  other 
name  by  which  to  know  thee,  let  me 
call  thee  Devil  !  ' 

The  printing  office,  the  only  one  in 
the  town,  that  of  the  Brantford  Cou- 
rier, was  for  many  years  in  a  wooden 
building  near  the  English  Church,  at 
the  intersection  or  some  oblique  streets 
—  nameless  then — at  least  to  the  eye 
— and  nameless  to  me  still.  The  73rd 
and  part  of  the  Oord  Highland  regi- 
ments were  a  year  or  two  in  Brant- 
ford ;  and  the  guardhouse  was  on  the 


corner  opposite  the  printing  office.  In 
May,  1840,  I  hurried  off  on  foot- 
without  shoes,  no  doubt — to  get  fifty 
posters  printed  in  Brantford  for  a  sale 
my  father  was  announcing.  I  was 
then  thirteen  years  of  age,  ver}'  small, 
and  with  little  of  self-assertion  in  my 
manner — though  with  a  tremendous 
amount  of  it  secretly  in  my  mind. 
Mr.  Lemon  was  very  kind  and  patron- 
izing ;  and  while  1  was  waiting  on  the 
'job,'  he  asked  me  if  I  could  ?-eocZ  ?  I 
was  dreadfully  annoyed  at  his  query, 
and  scarcely  knew  how  to  answer 
him.  I  who  had  stood,  at  ten  years 
old,  eighth  or  tenth  in  one  of  the  great 
Public  Schools  of  New  York  ('No.  3'), 
among  three  hundred  and  eighty  boys 
of  all  ages  !  I  to  be  asked  in  a  coun- 
try village,  '  if  I  could  read  1 '  I  got 
my  revenge,  however,  fourteen  or  fif- 
teen years  afterwards,  when  getting 
some  official  blanks  printed  at  the 
same  office.  The  proprietor  and  the 
foreman  got  up  a  discussion  as  to  what 
'L.  S.' meant,  in  the  lower  left-hand 
corner  of  the  blank  ;  and  they  both 
agreed  at  last  that  it  meant  '  Law  So- 
ciety ! '  I  took  a  note  of  it  in  my  mind, 
but  said  nothing. 

It  will  seem  odd  to  the  younger  in- 
habitants of  Brantford  to  state  that 
near  where  the  two  railways  cross,  on 
the  north  edge  of  the  city,  was  a  mill- 
pond,  supplying  power  to  a  mill  some 
distance  below.  I  once,  when  a  boy, 
wandered  out  there,  and  had  an  ex- 
citing engagement  with  a  snapping- 
turtle  that  was  sunning  himself  on  the 
bank.  And  in  18.52  I  remember  get- 
ting on  board  a  queer  flat-bottomed 
steamer — a  regular  old  tea  jjot — to  go 
to  Buffiilo.  I  was  very  glad  to  find 
that  we  changed  boats  at  Dunnville, 
for  I  did  not  think  much  of  the  sea- 
worthiness of  '  The  Queen  ' ;  which  I 
believe  was  the  name  of  the  old  scow 
I  made  the  passage  in.  Probably  the 
navigation  of  the  Grand  Eiver  (Lord 
Dorchester,  the  '  Sir  Guy  Carleton  '  of 
history,  called  it,  in  1798,  the  '  Ouse  ;' 
but  the  name  did  not  appear  to  stick), 
will  never  be  revived.    For  one  thing, 


168 


A   TIME  OF  PEACE. 


the  volume  of  water  is  immensely  less 
than  it  was.  I  spent  three  months 
on  its  banks  in  1837;  and  when  a 
three  days'  rain  storm  came,  the  river 
became  swollen  and  dark-coloured,  and 
remained  so  for  a  month.  Now,  with 
the  upper  forests  cleared  away,  it  has 
hardly  more  water  than  will  turn  a 
mill,  in  a  dry  summer.  I  was  much 
interested  in  seeing,  in  the  summer  of 
IS 37,  some  men  who  were  running  a 


pail  factory  in  Gait  pass  down  the 
rapids  above  Glenmorris,  on  a  raft, 
with  several  hundred  gaily -painted 
pails,  bound  for  Brantford.  This  could 
not  be  done  now,  except  on  the  dan- 
gerous eddies  of  a  great  freshet.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  other  streams  : 
old  mills  are  found  with  not  a  drop  of 
water  running  past  them  in  a  dry 
summer. 

(To  be  continued.) 


A   TIME   OF   PEACE. 


BY   SARAH   DOUDNEY. 


GOLDEN  leaves,  and  a  golden  day  ; 
{Lights  are  v:arm  ivhm  the  year  is  old)  ; 
Rushes  whisper  and  branches  sway. 
Gossamer  shines  and  drifts  away. 
And  the  empty  fort  is  still  and  gray  ; 
{The  river  fioifs  like  a  tide  of  gold). 

Long  ago  from  that  dim  hill  crest 

{The  year  teas  young,  and  lights  were  pale)  : 

Brake  the  thunder  that  scared  the  rest 

Out  of  the  rich  vale's  languid  breast,  . 

Till  day  died  faint  in  the  clouded  west ; 
{Bui  only  the  river  tells  the  talc). 

Golden  rays  are  about  your  face, 

{Meliow  lights  are  the  old  year's  croicii)  ;    ■ 

Come  to  the  old  war- haunted  place  ; 

Come  with  your  spell  of  peace  and  grace 

To  the  heart  where  strife  has  scarr'd  its  trace  ; 
{The  river  sings  as  the  sun  goes  d.oirn). 

Golden  ways  are  before  our  feet ; 

( While  the  year  luane^  the  rich  light  glows)  : 
Life  is  stored  with  the  garnered  wheat. 
All  the  bitter  has  turned  to  sweet, 
After  the  battle  the  rest  is  meet ; 

{The  song  goes  on  as  the  river  flows). 

— Good  Words 


STRAY  THOUGATS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


160 


STKAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


BY    J,    E.    COLJ.IXS.    TOUONTO. 


[I  shall  commit  myself  to  no  exordium  iu  preBCutiiig  the  three  subjects  I  have  chosen  for 
this  number  of  the  Canadian  Monthly.] 


II. 


WILD      GEESE,       WHENCE      THEY     COME, 
AND    WHITHER    THEY    GO. 

To  Sapcre  Aude  Club  .—In  the  upring  ive  sec 
large  Jlocks  of  wild  geese  flying  North. 
Where  is  that  North  ?  Whither  do  they  go  ? 
In  the  autumn,  large  flocks  are  seen  flying 
South — whence,  and  whither  'f  Do  you  know 
anything  about  their  haunts  !  .  .  .  .  Sports- 
man, Halifax. 

DURING  the  month  of  May  and 
through  early  June,  every  sea- 
.son,  at  various  points  through  the 
Dominion,  flocks  of  wild  geese  may 
be  seen  warping  northward.  They 
fly  with  a  regular  and  seeming  lazy 
motion,  like  travellers  who  have  jour- 
neyed, and  still  have  to  journey,  far. 
They  have  come  from  the  South,  un- 
der whose  genial  skies  they  have  spent 
their  winter.  They  are  now  winging 
their  way  towards  their  favoured 
habitations  iu  the  North,  where  the 
year  before  they  had  laid  their  eggs 
and  hatched  out  their  broods,  or  where 
they  tirst  saw  the  light.  Their  chosen 
haunts  in  tlie  north  are  usually  far 
away  from  the  abodes  of  men.  Un- 
inhabiied  regions  of  the  larger  rivers 
and  islands  in  secluded  lakes  are  their 
cliief  resorts.  They  wing  their  way 
in  large  bodies  over  long  stretches  of 
'  muskeg,'  and  the  larger  number  of 
them  seek  out  desert  islands  in  the 
lakes  of  the  great  lone  land  where  the 
the  foot  of  man  has  never  trod.  In 
the  fur  countries  their  arrival  in  spi-ing 
from    southern    latitudes   is    eagerly 


looked  for  by  the  inhabitants.  When 
the  birds  come  they  are  hunted  with 
guns,  sticks  and  stones;  killed  and  care- 
fully preserved  in  ice,  with  the  fea- 
thers on,  for  the  winter,  during  which 
rigorous  season  they  are  the  chief  food 
of  the  inhabitants.  Wary  though  the 
goose  is  at  points  along  its  passage, 
when  it  reaches  its  destination  it  seems 
to  become  bewildered,  rather  than 
startled,  at  the  approach  of  its  enemy. 

It  is  found  during  the  breeding  sea- 
son in  great  numbers  about  all  the  un- 
inhabited regions  of  the  great  rivers 
in  the  maritime  provinces,  such  as  the 
St,  John,  the  Restigouche,  and  the 
Miramichi ;  and  often  of  a  still  sum- 
mer's morning,  as  the  Indian  paddles 
his  canoe  along  the  rim  of  the  misty, 
dreamy  river,  an  unmusical  din  breaks 
through  the  stillness  upon  his  ear. 
The  watchful  bird  has  seen  his  canoe 
or  heard  his  paddle  drip,  and  set  up 
this  clamour  in  fear  for  its  callow 
brood. 

But  they  go  even  beyond  the  wild 
and  unfrequented  regions  of  Nova 
Scotia  and  New  Brunsv/ick.  In  the 
middle  of  spring,  when  a  steady  south- 
west breeze  blows  across  the  Gulf  of 
St.  Lawrence  the  wild  geese  spread 
their  wings  to  the  gale,  and  after  a, 
fly  of  from  twelve  to  twenty  hours, 
reach  the  coast  of  Newfoundland. 
During  my  boyhood,  it  was  my  delight 
in  the  spring  to  watch  from  somegreat 
clift'  for  flocks  of  geese  coming  in  from 
over  the  sea  with  a  south-west  gale. 
Often  were   my  wishes   gratified,   as, 


170 


STRAY  THOUdUTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


looking  spiiwai'd,  I  would  descry  a 
faint,  dark  object  in  the  far  blue,  re- 
semV>ling  a  tiny  crescent  cloud,  that 
each  moment  drew  nearer,  which  told 
that  the  'geese  were  coming.'  No 
one  knows  unless  he  who  has  engaged 
in  the  sjiort  of  shooting  ge^se  the  de- 
light with  which  tl)e  Hock  is  watched, 
as  it  cautiously  lowers  on  approaching 
the  land,  the  long  neck  of  each  bird 
stretched  outward  and  slanting  down, 
reconnoitring  a  temporary  resting 
l)lace.  Many  a  flock  I  have  f  een  alight 
after  its  long  flight  ;  many  an  hour 
Have  I  crept  along  over  a  plain,  hiding 
myself  from  the  gamo  by  an  inter- 
vening hummock.  Many  a  time  have 
I  crept  up  within  range  of  the  tired 
and  unsuspecting  birds,  —  and  a  proper 
'  range'  is  when  you  can  see  the  bird's 
eye, — many  a  one  devouring  the  berries 
upon  the  phiin,  after  its  wearisome 
flight,  have  1  seen  fall  from  my  gun.  The 
iirst  flock  I  ever  watched  coming  land- 
ward, lighted  about  two  miles  inland 
upon  a  wide  heath-clad  plain.  Through 
this  plain  rose  a  number  of  little 
knolls  or  hummocks,  and  the  flock 
was  eating  the  berries  that  grew  be- 
tween these.  If  I  walked  toward  them 
they  would  see  me,  and  be  off";  I  could 
have  gone  to  windward  of  them  under 
the  cover  of  a  clump  of  buslies,  but  it 
is  firmly  maintained  by  all  goose 
shooters  in  Newfoundland,  that  the 
'Anser  Canadensis'  has  the  faculty  of 
scenting.  I  struck  out  with  a  long 
single-barrelled  gun  in  which  I  had 
rammed  down  '  seven  fingers.  1 
crawled  nearly  a  mile  and  a  half,  up 
within  range.  I  was  quite  exhausted, 
and  my  red  knees  peeped  through  my 
Canadian  tweed  breeches,  I  peered 
over  the  friendly  little  hummock  and 
my  heart  bounded  with  excitement 
and  joy  as  I  saw  within  twenty  paces 
of  where  I  lay,  about  thirty  geese  stalk- 
ing over  the  heath.  They  apj)eared 
to  me  to  be  as  large  as  camels.  I  had 
before  shot  only  sea  duck  and  ptarmi- 
gan, plover  and  curlew.  My  eyes 
swam,  and  I  trembled  with  eagerness 
while  I  waited  till  they  '  got  in  drift ;' 


— 'in  drift' meaning  in  line.  Sometime;-, 
several  would  move  towards  the  posi- 
tion 1  desired,  and  would  then  spread 
out  again.  At  last  four  came  close 
together,  and  1  shut  my  eye  and  found 
the  trigger.  They  then  stretched  out 
in  line  :  my  breathing  stopped  and  I 
pulled.  The  gun  went  off" — and  so  did 
the  geese.  The  whole  charge  had  gone 
into  the  heath,  for  in  my  haste  in  £.im- 
ing  I  did  not  notice  that  the  muzzle  of 
my  gun  was  buried  two  or  three 
inches  in  the  moss  and  heather. 

In  the  early  part  of  June,  about 
eight  years  ago,  I  set  out  with  two 
companions  for  a  tour  through  a_por- 
tion  of  the  peninsula  of  Avalon,  in 
Newfoundland,  to  see  if  we  could  find 
where  the  wild  goose  hatches.  The 
weather  was  not  so  hot  there  as  it 
is  here  in  the  summer  season,  ami 
in  addition  to  this,  almost  every  day, 
huge  banks  of  fog  are  rolled  in  from 
the  ocean.  These  fogs  creep  in  like 
noiseless  armies,  shut  out  the  sun, 
smother  up  the  hills,  and  leave  you  in 
much  the  same  position  as  Jonah.  We 
had  a  guide,  however,  and  cared  not 
for  the  fogs.  It  may  be  remarked 
that  under  these  fogs  the  small  por- 
tion of  the  landscape  permitted  to  your 
ken  seems  to  be  ti'ansfigured  ;  objects 
become  magnified  to  wonderful  pro- 
portions, and  every  five  minutes,  like 
Mark  Twain  in  the  dark  room, you  find 
yourself  '  turned  round.'  Large  dis- 
tricts, in  the  interior  of  the  peninsula 
are  comprised  of  heath  and  marshes  ; 
the  marshes  being,  I  believe,  identical 
with  what  is  known  in  this  province, 
and  in  the  far  north,  by  the  dismal 
name  of  muskeg.  These  marshes 
abound  with  lakes  and  ponds  which 
are  confederated  by  little  sparkling, 
babbling  brooks,  which  you  are  gener- 
ally able  to  step  or  leap  across,  and 
which  contain  an  abundance  of  deli- 
ciously-flavoured  small  trout.  In  most 
of  the  larger  lakes  and  ponds  are  is- 
lands, and  on  these  islands,  secure  from 
man's  intrusion,  the  wild  goose  lays 
her  eggs  in  peace,  hatches  them  in 
security,  and,  when  her  brood  comes 


STRAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


out,  revels  with  tliem  in  the  cool, 
sparkling  waters,  which  in  Newfound- 
land always  s})ark]e  and  never  grow 
hot.  On  the  forenoon  of  the  second 
day  after  setting  out,  our  guide  told 
us  that  he  would  show  us  now  'where 
the  wild  goose  hatches  :'  following  his 
motions  we  crept  quietly  to  the  edge  of 
a  large  pond  —  or  small  lake  —  and 
looked  out.  In  the  centre  of  the  pond 
and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
shore  stood  an  island,  an  acre  or  more 
in  area.  C'lose  to  the  .shore  of  the  is- 
land we  saw  large  numbers  of  geese ; 
everywhere  through  the  lake  geese 
were  to  be  seen  swimming  along  with 
stately  crests,  pruning  their  feathers, 
or  washing  and  Happing  their  wings  ; 
some  were  continuously  rising  from 
the  island  and  perching  in  the  lake  or 
flying  away  out  on  the  mainland, 
while  others  were  arising  from  the  lake 
and  lighting  on  the  island  or  on  some 
pond  or  brook  near  by.  Others  again 
flew  away  beyond  our  sight,  and  anon 
a  large  flock  would  appear  on  the  edge 
of  the  horizon,  draw  nearer  and  alight 
with  the  most  unmusical  din  in  the 
lake.  I  had  a  '  double  barrel '  with  me 
and  several  times  was  strongly  tempt- 
ed to  bring  down  some  of  the  birds  as 
they  flew  soprovokingly  near  on  their 
way  back  and  forth.  Near  to  the  lake 
grew  a  small  stretch  of  forest,  and 
thither  we  decided  to  go  and  construct 
a  raft,  and  j^roceed  to  the  island  to  get 
some  of  the  eggs.  We  cut  down  some 
small,  dry  trees,  constructed  our  raft 
and  launched  it.  We  had  no  sooner 
made  oiir  appearance  with  the  catama- 
ran on  the  pond,  than  the  watchful 
birds  became  seized  with  a  general  pa- 
nic. They  rose  out  of  the  lake  in  the 
most  excited  and  awkward  way,  beat- 
ing the  water  into  foam  ;  they  rose  in 
clouds  from  the  island,  sending  forth 
a  deafening  clamour.  We  pushed  out 
amid  the  screaming  birds  and  landed. 
We  found  that  no  young  were  hatched, 
but  you  could  scarcely  make  a  step 
without  treading  upon  a  nest  of  eggs, 
each  nest  contaning  from  Ave  to  about 
thirteen  eggs,  laid  in  gravelly  clay,  and 


I   rimmed    round   in  a  slovenly  fashion 

I    with  dry  grass  and  feathers.    Some  of 

the  female  biids  let  us  go  so  close  that 

we  might  have  killed   them  with  our 

I    ])addle»,  but  we  did  not  molest  them. 

j    Many  of  them  in  rising  brushed  our  faces 

!    with  their  wings,flew  around  our  heads, 

j    their  necks  stretched  towards  us  and 

1    their  bills  open.       Their   tumultuous 

j    noise,  everywhere  in  the  air  and  about 

'    the  island,  made   it  impossible  for  us 

1    to  hear  each  other  in  ordinary  conver- 

I    sation.    We  walked  around  the  island 

I    and  found  at  every  step  a  cluster  of 

j    nests    and   clamorous  birds.       Monte 

Christo  himself  was  not  more  enraji- 

I    tured  in  his  treasure-island  than  were 

I    we.      For  myself,  I  longed  to  be  able 

I    to  carry  the  island  away  with  me.  The 

dozen  of  eggs  I  brought  away,  packed 

1    in  grass,  in  a  handkerchief,  I  hardly 

1    deemed  worth  carrying.     I  may  add, 

I    of  this  dozen  egg.s,  six  or  seven  were 

broken  on  the  way  back  :  of  the  balance 

;    which  were   put  under  a   tame  goost? 

j    with  the  latter's  own   eggs,  three  ma- 

!    tured  a    week    before   their  civilized 

I    brethren.  Of  the  three,  one  only  lived. 

It  grew  up  with  the  tame  geese,  would 

I    now   and  again  fly  away  to  the  hills 

I    and  distant  ponds,  and  then  come  back 

j    again.      It  eventually  became  so  wild 

that  I  had  to  shoot  it. 

In  October,   when   the  keen  north 

wind  begins  to  pipe   over  the   bleak 

hills,  tlje   goose,  with    her  brood  now 

full    grown,    flies    from    her  summer 

haunts  out  to  the  headlands.      Here 

!    they  remain  for  two  or  three  weeks — 

[    during  which  the  sportsman  reaps  his 

!    harvest — and  awaits   a  steady  north- 

j    east  wind.     The  steady  north-easter  is 

:    that  which  springs    slowly  up  ;  which 

!    pipes  weakly  at  first,   out  of  a  clear. 

I    cold  northern  sky,  but  which,  after  a 

day,  increases  to  what  would  be  known 

I    ontheNewfoundlandcoastas  a  '  whole- 

I    sale  breeze.'     To   this  wind   the  birds 

j    raise    their    wings,    and    steer    their 

course  from  the   high   cliffs,   out  over 

]    the  gloomy,  boundless  ocean,  for    the 

nearest  mainland  of  the  continent.      I 

have  many  times  seen  fully  flfty  birds. 


172 


STB  AY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


raise  themselves  from  the  phiins  and 
steer  their  Hight  out  over  tlie  sea  be- 
fore a  gloomy  north- east  wind.  I  have 
sat  down  upon  the  clift's  brink  and 
watched  them  till  they  faded  away,  as 
disappears  a  Hying,  tiny  cloud  Heck  in 
the  distance  ;  and  as  1  saw  them  dis- 
appear, a  feeling  of  indescribable  lone- 
liness has  come  over  me. 

'  The  frienda  who  in  our  sunshine  lived, 
When  winter  comes,  have  flown  ! ' 

The  flocks  now  beyond  the  view  were 
the  companions  of  our  summer,  but 
%vhen  the  gloomy  shadows  of  winter 
begin  to  gather  around  the  hills,  they 
fly  away  to  sunnier  climes  and  leave 
u&  While  they  tarry  across  the  way 
the  winter  winds  will  howl  over  our 
hills,  and  shipwrecking  tempests  thun- 
der around  our  coast,  while  the  ice 
floe  and  the  iceberg,  loosed  from  the 
dismal,  stormy  north,  will  bear  down 
upon  our  shores  and  shut  us  up  in  an 
icy  prison  ! 

It  sometimes  happens  that  midway 
in  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  when  the 
goose  is  on  the  autumn  return,  the 
wind  veers  round  and  blows  a  gale 
from  the  opposite  direction.  The  cap- 
tain of  a  vessel  engaged  in  trading 
across  the  (rulf  has  told  the  writer 
that,  several  years  ago,  in  the  month 
of  October,  he  left  St.  Johns,  New- 
foundland, with  a  stiff"  north-easter, 
for  a  port  across  the  Gulf.  On  the 
second  night  out  the  wind  chopped 
around  to  the  south-west,  blowing  a  gale 
from  the  new  quarter.  About  daylight 
the  crew  were  surprised  to  find  a  num- 
ber of  large  birds,  reco.i^nized  to  be  wild 
geese,  perched  on  the  rail,  the  hatch- 
way, and  the  rigtring  of  the  vessel. 
Exhaustion  and  terror  had  tamed 
them,  and  they  fell  a  prey  to  the  clubs 
of  the  crew.  They  had  left  the  New- 
foundland coast  with  a  fair  wind,  but 
midway  in  the  Gulf  the  wind  veered 
round.  E,ain  and  fog  came  with  it, 
bewildering  the  biids,  which,  rather 
than  light  in  the  sea,  perched  upon 
the  vessel,  which  happened  to  be  in 
their  track. 


the  scene  and  the  purpose  of  the 
'tempest.' 

To  Sapor  Auric  Club: -I  am  bewildired 
rcadino  sn  mant/  opinions  about  the  scene  and 
the  purjwse  of  the  '  Tempest.'  Can  your  Club 
i/ire  me  both,  with  your  reasons ;  and  other  in- 
formation on  the  play?  .  .  .  Student  of 
Shakespeare,  St.  Stephen,  N.Ji. 

To  ask  what  is  the  scene  of  the 
*  Tempest '  is  as  reasonable  as  to  ask  : 
Where  is  the  home  of  the  south  wind  I 
It  is  true,  some  literary  giants  have 
laboured  long  to  discover  the  scene, 
but  have  succeeded  only  in  enveloping 
in  deeper  mist  the  undiscoverable 
Utopia.  Malone,  for  example,  sol- 
emnly relates  that  the  storm  which 
wrecked  Sir  George  Sommers,  in  1609, 
on  the  island  of  Bermuda,  furnishes 
the  theme,  and  the  latter  island  the 
scene  of  tlie  play.  Sir  George's  ship, 
it  appears,  was  overtaken  by  a  violent 
storm,  and  fell  into  a  great  lake,  where 
the  crew  had  much  to  do  to  keep  from 
sinking.  Sir  George,  sitting  at  the 
stern  through  the  storm  and  the 
misty  spray,  espied  the  land,  which 
was  at  once  adjudged  to  be  the  dread- 
ful coast  of  the  Bermudas,  '  which 
islands  were,  of  all  nations,  supposed 
to  be  enchanted  and  inhabited  by 
witches  and  devils,  which  grew  out 
of  the  monstrous  storms,  tempests 
and  thunder-storms    near  unto  these 

islands The  ship  was  run 

right  between  two  strong  rocks,  and 
being  come  ashore,  her  company  were 
refreshed  and  cheered,  the  soil  and  air 
being  most  sweet  and  delicate.'  Had 
Malone  read  the  wanderings  of  Ulysses 
carefully,  he  would  no  doubt  have 
taken  Calypso's  island  in  preference  ; 
and  how  much  better  it  might  have 
suited  his  purpose  will  be  shown  from 
an  exti-act  I  make  from  a  ballad  by 
Mr.  Fvoberts,of  Chatham,  N.B.,  which, 
I  hope  soon  to  see  published — • 

'  The  loud  black  flight  of  the  storm  diverges, 
Over  a  spot  in  the  loud-mouthed  main, 
Where,    crowned    with  summer  and  sun, 
emerges 
An  isle  unbeaten  of  wind  or  rain.' 

In  1590,    Sir   Walter   Raleigh    pub- 


STRA  Y  TUOUOHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


178 


lished  an  account  of  Guiana,  and  spoke 
in  his  book  of  '  a  hellish  sea  for  thun-  ' 
(ler,  li<i;litning,  and  storms,  surround- 
ing the  Bermoothes,'  and  this  is  | 
tiiken  as  further  proof  that  one  of  the 
ahovc  islands  was  the  scene  of  tlie  ! 
•  Tempest.'  But  ^Ir.  Iliniter  has  dis- 
covered another  island,  not  one  of  the 
Bermudas,  but  a  neighbour  island, 
Lampedusa  to  wit,  which  lies  midway 
between  Malta  and  the  African  coast. 
He  says,  *  it  is  situated  in  a  stormy  sea, 
and  has  the  reputation  of  being  en- 
chanted. In  the  rocks  of  Lampedusa 
there  are  hollows  ; ' — and  Caliban  is 
stied  in  the  '  hard  rock  ' — '  in  Lampe- 
dusa there  was  a  hermit's  cell.  This 
cell  is  surely  the  origin  of  the  cell  of 
Prospero.'  And  to  make  the  argu- 
ment simply  overwhelming,  adds  : 
'  Caliban's  employment  was  collecting 
firewood  ;  ^lalta  is  supplied  with  fire- 
wood from  Lampedusa.'  Collins,  in 
one  of  his  demented  visitations — I  am 
glad  it  was  just  then — said  the  'Tem- 
pest' was  founded  on  an  Italian  ro- 
mance— '  Amelia  and  Isabella  ; '  that 
Shakespeare's  Frospero  was  a  chemi- 
cal necromancer  '  who  had  a  bound 
spirit  like  Ariel,  to  obey  his  call  and 
do  his  services.'  Another  writer, 
who.su  condition  was  evidently  not 
much  better  than  poor  Collins', 
says  that  the  moment  he  read  Die 
Schiine  Sidea — the  Beautiful  Sidea 
— he  '  saw  where  Shakespeare  got  the 
idea  of  his  "  Tempest."'  Others  still 
set  up  vaguer  th(!ories,  while  many  give 
the  Will  o'  the  Wisp-chase  over  in 
despair. 

If  these  contentions  are  worth  re- 
futing, by  turning  to  the  text  of  the 
play  itself,  w(!  find  that  the  '  Tempest ' 
island  is  not  one  of  the  Bermudas. 
Prospero  asks  his  mischievous  minis- 
trant  where  he  bestowed  the  King's 
ship,  and  the  answer  is — 

'  Safely  in  the  harbour 
Is  the  King's  ship ;  in  the  deep  nook  where 

once 
Thou  call'dst  me  up  at  mi(lnij,'ht  to  fetch  dew 
From  the  still-vexed  Bernioothes.'* 

*  This  is  the  old  spelling  of  Berinudivs. 


If  the  Tempest  island  were  one  of  the 
Bermudas,  why,  then,  should  Pros- 
pei-o,  when  he  wanted  '  dew,'  have  it 
fetched  from  the  '  .still-vexed  Bermu- 
das?' More  than  this,  it  would  ap- 
pear that  a  continuous  tempest  raged 
around  the  Bermudas,  while  the 
storms  around  Prospero's  island  grew 
only  when  Ariel  leavened  the  air  witli 
storm-yeast,  when  his  master  wished, 
in  short,  to  '  raise  the  wind,'  to  tor- 
ment Caliban  and  the  rude  earth-born 
gnomes,  to  amuse  himself  or  to  over- 
whelm his  enemies. 

The  scene  of  the  'Tempest '  is  about 
as  tangible  as  the  scene  of  some  tem- 
pestuous dream.  There  is  an  island  : 
its  air  is  full  of  balm,  and  the  thun- 
ders of  the  tempest  which  rage  about 
its  head  come  upon  your  ears  as  soft, 
entrancing  music.  The  entire  scene 
and  the  action  of  the  play,  the  rais- 
ing of  the  storms,  the  ministrations  of 
the  spirits,  the  swift  executions  and 
frolicsome  mirth  of  Ariel  and  his 
mischievous  subordinate  genii,  are  the 
creations  of  a  gorgeous  fancy  leaving 
the  realm  of  matter  and  plunging  in- 
to the  turmoil  of  the  supernatural. 
The  poet  needs  not  defined  substance 
from  which  to  weave  his  creation,  and, 
as  if  anticipating  his  critics  in  auoth*  r 
beautiful  drama,  tells  us — 

'  The  poet's  eye  in  fine  frenzy  rolling, 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  "earth,  from  earth 

to  heaven  : 
And  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  no- 
thing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name.' 

There  are  earth-born  figures,  Pros- 
pero, Miranda  and  the  shipwrecked 
crew,  but  they  rise  with  the  same  dis- 
tinctness out  of  the  fairy  rout  as  do 
those  figures  that  one  sometimes  .sees, 
rise  out  of  a  hazy  dream.  The  blub- 
bering, biutish  Caliban,  who  is  not 
enough  of  human,  either  to  hate  or  to 
pity,  when  removed  from  his  sty  to 
tlie  play,  is  even  tolerable.  But  it  is 
all  a  web  of  magic  weaving  ;  it  is  all 
the  product  of  the  same  imaLnnation 
that  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  king 
of  the  fairies  such  words  as  these  : 


174 


STItAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


*  Once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory,  . 

And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin  s  back,         j 

Uttering'    such    a    dulcet    and    harmonious 

breath  | 

That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song, 
And    certain    star.s   shot  madly  from  their    I 

si)heres  ,    ^  1 

To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music. '  I 

Or  that   set   Puck,   a  lesser   fairy,    \ 
bragging :  1 

'  Sometimes  lurk  T  in  gossip's  bowl  I 

In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab,  i 

And  when  she  drinks  against  her  lips  I  bob.'    1 

Perliaps  the  best  definition  of  the    i 
'  Tempest'  is,  that  the  scene  is  Dream- 
Itnd,  through  which  the  imagination    ' 
wanders  at  its  own   sweet  will ;  and    | 
that  the  whole  creation  may  be  called 
:in    exquisite     vision.        Shakespeare    j 
lived  on  the   edge  of  the  dawning  to 
the  day  of  discoveries   and  the  great 
achievements  of  science.      In  his  day 
the  material  world  was  a  mystic  world ; 
witches    had    not    ceased    to   ride  on 
broomsticks    through    the    air;    the 
dark. woods,   the   streams   and   foun- 
tains were  still  peopled  by  their  i)ecu- 
liar    sprites ;    good    and    evil    spirits 
worked  out  their  will  upon   mortals, 
*  witched  a  churn   or  dairy -pan,'  and 
everything    that    was    unexplainable 
was  less  the  Unknown  than  the  Mys- 
terious.    But  ever  and  anon   nature 
yielded  up  some  secret  stored  in  her 
bosom  from  tlie  beginning   to  patient 
study  ;  or  some  force  in   her  domain 
succumbed  to  the  more  powerful,  be- 
cause Intelligent  and  Conscious,  force 
of   man.      The   sun-gleams   of    knosv- 
ledge  shone  upon  but  a  small  area  of 
the  mystic  creation — just  the   condi- 
tion to  set  a  mind   like  Shakespere's 
yearning  for  more  knowledge,  to  set 
it  weaving  creations  out  of  unknown    i 
forces,  and  directing  and  commanding 
by  his  magic    wand    what  the   potent    | 
rod    of    Science   would    do    at    some    | 
future  day.     I   believe   Frospero  was    j 
as  much   the    ministrant  of    Shakes- 
peare's sudden  burst  of  longing  to 

'  Heave  old  ocean  and  to  wing  the  storms,' 

as  Ariel  was  the  bounden  spirit  to  do 


his  master's  bests.  So  much  of  the 
real — as  distinguished  from  the  dreamy 
— is  there,  in  my  opinion,  in  the  '  Tem- 
pest.' When  the  storm  is  done,  when 
the  lightnings  have  ceased  to  flasli, 
and  the  thunders  to  roar,  when  Ariel 
has  served  his  ajiprenticeship  out, 
when  the  island  is  to  resolve  itself  in- 
to an  unsubstantial  thing,  and  its 
characters  like  its  '  shipracking  storms 
and  direful  thunders'  to  fade  away, 
at  the  poet's  bidding,  into  nothingness, 
Pi-ospero  drowns  his  book,  and  sinks 
his  wand 

'  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound.' 

Then  we  may  be  siire  the  vision  is 
ended,  not  the  less  in  the  poet's  mind 
than  in  the  aerial  island.  The  firm 
land,  as  we  have  seen,  sinks  below  the 
sea  ;  all  that  was  upon  it  floats  oflF,  and 
the  poet  turns,  not  through  Prospero 
to  Ferdinand,  but  in  his  own  person 
to  the  audience,  to  the  world,  to  all 
who  read  his  plays,  to  tell  them  that 
he  has  only  been  in  vision-land  for  the 
past  two  houi's  ;  that  the  Prospero  of 
tlie  play  is  himself,  not  doing  what  we 
believed  we  saw  him  doing,  but  what 
the  poet  would,  in  a  fit  of  exalted 
fancy,  do  himself.  The  pageant  is 
ended,  and  the  poet  tells  us  so.  With 
the  ending  he  makes  a  solemn  pro- 
phecy. He  will  not  have  us  think 
him  solely  soothing  his  own  fancies  in 
the  rack  of  storms ;  his  vision  is  not 
less  to  show  that  he 

'  Dipt    into    the  future  far  as  human  eye 
could  see,' 

than  to  show  that  the  whole  world  is 
only  a  vision,  a  little  more  substan- 
tial than  the  '  Tempest,'  a  little  longer 
lived  : 

Our  revels  now  are  ended.  These  our  actors. 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air  : 

The    cloud-cajip'd    towers,     the  gorgeous 

palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve. 
And,  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant  faded , 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.' 


STRAY  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


THE    AUTHOR    OF     THK      'ANCIENT 
MARINER.' 

To  Saperc  AndcCluh  : — I  am  K(i  intfrcited 
■■ill  a  poem  I  do  not,  understand— the  *  Ancient 
Mariner ' — that  I  n-ould  like  to  hear  somethini/ 
about  its  Author,  and  xoni':  explanation  of  the 

poem  as  well Fuank,  St.  Andrews, 

N.B. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  was  the  son 
of  a  pedantic  fatlicr,  one  of  whose  most 
l>oasted  achievements  was  the  discovery 
thatthea,Wr////vjcase  should  becalledthe 
^/iialc  (/iiiirci/uiddili/'i',  and  who,  from 
his  haliitof  meditation,  was  known  as 
*  the  absent  man.'  As  an  instance  of 
wliat  a  man  will  do  who  goes  along 
with  his  head  in  tmbibus,  it  is  related 
that  Mrs.  Coleridge  committed  to  her 
husband,  who  was  a  vicitr,  and  was 
going  away  to  preach,  a  well-packed 
little  trunk,  asking  him  to  put  on  a 
<c-lean  shirt  every  day.  When  the  good 
parson  returned,  his  wife  opened  his 
portmanteau  to  see  the  state  of  his 
linen,  and,  lo  !  it  was  empty.  The  ab- 
sent vicar  had  obeyed  the  injunction 
of  putting  on  a  clean  shirt  every  day, 
but  he  had  always  forgotten  to  take 
ofi"  the  soiled  one.  He  sim{)ly  came 
home  with  a  half-dozen  on  at  once. 
Coleridge,  our  poet,  who  inherited  his 
father's  absent-mindedness,  at  an  early 
age,  entered  Christ's  Hospital,  Lon- 
don, where,  by  some  of  his  fellow  col- 
legiates,  he  w^as  said  to  be  a  dolt,  and 
by  others,  'a  playless  day-dreamei'.' 
He  sought  out  the  grand  and  solitary 
places  in  nature,  listening  to  the 
.soundless  voices  in  tlie  glens  and  on 
the  lonely  hills.  He  sauntered  along 
the  Strand  one  day  quite  forgetful  of 
where  he  was.  He  was  thinking  of 
the  stoiy  of  how  Leander  swam  the 
Hellespont.  In  the  fervour  of  his 
thought  he  thi-ew  his  arms,  like  the 
swimmer  throwing  aside  the  Hood,  and 
tugged  the  pocket  of  an  old  gentleman 
jiassing  along.  The  old  man  stopped, 
and,  looking  at  young  Coleridge,  ex- 
claimed, '  What,  so  young  and  so 
wicked  1 '  Coleridge  blushed,  as  lie 
always  did  when  caught  in  dreamland, 
and    exjjlained.     The  old   gentleman 


gave  the  lad   a  pass   to  a   circulating 
library    in   Cheai)side,   and   Coleiidge 
ran   through  this  at  the  rate  of  two 
volumes  a-day.       He  was  almost   as 
voracious  a  book  reader  as   Johnson, 
swooping   down    upon   a   subject  and 
consuming  the  heart  of  it.    He  hardly 
j    ever   read   the  whole  of  a  book  ;  the 
!    entrails,    bones    and    feathers,    so   to 
!    speak,  he  was  not  concerned  with.   He 
!    could     not    abide    mathematics — few 
I    poets  can — and  was  utterly  unable  to 
:    see  how    a    lino    is    'length    without 
breadth.'  '  It  must  have  .soHj.e  breadth,' 
he  said,  '  be  it   ever  so   thin.'     Leav- 
I    ing  the  Hospital,  Coleridge  was  seized 
with  a   burning  desire   to  be  a  shoe- 
maker (and  in   jjursuit  of  his  profes- 
sion would,  no  doubt, 

I        '  Compose  at  once  a  slij)i)er  and  a  son;;  ;  ") 

! 

I    then  he  wanted  to  be  a  surgeon,  and 

I  devoured  a  number  of  medical  books. 
He  was  prevailed  upon,  however,  to  en- 
ter the  University,  where  he  })lunged 
into  metaphysics  and  theology,  and 
became  an  infidel,  for  which  state 
of  belief  Mr.  Bowyer  soundly  flogged 
him  with  a  heavy  birch  stick.  That 
was  the  way  in  those  days  they  had 
of  driving  infidelity  out  of  young 
heads.  That  was  the  way  the  brutal 
apostles  of  muscular  Christianity,  a 
little  earlier,  served  the  gentle  and  sen- 
sitive Shelley.  Coleridge,  like  Shelley, 
did  not  see  his  University  term  our. 
His  debts  grew,  and  so  did  his  repug- 
nance for  the  conduct  of  the  Fellows. 
His  proud  yearning  spirit  could  be  no 
longer  restrained.  One  dark  night, 
when  the  storm  howled  drearily,  he 
fled  away  to  London.  He  spent  the 
long  night  on  a  door-step  in  Chancery 
Lane  in  a  state  of  tumultuous  feeling, 
speculating  on  his  future.  In  the 
grey  dawn  he  saw  upon  a  placard  : 
'  Wanted,  a  few  smart  lads,  for  the 
ir)th  Elliot's  Light  Dragoons.'  He 
})resented  himself  under  the  name  of 
'  Comberbach,'  and  was  enlisted.  He 
was  improvident  and  thoughtless,  but 
so  gentle  and  winning  in  his  manners 
that  he  soon  became  a  favourite  with 


17G 


STUAY  THOUallTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


the  troop ;  wrote  letters  on  business  and 
love  for  the  troopers,  toM  tlieni  stories 
of  ancient  wars,  from  Troy  dosvn,  and, 
in  ollset,  one  of  the  men,  in  liisturn, 
would  groom  Coleridge's  horse  nnd  do 
other  w-ork  about  the  stall  and  his 
accoutrements.  One  day  Captain  Ogle 
was  inspecting  the  staV)les,  and  he 
s;\w  some  pencilling  on  the  white  wall 
which  caught  Ids  eye.  The  words 
were  the  well  known  :  Ehni .'  qiiam  in- 
fo} tunii  miserrimum  cstjuisi^e  Jclicem.* 
He  learnt  who  wrote  the  words  and 
appointed  the  writer  his  orderly.  In 
«  the  streets  Coleridge  rode  behind  the 
officer,  but  in  the  by-roads  they  rode 
side  by  side.  A  young  graduate  sub- 
sequently passing  through  to  join  his 
legiment  saw  Coleridge  and  recog- 
nised him.     Thus  he  was  delivered. 

Then  Coleridge  joined  Southey  and 
went  to  Bristol,  where  the  two  young 
poets  plunged  into  the  stormy  turmoil 
of  politics  ;  they  revelled  here  in  many 
fond  day-dreams,  one  of  which  was  to 
form  a  settlement  in  the  wilds  of 
America,  whose  second  generation 
should  combine  the  innocence  of  the 
patriarchal  age  with  the  knowledge 
and  refinement  of  the  '  foremost  fyles 
of  time.'  Susquehanna  was  tlie  chosen 
I)aradise.  because  the  name  was  '  pretty 
and  metrical.'  Two  years  later  Cole- 
ridge, tlien  in  his  twenty-tifth  year, 
joined  Wordsworth  at  the  latter's 
charming  abode  in  All-Foxden.  All- 
Foxden  was  a  romantic  dell  nestling 
among  the  lakes,  far  away  from  the 
pi'osy  mercantile  worUI.  it  was  licre 
Wordsworth  used  to  be  seen  roaming 
about  on  moonlight  nights,  '  mutter-* 
ing'  strange  things.  The  ignorant 
people  living  through  the  wilds  saw 
the  tall  mysterious  man  gliding  up  the 
hills  and  down  the  dales  at  midnight, 
and  they  marvelled  much.  Some  said 
he  was  a  wizard,  and  that  they  heard 
him  '  say  over  a  lot  of  gibberish  to 
himself  ;  '  others  maintained  that  he 
was  the  agent  of  bands  of  srauggleis 


*  Alas !    Most  mieerabl*:    of   all  to  have 
been  once  happy. 


who  plied  their.  ti*ade  down  on  the 
coast  of  the  Irish  Sea.  Tiiis  was  just 
the  )>lace  for  Coleridge.  He  devoured 
Wordsworth's  library  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  then  began  to  dream  over  his 
darling  subject.  Then  the  two  poets 
projecte<l  a  bonk  to  be  called  '  Lyrical 
Ballads.'  Coleridge,  following  the 
bent  of  his  desires,  was  to  write  on 
subjects  of  a  supernatural,  mystical 
character ;  Wordsworth  was  to  0[)eu 
up  the  wonders  and  loveliness  of  n  i- 
ture  spread  before  us,  and  haunt  the 
dells  and  woods  for  subjects  and  for 
inspiration.  This  book  contained  sonu) 
beautiful  verse  and  some  vajjid,  silly 
stuff.  The  egotism  in  some  of  the 
Wordsworthian  poems  coidd  only  be 
excused  in  the  light  of  the  simplicity 
and  candour  of  their  author's  charac- 
ter.    In  the  book  appeared 

'  THE    ANXIENT    MARINER.' 

When  this  poem  came  out,  it  created 
an  impression  of  wonder  and  awe,  and 
was  described  by  souie  critics  as  an 
example  of  the  '  wonderful  incomplete- 
ness '  of  all  its  author's  works.  Shortly 
after  the  appearance  of  the  poem,  the 
following  lamjioon  appeared  in  the 
Mornhxj  Post,  addressed  to  the  Au- 
thor of  '  The  Ancient  Mariner  '  : 

*  Your  poem  must  eternal  be 
Dear  Sir,  it  cannot  fail ; 
ft  is  incomprehensible, 
Without  either  head  or  tail.' 

A  shallow  fellow  happening  to  observe 
the  lines  saw  his  way  at  once  to  no- 
tice. He  called  upon  Coleridge,  whom 
he  found  at  the  lawn  gate,  and  being 
bidden  by  the  poet  to  come  in,  blushed, 
and  stammered.  '  I  cannot  enter  your 
door,'  said  the  coxcomb,  arranging  his 
curls,  '  till  I  confess  my  offence  against 
you.'  The  poet  listened.  '  I  do  a 
little  in  the  poetical  line  myself,'  rais- 
ing his  brows,  and  looking  wise  about 
the  mouth  and  eyes, — '  inclinations 
that  way.  I  will  speak  out.  Will 
you  forgive  me  for  the  lampoon  in  the 
Morning  Fost  on  your  "  Ancient 
Mariner  1 "  I  admire  your  poem,  be- 
lieve me  I  do ;  but  the  temptation  of 


STRA  Y  THOUGHTS  AT  RANDOM  STRUNG. 


177 


the  lines  was  too  much  for  nie.'  *  Make 
your  mind  easy,'  said  the  poet.  '  1 
readily  forgive  you,  for  I  wrote  that 
j)oein  myself  ! '  While  pointing  out  the 
plot  and  some  of  the  beauties  of  this 
singularly  weird  poem,  in  compliance 
with  request,  I  shall  endeavour  to 
show  that  though  the  movement  and 
make-up  are  supernatui-al,  the  poem  is 
not  '  without  either  head  or  tail.'  The 
poem  opens  with  a  meeting  between 
an  old  weird-looking  man,  with  bright 
eyes,  who  is  the  Ancient  Mariner,  and 
three  gallants  who  were  hurrying  by 
to  a  marriage  feast.  The  '  turn  '  has 
come  upon  the  old  man — it  comes 
upon  him  at  stated  times — and  he 
must  relate  with  all  its  horror  the 
'  story,'  though  '  the  bridegroom's 
doors  are  opened  wide,'  and  he  of  the 
three  whom  the  old  man  holds  to  hear 
his  tale  is  'next  of  kin.'  Thus  the 
story  begins  : 

*  The  ship  was  cheered,  the  harbour  cleared, 
Merrily  did  we  drop, 
Below  the  kirk,  below  the  hill, 
Below  the  lighthouse  top.' 

Then  the  south  '  storm  blast '  came  on 
and  chased  the  ship,  which  flew  at 
gi'eat  speed  through  the  waters.  Far 
down  in  the  south 

.  .  .  '  Came  both  mist  and  snow, 

And  it  grew  wondrous  cold, 
And  the  ice  mast  high  came  floating  by, 

As  green  as  emerald. ' 

But  this  is  all  mere  narrative.  In  the 
following  stanza  the  purpose  of  the 
poem  shows  itself  : 

'  At  length  did  cross  an  Albatross, 
Through  the  fog  it  came, 
As  if  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul,| 
We  hailed  it  in  God's  name.' 

This  was  the  first,  the  only,  kindly 
thing  met  near  the  dismal  Southern 
pole.  It  was  a  friendly  bird  flying 
along  with  the  ship  and  causing  a 
south  wind  to  spring  up  to  bear  the 
vessel  back  again  to  the  North. 

'  In  mist  or  cloud,  or  mast  or  shroud, 
It  perched  for  vespers  nine  ; 
While  all  the    night,    through  fog-smoke 
white, 
Glimmered  the  white  moonshine.' 


When  the  old  man  had  told  his  story 
thus  far,  there  came  a  frightful  look 
in  his  glistening  eye,  and  the  wedding 
guest  exclaimed  : 

'  (iod  save  the  ancient  mariner  ! 
From  the  fiends  that  plague  thee  thus  ; 
Why  lookest  thou  so  V  ' 

The  answer  comes — 

'  With  my  cross-bow 

I  shot  the  Albatross.' 

This  is  the  turning  point  of  the 
poem.  The  moment  the  Ancient 
Mariner  shot  the  auspicious  minis- 
tering bird,  a  curse  follows  the  ship. 
All  the  horrors  are  evolved  out  of  the 
retribution  for  this  rash  deed. 

'  And  I  had  done  a  hellish  thing. 

And  it  would  work  "em  woe. 
For  all  averred  I  had  killed  the  bird, 
i  hat  made  the  breeze  to  blow. ' 

The  horrors  have  not  yet  com- 
menced, but  they  tarry  not  long. 

•  Down  dropt  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropt  down, 
'Twas  sad  as  sad  could  be, 
And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea.' 

The  bloody  sun  streamed  down  up- 
on the  boundless,  sultry  sea,  and 

'  Day  after  day,  day  after  day, 

We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion; 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship. 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 

'  The  very  deep  did  rot :  O  Christ  I 
That  ever  this  should  be. 
Yea,  slimy  things  did  crawl  with  legs 
UlJon  the  slimy  sea.' 

Then  the  crew  began  to  die.  They 
dropped,  one  by  one,  of  sun  and  thirst, 
till  none  was  left  but  the  Ancient 
Mariner.  A  wierd  phantom  ship 
looms  up  in  the  horrid  sea  ;  her  sails 
glance  in  the  sun  like  '  restless  gossa- 
meres,'  and  the  sun  peers  through  her 
ribs  as  through  a  grate.  There  were 
only  two  on  board  of  the  ghastly  ship 
as  she  came  up,  the  one  a  woman — 

'  Her  skin  was  as  white  as  leprosy. 
The  Nightmare  Life-in-Death  was  she. 
Who  thicks  man's  blood  with  cold.' 

She   threw   dice    for   the  Ancient 


178 

Mariner  as  the  phantom   ship  glided 
by- 

'  The  gume  is  done,  I've  won,  I've  won, 
Quoth  she  and  wldstles  thrice.' 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  dreadful 
surroundings,  the  unhappy  man  gets  a 
j^limpse  of  God's  creatures  of  the  calm. 
Those  who  have  ever  seen,  under  the 
moonlight,  fishes  breaking  water  in  a 
])hosphorescent  sea  can  appreciate 
these  stanzas,  which  are  not  less  true 
to  nature  than  unspeakably  beautiful : 

,'  Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship, 
I  watched  the  water  snakes, 
They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 
And  when  they  reared,  the  elfish  light 
Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes.' 

And 

'  Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
I  watched  their  rich  attire. 
Blue,  glossj'  green  and  velvet  black, 
They  coiled  and  swam,  and  every  track 
Was  a  flash  of  golden  fire. ' 

The  spell  was  soon  to  break.  The 
man  had  been  sufficiently  punished 
for  his  cruelty  in  shooting  the  alba- 
tross. A  pilot's  skiff,  with  a  hermit 
on  board,  comes  to  the  ship  and  takes 


A  SUMMER  WALK. 


off  the  tortured  wretch.  To  the  her- 
mit the  man  tells  his  tale  and  gets  re- 
lief, but  ever  after  in  his  life  the  de- 
sire came  on,  at  certain  times,  and  he 
had  not  the  power  to  resist  telling  the 
story,  though  the  torture  to  him  was 
in  the  recital.  This  then  is  the  su- 
pernatural part  of  the  poem,  and  I 
think  I  have  shown  it  has  '  head  and 
tail.'  But  all  this  has  only  been  the 
story  in  the  Ancient  Mariner's  mouth. 
This  stanza  seems  more  as  if  spoken 
by  Coleridge  himself  : 

'  0,  wedding  guest,  this  soul  hath  been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea, 
So  lonely  'twas  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be.' 

There  is  remorse  for  some  wanton 
injub'^'ce,  and  it  weaves  the  imaginary 
web  of  torments  and  horrors  related. 
In  other  words,  the  poem  is  one  of 
Coleridge's  day-dreams,  and  not  un- 
like the  night-dreams  with  which 
those  are  haunted  who  tarry  late  over 
the  bancjuet  board,  the  only  difference 
being  that  Coleridge's  dream  came  out 
of  the  fullness  of  his  fancy,  while 
those  of  the  late  banqueters  come  out 
of  the  fulness  of  their  stomachs. 


A   SUMMEK    WALK, 


BY   E.  A.  SYKES,  TORONTO. 


AWAY  from  the  old  farm-house. 
Past  busy,  whirring  mill. 
Into  the  quiet  meadows. 

Where  children  stray  at  will.' 


Gathering  the  wild  field  daisies, 
Or  shining  '  golden  thread,' 

Crushing  its  starry  blossoms, 
'Neath  easrer,  careless  tread. 


A  SUMMER  WALK. 

Greeting  with  joyous  laughter, 

Each  tiny  floweret  fair, 
Alas  !  how  soon  to  wither, 

On  perfumed  Summer  air. 

Along  the  mill-race  margin, 
Whose  deep,  still  waters  flow, 

With  scarce  a  stir  or  ripple, 
Into  the  stream  below. 

Glancing  through  shady  vistas, 
Where  sunlight  glimmers  down, 

Waving  bars  of  tarnished  gold 
On  fallen  leaflets  brown. 

Resting  in  cool,  grey  shadow. 
On  fern-clad,  mossy  bed  ; 

The  gentle  breezes  whispering, 
'Mid  leafy  boughs  o'erhead. 

Deep  in  the  forest  stillness. 
The  lonely  mill-pond  lies, 

A  fairy  lakelet  gleaming, 
'Neath  sunny,  smiling  skie?. 

Circled  by  drooping  foliage, 
Half  veiled  in  purple  mist ; 

Mirroring  sunset  glories. 

By  trembling  shadows  kiss'd. 

No  sound  to  break  the  silence 

Save  music  of  the  rill. 
The  notes  of  woodland  songster, 

Or  hum  of  distant  mill. 

The  sheep-bell's  merry  tinkle 
Falls  faintly  on  the  ear  ; 

Anon,  with  silvery  cadence, 
Ee-echoes  soft  and  clear. 

And  now  the  twilight  falling. 
On  long,  sweet  summer  day, 

Reminds  our  lingering  footsteps 
To  haste  their  homeward  way. 

Our  wearied  spirits  rested, 
By  Nature's  smiling  face. 

Reflecting  God's  great  goodness, 
In  beauteous,  loving  grace. 


179 


180 


THE  TABOO  OF  STRONG  DRINK. 


THE  TABOO  OF  STRONG  DRINK. 


BY  r.   BLAKE  CROFTOX. 


II. 


THE  Rev.  George  W.  Hodgson  has 
at  least  shown  that  the  cause  of 
prohibition  can  be  defended,  and  clev- 
erly defended,  with  modesty  and  j)0- 
liteness,  and  candour  and  charity.  He 
■wishes  that  the  question  should  be 
ventilated,  as  its  importance  deserves, 
in  order  that  its  settlement  may  be 
wise  and  permanent.  He  is  not  of 
those  who  try  to  stifle  opposition  by 
misinterpreting  the  motives  of  oppo- 
nents, or  of  those  who  bid  for  the  ap- 
plause of  the  populace  by  sophistries 
that  they  know  to  be  sophistries. 

It  is  therefore  a  sincere  gratification 
to  me  that  Mr.  Hodgson  admits  so 
many  of  my  propositions.  He  grants 
'  that  to  protect  a  man  against  himself 
is  meddling  legislation,  and  therefore 
inexpedient  and  hurtful,'  and  '  that  it 
is  generally  wiser  in  legislation  to 
leave  out  the  consideration  of  the  end- 
less and  complex  indirect  claims  of 
society.'  But  he  considers  these  prin- 
ciples no  arguments  against  prohib- 
ition, because  the  ill  efiects  of  intem- 
perance are  not  '  at  all  confined  to 
those  who  do  wrong,'  and  because  '  the 
ills  resulting  to  others  from  the  intem- 
perate man's  conduct '  are  not  '  in  any 
sense  indirect.' 

Of  course  I  admit  that  the  ill  effects 
of  intemperance  are  not  confined  to 
the  intemperate.  Neither  are  the  ill 
effects  of  opium  or  candy-eating,  of 
over-smoking,  of  tight-lacing,  of  sen- 
sual indulgences,  of  non-libellous  false- 
hoods— of  the  various  bad  habits  that 
paternal  lawgivers  have  fondly  sought 
or  may  fondly  seek  to  legislate  out  of 
existence — at  all  confined  to  the  sin- 
ners.    In  some  cases  the  worst  conse- 


quences of  their  vices  fall  on  their  in- 
nocent offsi)ring.  Besides,  all  such 
habits  are  infectious.  Yet  all  sins 
diredltj  affecting  the  doer  only  should, 
it  seems  to  me,  be  kept  under  by  moral 
agencies,  by  education,  good  example, 
entreaty,  indignation,  ridicule  —  ta- 
booed by  religion  and  society,  not  by 
the  law. 

But  there  are  'ills  resulting  to  others 
from  the  intemperate  man's  conduct,' 
that  are  'in  no  sense  indirect.'  The 
aggressions  of  the  drunkard  on  the 
comfort  of  his  neighbours  are  indeed 
direct  and  concrete  enough  to  call  for 
legal  restraint  ;  sometimes  serious 
enough  to  require  the  sternest  and 
most  deterrent  penalties  allowed  by 
civilization.  The  liquor  ti^atfic,  directly, 
produces  some  intemperate  drinkers  ; 
these  intemperate  drinkers  do  some 
direct  harm  to  othei's  ;  but  the  liquor 
trafiic,  it  seems  to  me,  directly  injures 
only  the  drinkers  themselves.  In  other 
words,  the  direct  injuries  of  drinking 
falls  on  willing  victims  only,  the  direct 
injuries  of  drunkenness  on  unwilling 
victims  also.  Therefore,  I  believe  in 
applying  the  screw  to  drunkenness 
leather  than  to  drinking  generally. 

But  Mr.  Hodgson  points  out  that 
*  indifferent '  actions  have  to  be  pro- 
hibited, as  for  instance,  catching  fish 
out  of  season,  lighting  tires  in  the 
woods  at  certain  times  of  the  year,  or 
letting  one's  cattle  roam  at  large. 
Legislators  seldom  create,  perhaps 
never  should  create,  these  '  mala  pro- 
hihita '  save  where  the  nuisance  is  posi- 
tive, not  contingent ;  or  where  the 
dangers  of  not  curtailing  liberty  over- 
whelmingly overweigh  the  inconveni- 


THE  TABOO  OF  STRONG  DRINK. 


181 


ences  of  curtailing  it,  in  the  minds  not 
only  of  the  legislators,  but  also  of  the 
community.  Letting  one's  cow  roam 
at  large  is  an  action  of  the  former 
class.  Catching  fish  or  lighting  fires 
in  the  woods  at  certain  seasons  are 
actions  of  the  latter  class  —  much  more 
clearly  so  than  drinking  strong  drink, 
as  is  proved  by  the  lack  of  intelligent 
hostility  to  their  prohibiti(m.  The 
greater  the  numbers  and  respectability 
of  unbelievers  in  a  statute,  the  fainter 
naturally  will  be  the  stigma  attaching 
to  convictions  under  it.  Yet  I  see 
now  that  one  horn  of  my  dilemma  was 
rather  blunt  :  a  wdl-oiforced  Prohibi- 
tory Act  would  not  materially  'sap  the 
sanctity  and  majesty  of  law,'  for  when 
a  Prohibitory  Act  is  well  enforced,  it 
will  be  by  a  majority  imposing  enough 
to  support  the  judgment  of  the  law  by 
the  more  dreaded  judgment  of  society. 
'  Does  the  evil  directly  resulting  to  the 
whole  community  from-  the  liquor  traffic 
outn-eijh  any  possible  good  coming  from 
it  ?  If  this  question  can  be  answered 
in  the  affirmative,'  says  Mr.  Hodgson, 
'  it  gives  the  True  Basis  for  Prohi- 
BiTiox.'  '  It  appears  to  me  that  the 
question  narrows  itself  down  to  this 
issue, '  he  says,  in  another  paragraph , '  or, 
at  least,  that  this  is  the  first  and  main 
issue.  If  it  can  be  shown  that  the 
facts  are  as  above  stated  '  (that  the 
evil  resulting  to  the  whole  community 
from  the  conduct  of  those  who  drink  to 
excess  '  outweighs  any  possible  advan- 
tage that  the  community  can  gain 
from  unrestricted  liberty  in  this  par- 
ticular ')  '  then  prohibition  becomes  an 
act  of  enlightened  policy.' 

This  conclusion  seems  unwarranted. 
Because  a  practice  does  more  harm 
than  good,  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
its  statutory  jirohibition  does  more  good 
than  harm.  A  cure  may  he  ivorse  than 
a  disease.  There  are  therapeutic  agents 
that  induce  maladies  worse  than  those 
they  heal.  Granted  that  Ireland  is 
chronically  discontented  and  turbu- 
lent, the  Imperial  Government  would 
not,  therefore,  be  justified  in  efi'ectu- 
ally  stamping  out  the  turbluence  and 


discontent  by  converting  the  island 
into  a  tranquil  wilderness.  The  Im- 
perial Government,  accordingly,  feels 
bound  to  go  on  trying  less  thorough 
and  less  arbitrary  expedients. 

Pi'obably  the  liquor  traffic  (as  it  is 
at  present  conducted  in  this  country 
and  some  others,  thanks  lai-gely  to  the 
uncompromising  attitude  of  most  pro- 
i  hibitionists),  does  entail  more  evil  than 
good,  more  pain  than  pleasure,  to  the 
community  as  a  whole.  But  this  is 
an  argument  only  that  an  efficient  and 
proper  cure  is  desirable  ;  not  that  my 
cure  or  your  cure  is  either  an  efficient 
or  a  proper  one. 

If  the  evils  and  danger  of  prohibi- 
tion were  confined  to  inconveniencing 
moderate  drinkers,  or  sometimes  im- 
pairing their  sleep  or  their  digestion, 
the  desirability  of  adopting  this  par- 
ticular remedy  might  be  granted. 
These  minor  hardships,  though  cer- 
tainly deserving  consideration,  are 
probably  over  weighed  by  the  evils  of 
the  liquor  traffic.  But  I  submit  that 
prohibition,  if  it  did  prohibit,  would 
be  too  hurtful  and  dangerous  an  agent 
to  employ,  for  the  various  reasons 
spcified  in  my  former  article,  only  a 
feio  of  which  Mr.  Hodgson  has  dis- 
2'mted. 

The  strictness  with  which  a  general 
prohibitory  law  would  be  enforced 
would  naturally  depend  upon  the 
numbers  and  sincerity  of  the  ma- 
jority who  would  have  spoken  and 
voted  for  it.  My  forecast  of  the  fu- 
ture is,  however,  very  different  from 
Mr.  Hodgson's.  A  grand  reaction  set 
in,  in  Great  Britain  and  America, 
against  the  notorious  intemperance  of 
our  fathers.  This  movement,  after  the 
manner  of  moral  and  political  revolu- 
tions, has,  in  my  opinion,  gone  too  far 
in  some  directions  from  excess  of  zeal. 
The  prohibitory  agitation  in  which 
Mr.  Hodgson  shares,  and  the  rabid 
intolerance  of  moderate  drinking  in 
which  Mi\  Hodgson  does  not  share, 
are,  from  my  stand -point,  extravagant 
and  transient  outgrowths  of  the  great 
reaction. 


182 


THE  TABOO  OF  STRONG  DRINK. 


The  counter  reaction  is  beginning 
now.  Tlie  natural  assumption,  I  still 
claim,  is  that  most  of  the  '  inert  ma- 
jority '  who  did  not  vote  for  or  against 
the  Scott  Act  in  the  Maritime  Pro- 
vinces belonged  to  the  unroused  and 
uncanvassed  party.  Mr.  Hodgson 
knows  some  cases  where  *  the  very 
absence  of  opposition  made  it  ditRcult 
to  awaken  enough  interest  to  induce 
voters  to  come  forward.'  But  in  many 
more  cases  the  hopelessness  of  an  un- 
organized party's  succeeding,  or  the 
fear  of  social  and  business  persecu- 
tk)n,  kept  others  from  the  polls— and 
no  workers  tried  to  rouse  these  voters 
from  their  inaction. 

Even  if  Mr.  Hodgson  is  right,  he 
dwells  too  much  on  the  state  of  feel- 
ing in  these  Provinces.  The  history 
of  the  Scott  Act  elections  in  the 
wealthier  and  more  intelligent  Pro- 
vinces of  Ontario  is  another  and  a 
more  important  history.  Dundreary 
observed  that  the  dog  wagged  its  tail, 
instead  of  the  tail's  wagging  the  dog, 
because  the  dog  was  stronger  than  the 
tail.  For  a  similar  reason  Ontario, 
with  the  city  of  Montreal,  will  even- 
tually wag  this  Dominion  in  matters 
of  opinion.  To  tell  which  of  two  par- 
ties will  be  the  more  numerous  a  score 
of  years  hence,  it  is  more  important 
to  estimate  their  wealth  and  intel- 
ligence than  their  present  numbers. 
The  feeling  of  New  York  and  Massa- 
chusetts and  Pennsylvania  on  a  ques- 
tion involving  no  local  interest  is  more 
likely  to  change  the  feeling  of  the  rest 
of  the  Union,  than  the  feeling  of  the 
rest  of  the  Union  is  to  change  the  feel- 
ing of  these  States ;  and  what  these 
States  are  to  the  Union  Ontario  is  to 
the  Dominion. 

At  present  I  know  of  no  Christian 
country,  or  even  county,  where  prohi- 
bition is  satisfactorily  enforced.  Ru- 
mour says  that  the  Scott  Act  is  en- 
forced in  Charlottetown  as  well,  if  not 
better,  than  it  is  anywhere  else — pos- 
sibly owing  to  the  large  personal  in- 
fluence of  Mr.  Hodgson  himself.     Yet 


I  find  this  paragraph  in  the  Halifax 
Recorder  of  January  1 9  : — 

'  The  following,  from  the  Charlottetown 
Patriot  of  Tuesda}',  seemg  to  give  the  experi- 
ence of  the  Scott  Act,  wherever  introduced. 
Our  contemporary  says  : 

"  The  sad  aiid  sober  truth  is  that  the  Scott  Act 
is  workinjr  very  badly  in  this  city,— in  fact  it  is 
not  working  at  all." 

'  In  most  cases,  its  introduction  and  "  car- 
rying "  seems  to  be  regarded  as  a  joke.' 

Mr.  Hodgson  declares  that  total 
abstinence,  so  far  as  he  can  see,  is  no- 
where commanded  in  the  Bible  ;  and 
evidently  further  agrees  with  me  that 
the  founders  of  Christianity  probably 
drank  alcoholic  wine.  If  we  ai-e  right 
in  this  belief,  is  not  a  prohibitory  law 
a  condemnation  of,  or  a  reflection  up- 
on, the  conduct  of  the  founders  of 
Christianity  ?  This  is,  of  course,  only 
an  argumentum  ad  Jideni,  and  can 
have  no  weight  with  unbelievers.  Mr. 
Hodgson  properly  calls  it  absurd  to 
talk  of  the  total  abstainer  *  giving  up 
his  Christian  liberty.' 

'  The  asserted  analogies  between  prohibi- 
tion, sum])tuary  laws,  and  religious  perse- 
cution, will  hardly  bear  examination.  Their 
superiicial  likeness  suggests  a  misleading 
comparison. 

'  Keligious  persecution,  when  not  directed 
against  opinion  alone,  deals  with  conduct  on 
account  of  the  spiritual  or  eternal  consequen- 
ces supposed  to  residt  from  it.  These  conse- 
quences, being  wholly  outside  of  the  range  of 
the  legislator's  action,  his  interference  is  vm- 
justifiable.' 

Eternal  evils  are  not  more  outside 
the  proper  range  of  the  legislator's 
action  than  are  those  temporal  evils 
that  an  individual  Itrings  on  himself  ; 
while  the  lawgiver  has  a  much  stronger 
excuse  for  usurping  jurisdiction  in  a 
merciful  efibrt  to  lessen  the  former 
than  the  latter  evils. 

*  Sumptuary  laws,'  says  Mr.  Hodg- 
son, '  attempted  to  deal  with  one  par- 
ticular evil,  extravagant  expenditure.' 
I  may  have  used  the  expression,  but 
I  do  not  recollect  saying  much  about 
sumptuary  laws.  My  analogous  cases 
(adduced  to  show  the  danger  of  admit- 
ting thrtt  the  baneful  abuse  of  a  thing 
justified    the    prohibition    of  its   use) 


AMARANTHUS. 


183 


included  many  other  evils  besides  ex- 
travagance and  waste. 

*  Suppose  that  word  were  to  go  out 
to- morrow  that  a  prohibitory  law,  cer- 
tain of  enforcement,  would  at  once  go 
into  operation.  Would  not  that  an- 
nouncement cause  more  joy  and  hap- 
piness fi  om  one  end  of  the  land  to  the 
other  than  almost  any  other  conceiv- 
able news  1  *  *  •  *  The 
intense  relief  the  country  would  expe- 
rience would  be  such  as  one  feels  who 
awakes  to  the  consciousness  of  safety 
after  a  horrible  nightmare.' 

There  would  certainly  be  a  pretty 
general  sense  of  relief  and  repose.  But 
a  very  similar  feeling  would  result 
from   the  utter  collapse  of  those  who 


favour  statutory  prohibition,  and  the 
final  triumph  of  those  who  favour  non- 
statutory restraints.  Before  the  close 
of  the  American  civil  war,  they  used 
to  sing  by  their  camp  fires  on  both 
sides  of  the  Potomac,  '  When  this  cruel 
war  is  over,'  and  to  yearn  for  peace. 
The  Xorth  won  decisively,  and  the  rest 
was  grateful  to  the  nation  ;  had  the 
South  won  decisively,  the  rest  would 
have  been  equally  appreciated. 

The  satisfaction,  however,  at  the 
final  triumph  of  prohibition  would  not 
be  so  universal  tus  Mr.  Hodgson  sup- 
poses. Many  of  those  who  are  wont 
to  look  ahead  would  feel  that  the  vic- 
tory was  a  prelude  to  new  wars. 


AMARANTHUS. 


BY    'ERATO,'    FREDERICTON,    N.    B. 


IX  the  silence  of  the  night 
Came  the  word  to  me — 
Whispered  by  some  winged  fairy — 
'  Write  a  song,  a  miserere, 
Some  sweet  plaint  for  souls  sin-weary 
riroping  for  the  light.' 

Then  T  grasped  the  chain  of  thought, 

'Neath  the  heavenly  glow  ; 

And  the  clanking  links  were  slowly 

Welded  into  somethincr  holy, 

A  soft  requiem,  a  lowly 
Song  not  often  wrought. 


In  the  morn  my  soul  was  pained, 
For  the  song  had  fled  : 
'Twas  an  Amaranthine  flower, 
From  some  sweet  Parnassian  bower. 
Sought  by  Poets  each  swift  hour, 

Sought  but  ne'er  attained. 


184 


THE  SECRET  PASSAGE. 


THE  SECEET  PASSAGE. 


A  TALE  OF  OTTAWA  CITV. 


'TTT'E  bad  been  engaged  foi'  more 
V  V  than  a  year,  and  the  longed- 
for  promotion,  which  was  to  make  Ed- 
ward's income  sufficient  for  our  start 
in  life,  had  not  yet  been  obtained. 

His  income,  such  as  it  was,  being  de- 
rived from  an  appointment  in  the  Can- 
adian civil  service,  was,  however,  an 
assured  one. 

My  dear  mother,  remembering,  I 
suppose,  her  own  youthful  days,  when 
she  set  at  defiance  the  authority  of  her 
guardian,  and  eloped  with  a  gallant 
but  very  impecunious  lieutenant  in 
Her  Majesty's  navy,  whose  first  cruise 
took  him  away  from  her  for  nearly 
two  years,  at  last  withdrew  the  oppo- 
sition she  had  ofiered  to  our  beginning 
n^arried  life  on  so  little,  and  consented 
that  our  marriage  should  take  place 
at  an  early  day. 

This  decision,  I  well  know,  was  not 
arrived  at  without  much  anxious 
thought,  for  although  we  had  not  been 
extravagantly  brought  up,  we  had  nei- 
ther of  us  learned  the  value  of  money 
by  the  want  of  it. 

I  had  nothing  to  look  forward  to,  as 
my  widowed  mother's  njeans  consisted 
of  an  annuity,  to  terminate  at  her 
death.  We  were  married,  and  the 
first  year  of  our  wedded  life  sped 
swiftly  and  happily  away. 

At  first  we  boarded,  but  with  the 
opening  of  the  second  year  we  deter- 
mined to  begin  house-keeping,  and  it 
was  shortly  after  being  settled  in  our 
own  house  that  the  incident  I  am 
about  to  relate  took  place.  I  had  been 
very  busy  for  months,  devoting  all  my 
time  to  the  manufacture  of  articles  for 
the  adornment  of  our  abode,  to  the 
possession  of  which  I  looked  forward 


with  no  small  degree  of  pride  and 
pleasure.  We  had  been  obliged  to 
devote  much  time,  too,  to  the  selection 
of  a  house. 

Ottawa  was  not  rich  in  houses  at 
the  time  it  became  the  seat  of  Govern- 
ment, and  all  familiar  with  it  in  those 
first  years  of  its  greatness,  will  remem- 
ber the  fact,  and  how  exorbitant  were 
the  rents  demanded  for  the  most  in- 
different dwellings.  Fortune  favoured 
us,  however,  and  we  were  among  the 
happy  few  who,  in  the  spring  of  186 — , 
rejoiced  in  the  possession  of  a  nice 
house  in  a  pleasant  locality. 

When,  a  few  years  later,  Edward 
came  unexpectedly  into  possession  of 
the  pretty  English  home,  where  we 
have  lived  ever  since,  and  where  all 
our  children,  except  our  oldest  boy, 
were  born,  it  w^as  not  without  sincere 
regret  that  we  left  the  modest  little 
house  in  which  we  had  been  so  happy, 
notwithstanding,  to  use  a  rather  hack- 
neyed expression,  that  night  of  terror 
spent  within  its  walls. 

My  husband  was  too  busy  to  ac- 
company me  in  the  many  rambles  I 
had  in  quest  of  a  suitable  abode,  but 
my  dear  little  friend,  Minnie  Lucas, 
was  always  my  pleasant  companion. 
When  I  had  at  last  made  iip  my  mind 
that  there  were  but  two  houses  left  to 
make  a  selection  from,  neither  of 
which  suited  my  fancy,  it  turned  out 
that  there  wiis  something  better  in 
store  for  us. 

'  How  would  you  like  the  Darwin's 
house,  little  woman?'  said  Edward, 
one  afternoon. 

'  Very  much,  dear,  but  they  are  not 
leaving  it,  are  they  1 

'  Yes,  they  are  not  only  leaving  it, 


THE  SECRET  PASSAGE. 


185 


Lut  Canada  also.  Darwin  looked  in 
to-day  to  tell  me  this  as  he  thought 
the  house  would  suit  us.' 

'  It  will,  indeed,  and  we  may  con- 
sider ourselves  most  fortunate  in  get- 
ting it.  How  long  are  they  likely  to 
be  away  1  ' 

'  Thej''  go  for  good,  it  seems,  Duds- 
ley  having  found  an  opening  for  Dar- 
win on  the  other  side,  he  leaves  by  the 
first  steamer,  the  family  following  in 
April.' 

When  I  went  to  call  on  Mrs.  Dar- 
win a  day  or  two  later,  she  oflered  to 
show  me  through  the  house,  and  said, 
as  she  did  so,  '  I  must  initiate  you  into 
one  of  the  mysteries  of  the  building, 
by  our  ignorance  of  which  we  were 
nearly  burned  out.' 

It  was  an  ordinary  two-story  brick 
house,  with  finished  attic  rooms,  and 
to  one  of  these,  used  as  a  sewing  room, 
she  led  the  way.  Off  it,  was  a  good- 
sized  and  nicely-furnished  closet,  with 
part  of  the  sloping  roof  in  it,  and  in 
the  panels  under  the  slope,  so  cun- 
ningly contrived  that  it  might  have 
escaped  observation  for  ever,  was  a 
small  door,  upon  opening  which  was 
.seen  a  narrow  passage,  too  low  to  ad- 
mit of  a  person  standing  upright  in  it. 
and  dark,  with  the  exception  of  the 
light  thrown  in  from  the  closet,  in 
which  there  was  a  small  window. 
Half-way  along  this  passage  or  aper- 
ture, whichever  it  might  correctly  be 
termed,  was  the  chimney,  with  a  small 
space  on  either  side  through  which  a 
slight  person  might  possibly  manage 
to  squeeze — the  place  itself  seemed  to 
be  about  eight  or  ten  feet  long. 

I  have  described  it  minutely  for  the 
better  understanding  of  what  will  fol- 
low. We  moved  into  the  house  in  May, 
and  luxuriated  in  the  freedom  so  en- 
joyable after  the  pent-up  quarters  and 
restraint  of  a  boarding-house.  Many 
a  delightful  row  and  pleasant  stroll  we 
had  in  the  glorious  summer  evenings. 

What  is  now  known  as  the  Lover's 
Walk  was  our  favourite  resort.  Art 
and  nature  have  now  combined  to 
make  that  spot  not  only  lovely  in  it- 


self, but  attractive,  by  i-eason  of  the 
splendid  view  to  be  obtained  from  it. 
Looking  westward  and  some  distance 
off,  may  be  seen  the  cloud  of  spray 
ever  rising  from  the  mighty  Chaudiere; 
immediately  beneath  rushes  the  noble 
river,  alive  with  a  variety  of  craft. 
There  may  be  seen  the  huge  raft  and 
the  fragile  bark  canoe  ;  pretty  clean- 
looking  little  steamers  ply  busily  from 
shore  to  shore,  or  puff  consequentially 
down  the  stream,  drawing  in  their 
wake  long  lines  of  timber-laden  barges 
bound  for  the  far  East,  while  to  tlie 
right  the  water  is  studded  with  taste- 
fully-painted and  comfortably-cush- 
ioned pleasui-e  boats,  the  pride  and 
delight  of  their  gay  young  owners. 

When  the  autumn  came  with  its 
long  evenings,  I  would  bring  my  own 
little  chair  to  Edward's  side  and  work 
while  he  read  aloud. 

Then  came  the  winter,  bringing  with 
it  the  meeting  of  the  Dominion  Legis- 
lature and  my  husband's  busy  days 
and  nights.  We  kept  but  one  ser- 
vant, our  means  not  admitting  of 
moi-e ;  we  had,  however,  been  very 
fortunate  in  our  selection,  Catherine 
being  equal  in  herself  to  two  of  the  or- 
dinary run  of  Canadian  servants  ;  she 
was  English,  middle-aged  and  a  wi- 
dow, with  one  child,  a  little  girl  of 
seven  or  eight  years  of  age.  This  child 
had  been  living  with  its  grandmother 
ever  since  Catherine  had  found  that  it 
was  impossible  to  keep  a  roof  of  her 
own  over  their  heads,  and  that  her 
only  alternative  was  to  go  to  service. 
Her  husband's  mother,  who  lived  some 
four  or  five  miles  out  of  town  on  a 
small  farm,  had  offered  to  take  the  child, 
and  Catherine  had  gladly  accepted  the 
offer,  feeling  that  her  little  one  had  a 
more  comfortable  home  than  she  could 
provide. 

One  cold,  stormy  afternoon  in  Feb- 
ruary, I  was  seated  in  our  pleasant 
little  sitting-room,  reading  and  writing 
alternately,  and  wishing  it  was  time 
for  Edward's  coming,  when  I  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  entrance  of  Catherine 
in  evident  distress. 


180 


THE  SECRET  PASSAGE. 


'  Is  tliere  anything  wrong,  Cather- 
ine? '  I  exclaimed. 

*  Oh  yes,  Mrs.  Temple,  my  Polly, 
my  little  Polly  is  very  sick,  and  Fred 
(rardner,  ]Mrs.  Smith's  hired  man,  have 
come  to  fetch  me  home  ;  I  must  go, 
Mrs.  Temple,'  she  continued  rapidly, 
as  if  fearing  a  refusal,  '  tho'  I  feel 
never  so  bad,  leaving  you  alone,  in- 
deed 1  do.' 

'  AVhat  is  the  matter  with  the  child  1' 
I  enquired. 

'  1  don't  know  indeed  ma'am,  all 
^red  can  tell  is  she  was  taken  bad  in 
the  night,  quite  sudden  like,  and  that 
she  have  been  getting  worse  ever 
since.  I  have  just  bethought  me 
ma'am,  how  would  it  do  to  get  Mrs. 
Tabb  to  stay  over  night  when  she 
comes  with  the  curtains  V 

'  Oh  yes,  that  would  do  very  well, 
but  [  hardly  think  she  will  come 
through  such  a  storm.' 

'  Oh  yes !  she  is  safe  to  come  ma'am, 
for  I  know  she  is  obliged  to  bring 
some  tine  things  to  Mrs.  Pyder's  to- 
night, and  that'll  hxing  her  by  the 
door,  and  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing I'll  just  start  off  Barbara  Croker, 
she  have  all  my  ways,  has  Barbara, 
only  smarter,  and  she'll  just  take  hold 
of  things  without  any  trouble  to  you, 
Mrs.  Temple,  until  it  so  pleases  God  I 
can  come  back.  It's  just  to-night  as 
frets  me,'  she  continued,  'but  I  feel 
certain  sure  Mrs.  Tabb  will  come.' 

'  Well  Catherine,"  I  said,  '  go  and  I 
trust  you  may  find  your  child  better 
than  you  expect,  and  of  course  I  shall 
depend  upon  your  sending  Barbara 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning.' 

The  idea  of  being  left  alone  in  the 
house  was  not  a  pleasant  one,  but 
there  seemed  no  help  for  it.  Presently, 
I  overheard  the  man  she  had  called 
Fred  hurrying  her  in  a  grufl'tone  and 
complaining  of  the  time  his  horses  had 
been  kept  waiting.  His  voice  struck 
me  as  a  peculiarly  unpleasant  one, 
though  without  sufficient  accent  to  de- 
note his  nationality  ;  and  when  as  they 
were  leaving  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  his 


face,   I    thought  I  had  never  seen  a 
more  brutal  looking  one. 

The  large  blue  country  sleigh  with 
its  occupants  had  scarcely  disappeared, 
when  the  question  regarding  the  assist- 
ance of  Mi's.  Tabb  was  decided  by  the 
arrival  of  a  little  boy  with  the  curtains. 

Mrs.  Tabb  was  ill,  too  ill  to  leave 
the  house.  '  I  met  Catherine,'  said  the 
lad,  '  and  she  told  me  I  were  to  tell  you 
how  as  Mrs.  Tabb  was  sick  she  would 
send  Barbara  Croker  in  this  very  night. 
She  might  like  enough  be  here  by  eight 
o'clock,  she  said.' 

When  I  found  myself  alone  in  the 
darkening  twilight  of  the  stormy  win- 
try day,  I  felt  more  lonely  than  I 
should  have  liked  to  admit. 

Our  house  was  one  of  a  row  of  two, 
but  unfortunately  for  me  in  the  pre- 
sent emergency,  the  adjoining  one  was 
unoccupied,  as  Mrs.  Rymner,  a  widow 
lady  to  whom  it  belonged,  had  left 
very  hurriedly  in  consequence  of  the 
sudden  illness  of  her  daughter  who  re- 
sided in  the  Western  States.  At- the 
end  of  our  house  was  a  good-sized  cro- 
quet ground  and  a  small  orchard,  at 
the  end  of  the  other  the  same  space 
in  a  garden,  while  opposite  was  a  com- 
mon ;  so  that  although  our  next  neigh- 
bours were  at  no  very  great  distance 
from  us,  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
they  were  not  near.  Had  it  been  ear- 
lier in  the  day,  I  should  have  sent  for 
Mai-y  Price,  one  of  my  intimate  friends  ; 
but  it  was  too  late  to  make  any  such 
arrangement,  and  I  well  knew  that 
both  the  weather  and  the  distance  ren- 
dered it  a  matter  of  impossibility  for 
me  to  accompany  Edward  on  his  re- 
turn to  the  Buildings,  as  I  had  been 
frequently  in  the  habit  of  doing  in  the 
earlier  months  of  our  married  life.  I 
lighted  the  lamps  early  to  make  the 
house  seem  more  cheerful,  and  then 
made  my  way  to  the  dining-room  and 
kitchen,  where,  thanks  to  Catherine's 
management,  everything  not  already 
done  seemed  to  be  doing  itself,  so  that 
with  very  little  trouble  all  was  as  usual 
by  the  time  of  Edward's  arrival. 


THE  SECRET  PASSAGE. 


187 


How  glad  I  was  to  hear  his  foot- 
step and  his  latch-key  in  the  door ! 
I  flew  down  to  meet  him  as  he  step- 
ped in,  brin!:^ing  with  him  a  perfect 
avalanche  of  snow.  After  a  great  deal 
of  stamping  and  whisking  and  shaking 
he  was  ready  to  come  up-stairs,  and 
was  seriously  displeased,  as  I  had 
feared  he  would  be,  when  he  heard  of 
the  absence  of  Catherine.  He  thought 
the  chances  of  the  proferred  substi- 
tute through  her,  for  that  night  at 
least,  very  small. 

'  You  know,'  said  he,  '  they  are  all 
excellent  at  promising,  but  slow  in 
fulfilling ;  unfortunately,  too,  I  am 
likely  to  be  late  to-night,  but,  as  it 
turns  out,  you  are  not  likely  to  be  left 
alone,  as  Blake  called  on  me  this  after- 
noon to  say  that  Colonel  Dixon  had 
arrived  unexpectedly  this  morning — 
at  least  a  week  sooner  than  they  had 
looked  for  him,  and  Julia  had  insisted 
on  his  (Blake's)  coming  to  see  me,  to 
arrange  for  her  coming  here  to-night 
instead  of  Thursday  next,  as  previous- 
ly intended,  the  object  being  to  make 
room  for  the  gallant  coloneL 

*  Of  course  I  said  we  should  be  happy 
to  have  her  at  once,  and  she  will  be 
here  about  nine  o'clock,  after  attend- 
ing a  meeting  of  the  Dorcas  Society  ; 
and  if  Barbara  does  not  arrive  sooner, 
I  shall  remain  with  you  until  that 
hour,' 

I  put  the  dinner  on  the  table,  and 
although  I  could  claim  but  little  of  it 
as  the  result  of  my  own  individual 
efforts,  I  felt  pleased  when  my  hus- 
band told  me  that  he  had  never  tasted 
a  nicer.  When  we  had  finished,  and 
had  had  a  cup  of  tea,  we  went  up- 
stairs, leaving  things  to  await  the 
arrival  and  ministrations  of  Barbara 
Croker. 

A  few  minutes  before  eight,  Ed- 
wards  usual  hour  for  returning  to  his 
office  when  the  House  was  in  session, 
the  jingle  of  sleigh-bells,  followed  by 
the  ringing  of  the  door-bell,  proclaimed 
an  arrival. 

Instead  of  the  hoped-for  Barbara,  it 
turned  out  to  be  Dr.  Street,  who,  on 


his  return  from  visiting  a  patient  in 
the  country,  had  called  to  offer  Ed- 
ward a  lift  to  the  office.  Much  as  the 
latterwas  disinclined  for  such  a  course, 
and  reluctant  as  I  myself  felt  to  his 
adopting  it,  I  urged  his  acceptance  of 
the  invitation  and  consequent  depai'- 
ture  without  delay. 

Alone  again,  I  found  myself  more 
unsettled  and  uncomfortable  than  I 
had  done  in  the  afternoon.  The  first 
thing  I  did  was  to  take  a  small  lamp 
and  descend  to  the  basement,  where  I 
made,  for  the  second  time,  an  inspec- 
tion of  the  whole  flat,  to  see  that  the 
doox's  and  windows  were  secui'ely  fast- 
ened and  all  right  for  the  night.  I 
then  went  iipstairs,  and,  taking  one 
of  the  English  monthlies  which  Ed- 
ward had  that  evening  brought  home 
with  him,  settled  down,  or  at  least 
tried  to  settle  down,  to  read. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been 
left  alone  in  the  house  at  night,  and 
in  spite  of  myself  I  felt  most  uncom- 
fortably nervous.  As  luck  would  have 
it,  the  story  I  chanced  upon  was  one 
of  terror,  being  the  story  of  a  lady, 
the  wife  of  an  officer  in  India,  who, 
left  alone  with  natives  on  some  occa- 
sion, had  to  take  her  infant  in  her 
arms  and  escape  from  the  house  to 
avoid  being  murdered.  The  tale  was 
thrillingly  told  :  a  lonely  evening 
spent  in  a  rumbling  old  house — her 
suspicions  roiised,  and,  finally,  her  de- 
tection of  the  approach  of  the  mur- 
derer, when,  seizing  her  child,  she  fled 
out  into  the  night  and  darkness,  mak- 
ing good  her  escape.  Once  I  thought 
I  heard  the  latch  of  the  little  front 
gate  lifted  ;  I  listened,  but  all  was  still 
again,  and  I  must  have  been  mistaken. 

jNly  feeling  of  nervous  excitement 
continued  every  moment  to  gain 
strength,  and  just  as  I  had  finished  the 
story  and  laid  down  the  book  I  start- 
ed at  the  prolonged  tick  of  the  clock, 
which  indicated  the  close  of  an  hour. 

To  my  dismay,  the  clock  rung  out 
ten  instead  of  nine,  as  I  had  expected ; 
I  had  been  so  absorbed  in  the  story 
that  nine  must  have  struck  without 


188 


THE  SECRET  PASSAGE. 


my  observing  it.  A  glance  at  my 
watch,  in  tlie  faint  hojie  that  I  had 
been  mistaken,  or  the  clock  had  struck 
onoe  too  often,  convinced  me  of  its 
correctness.  It  was  after  ten,  and  so 
I  felt  that  there  was  now  no  hope  of  | 
Julia's  coming,  and  I  must  be  alone 
imtil  Edward's  return,  at  whatever 
hour  of  the  night  or  morning  it  might 
take  place. 

I  went  to  the  window,  and  draw- 
ing aside  the  curtains  looked  out  to 
tind  that  it  was  still  drifting,  although 
it  had  ceased  snowing.  The  lights 
were  all  out  in  the  little  cottages 
across  the  common  ;  to  our  right  a 
slight  turn  in  the  road  concealed  the 
cluster  of  small  rough-cast  houses, 
while,  to  the  left,  l\frs.  Lee's  boarding- 
house  was  still  lighted  up.  It  afford- 
ed accommodation  to  members  dui'- 
ing  the  Session,  as  well  as  to  a  num- 
ber of  permanent  baorders,  young 
unmarried  men  in  the  civil  service 
and  bank  clerks.  The  moon  had  risen 
since  the  snow  ceased,  and,  somehow, 
it  looked  much  more  cheerful  outside 
than  it  did  in.  Presently  a  sleigh  ap- 
proached, and  my  heart  leaped  with 
the  expectation  that  it  might  be  the  i 
tardy  Julia  ;  but  no,  just  as  I  thought 
it  was  about  to  stop  the  driver  used 
his  whip  vigorously,  and  the  horses 
springing  forward  at  a  greater  speed 
were  soon  out  of  sight.  The  oppres- 
sive sense  of  loneliness  would  not 
yield  to  the  mental  chiding  I  adminis-  I 
tered  to  myself  for  my  weakness,  and 
I  turned  from  the  window  not  in  the  i 
least  reconciled  to  the  prospect  of  an  I 
indefinite  number  of  hours  more  of 
solitude.  Drawing  thecurtains  closely, 
I  stood  thinking  for  a  minute  or  two  ! 
how  I  had  better  occupy  myself  until  I 
my  husband's  return.  As  a  general 
thing,  I  did  not  sit  up  to  await  his  ; 
coming,  as  he  was  frequently  absent 
until  long  after  midnight,  but  on  this 
occasion  I  felt  that  it  would  be  quite 
useless  to  think  of  retiring — the  highly 
strung  state  of  my  nerves  convincing 
me  that  the  attempt  to  sleep  would 
be  a  vain  one.     A  coal  fell  in  the    I 


burner  in  the  hall  below,  startling  me 
not  a  little,  and  then  the  clock  struck 
eleven. 

I  must  have  l)een  standing  at  the 
window  longer  than  I  had  any  idea 
of,  and  after  thinking  a  moment 
longer  I  determined  to  write  to  my 
mother,  who  was  spending  the  winter 
in  Toronto.  She  had  gone  there  in 
spite  of  our  united  entreaties  that  she 
would  make  our  house  her  home,  and 
how  I  did  long  for  her  at  that  mo- 
ment. I  had  written  for  some  time, 
when  I  heard  a  sound  as  if  some  one 
were  coming  quietly  up  the  steps,  and 
my  pen  literally  dropped  from  my  fin- 
gers. Instinctively  I  knew  that  the 
person  approaching  was  not  my  hus- 
band, but  why  I  cannot  tell.  I  lis- 
tened ;  all  was  still  for  a  moment, 
and  again  I  heard  what  sounded  like 
a  stealthy  footstep. 

Thank  God,  the  hall-door  was  se- 
curely locked  !  When  left,  as  it  fre- 
quently was,  for  Edward's  latch-key 
a  piece  of  wire  could  easily  have  been 
made  to  open  it  from  the  outside.  I 
rose,  and  going  softly  into  the  bed- 
room, which,  as  well  as  the  sitting- 
room,  faced  the  street,  pulled  aside  a 
small  poi-tion  of  the  blind  and  looked 
out.  There,  leading  up  from  the  gate 
to  the  door,  were  footsteps  in  the 
newly  fallen  snow. 

Yes,  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
fact — and  what  was  that  I  saw  close 
in  beneath  the  window  ?  The  shadow 
of  a  man  standing  motionless  and  in 
a  crouching  posture,  as  if  listening  at 
the  door.  Presently  a  second  shadow 
appeared,  drawn  out  to  gigantic  pro- 
portions on  the  white  snow. 

While  I  looked  the  position  of  the 
first  changed,  and  it  was  evident  that 
the  two  men  were  conversing,  the  in- 
distinct murmur  of  their  voices  reach- 
ing me  as  I  strove  with  strained  ears 
to  catch  the  sound.  Throwing  off  the 
heavier  ones  I  was  wearing,  I  put  on  a 
pair  of  soft  bed-room  slippers,  and 
creeping  quietly  down  stairs  to  the 
hall-door  tried  to  make  out  what  they 
were  saying.     Some  one  was  trying 


THE  SECRET  PASSAGE. 


189 


the  lock  ;  then  a  voice,  which  I  re- 
cognised at  once  as  belonging  to  the 
man,  Fred.,  who  had  come  for  Cathe- 
rine, exclaimed  : 

'  I  say,  do  you  want  him  to  catch 
us  at  this  work  1  Come  round,  I  tell 
you,  to  the  back.' 

A  horrible  oath,  followed  by  the 
words  '  1  guess  as  you  and  me  can  do 
for  him  if  he  does  come,'  made  me 
shudder.  Some  more  words  passed 
which  I  could  not  make  out,  and  I 
heard  them  moving  ofi". 

Suddenly  one  returned,  exclaiming, 
'  No,  Fred.  I'll  stay  here  and  try  and 
work  this ;  you  go  to  the  back. ' 

Here  then  was  my  only  means  of 
exit  cut  off,  but  with  the  increased 
peril  my  calmness  seemed  to  return. 
I  knew  that  the  fastenings  at  the  back 
were  such  as  would  occupy  them  some 
little  time  at  all  events  in  forcing  an 
entrance,  and  at  once  my  thoughts 
tiew  to  the  closet  in  the  attic  and  the 
passage  leading  from  it.  I  ran  swiftly 
up-stairs  and  got  out  the  box  contain- 
ing my  jewellery,  of  which  I  had  a 
fair  quantity,  some  of  it  being  of  con- 
siderable value.  Having  always  been 
uneasy  on  the  subject  of  tire — Ottawa 
at  that  date  possessed  no  system  of 
water-works,  and  had  the  reputation  of 
being  the  most  inflammable  city  in 
the  Dominion — I  had  packed  all,  ex- 
cept what  I  was  weaving,  in  a  large 
tin  case.  Then  thei'e  was  the  silver  ; 
I  must  make  an  effort  to  save  it.  It 
was  all  in  a  morocco  case  in  the  dining- 
room. 

Creeping  cautiously  down  to  that 
room  in  the  dark,  I  felt  about  the 
sideboard  until  I  had  secured  it, 
gathering  up  also  the  few  articles  still 
on  the  table.  It  was  a  heavy  load,  or 
would  have  been  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, but  scarcely  seemed  now 
a  feather's  weight.  Making  my  way 
•ip-stairs  again,  I  possessed  myself  of 
my  jewellery,  and,  turning  very  low 
the  lamp  in  the  sitting-room — the  only 
one  in  the  house  lighted — made  for 
the  next  flat  as  swiftly  as  my  load 
would  permit. 


Once  my  foot  caught  in  my  long 
skirt,     and     I     slipped     and    almost 
fell,  but,  recovering    myself,    pushed 
on,  and,    reaching   the   room   I   have 
spoken  of,    passed  from  it   into    the 
closet.     The    moon    threw   sufficient 
light    through    the    little  window    to 
enable  me  to  find  the  door  in  the  slope 
without  dirtieulty.     Down  quite  close 
to  the   floor  was  a   little   brass  knob, 
by  which  to  open  the  door.    I  ran  my 
hand  rapidly  up  and  down  to  find  it, 
but  could  not.      The   knob  was  gone 
and  the   door    apparently   fast    shut. 
After  a  moment  of  speechless  tei-ror  I 
thrust  my  hand  into  my  pocket,  and, 
drawing  out  a    small  fruit  knife,  in- 
serted  it  between   the   wall   and  the 
door,  trying  to  force   the   latter  back, 
with  no   result   but  the   breaking   of 
the  blade.     To  insert  it  again  and  en- 
deavour,  with   frantic   haste   and   all 
the  little   strength   I  had   left,  to  ac- 
complish   my    purpose,    was    but  the 
work  of  a  moment,  and  just  as  I  was  in 
despair  the  door  yielded  to  my  eftbrts. 
As  I  entered  the  passage  with  my  bur- 
den I  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  the 
ruffians  had  succeeded  in  getting  in  and 
were  coming  up  from  the  basement. 
As    will    be     understood,    the    door 
opened    towards   the  outside,  and  on 
the  inner  side  of  it  were  two  hooks  or 
nails,  which  had  evidently  been   used 
for   hanging  skates  on,  as  on  one  of 
them  still  hung  a  child's   pair,  which 
had  no  doubt  been  forgotten  by  the 
Darwins.     By  means  of  these  nails,  I 
was  able  to  draw  the  door  so  closely 
after  me  as  to  render  it  quite  invisible- 
from   the   closet,    without    which  my 
hiding-place  would  no  doubt  have  been 
discovered.      Stooping  down,  I  placed 
my  ear  close  to  the  door  and  listened, 
and  very  soon  heard  the  robbers  com- 
ing up  to  the  flat  immediately  beneath. 
A  very  short   time  sufficed  for  their 
ransacking  the  rooms,  and  then  came 
the  most  terrible  moment  of  all.     At 
the  foot  of  the  last  flight  of  stairs,  one 
of  them   paused  a  moment,  and  then 
excitedly  shouted,  '  Why,  what's  this] 
A    woman's    handkerchief,    and  per- 


THE  SECRET  PASSAGE. 


190 

fumt'd  nice,  too  ;  it  cau't  have  been 
long  here,  I  bet.' 

An  oath  and  the  dechiration  in  loud 
tones  that  'no  man  or  woman  in  that 
house  would  be  allo»ved  to  go  out  of  it 
alive,  to  tell  what  their  g;ime  in  it  had 
been,'  showed  me  what  peril  I  was  in, 
and  how  desperate  was  the  character 
of  the  men.  Rushing  up  the  steps, 
they  entered  the  room,  and  almost  im- 
TTiediately  afterwards  the  closet,  ex- 
claiming, as  they  did  so,  '  I  guess  we've 
got  her  now.' 

The  lamp  they  carried  threw  a  faint 
•streak  of  light  into  my  hiding-place, 
although  the  door  was  too  close  to  ad- 
mit of  my  seeing  out.  They  stood  for 
a  moment,  and  in  the  stillness,  the 
ticking  of  my  watch  seemed  to  my  ex- 
cited fancy  loud  enough  to  betray  me. 
'  Let's  look  here,'  exclaimed  Gard^ 
ner,  making  for  a  corner  of  the  closet 
which  happened  to  be  concealed  from 
view  by  a  number  of  dresses,  hung 
from  a  rafter  in  the  sloping  roof. 

'  It's  no  go,'  he  continued,  '  she's  got 
off,  however  she  did  it,  and  carried 
away  all  that  was  worth  coming  for 
along  with  her.' 

'  it  was  all  your  fault,  Fred,'  re- 
joined his  companion,  '  you  know  you 
would  have  me  leave  the  front  door, 
and  go  with  you  to  the  back,  and  that 
was  how  she  managed  to  slip  out.' 

What  more  might  have  been  said  I 
did  not  hear,  as  1  fainted  away  for  the 
first  and  only  time  in  my  life,  and  was, 
when  discovered  by  Edward,  at  aboiit 
half -past  twelve,  in  a  state  of  happy 
unconsciousness,  if  such  a  term  can 
j^roperly  be  applied  to  a  person  in  a 
dead  faint. 

When  1  came  to  myself  I  was  on 
the  couch  in  the  little  sitting-room, 
my  husband  bending  over  me,  and  his 
brother  Cyril,  who  had  arrived  unex- 
pectedly from  Montreal,  and  accom- 
panied Edward  home,  preparing  to  go 
off  for  a  doctor.  This,  hov/ever,  proved 
unnecessary,  although  I  was  weak  and 
ill  for  many  days. 

Judging  from  the  time  I  must  have 
gone  upstairs,  and  the  time  at  which 


Edward  found  me,  I  could  not  have 
been  more  than  a  very  few  moments  in 
a  state  of  unconsciousness,  AsEdward 
and  Cyril  drew  near  the  house  they  saw 
two  men  emerge  from  the  front  door, 
who  z'apidly  made  the  best  of  their 
way  off  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
when  they  reached  the  house  it  was 
to  find  both  hall  and  back  door  open, 
Avith  every  indication  that  the  place 
had  been  ransacked  by  robbers.  ]\Iy 
husband's  anxiety  may  better  be  im- 
agined than  described,  but  after  the 
first  moment  of  excitement  was  over, 
his  thoughts  at  once  flew  to  the  very 
hiding-place  I  had  chosen,  probably 
from  the  fact  of  our  having  only  a  day 
or  two  before  spoken  of  the  singular 
construction  of  the  ])assage,  and  re- 
marked what  an  excellent  hiding-place 
it  would  make.  We  learned  that  poor 
Catherine,  true  to  her  word,  had  ar- 
ranged with  farmer  Smith  that  his 
man,  Fred  Gardner,  should  go  half-a 
mile  further  and  bring  Barbara  Cro- 
ker  in  to  us  at  once. 

The  man  had  learned  enough  of  the 
circumstances  to  know  that  the  chances 
were  gi-eatly  against  my  husband's 
getting  home  until  far  into  the  night 
or  rather  morning. 

He  had  also  gathered  from  what  fell 
quite  innocently  from  Catherine  that 
our  house  contained  a  quantity  of 
plate,  the  value  of  which  was  no  doubt 
greatly  exaggerated  in  his  opinion  by 
her  description,  and  so,  instead  of  Bar- 
bara Croker,  had  brought  back  to  town 
with  him  a  companion  in  crime  with 
whose  aid  he  hoped  to  effect  a  success- 
ful robbery. 

The  two  must  have  prowled  about 
the  neighbourhood  for  several  hours 
waiting  to  see  that  evei-y  thing  favoured 
their  designs,  as  the  servant  at  Mrs. 
Lee's  had  seen  two  men  who  answered 
their  description  exactly,  pass  at  a 
comparatively  early  hour  in  the  even- 
ing, and  again  at  a  quarter  to  twelve 
when  she  looked  out  after  extinguish- 
ing the  lights,  going  on  each  occasion 
in  the  direction  of  our  house. 

Both  men  turned  out  to  be  convicts 


who  had  served  h)ng  terms  in  the 
Provincial  Penitentiary  at  Kingston, 
and  had  not  been  any  length  of  time 
out  of  its  walls.  They  escaped  arrest 
on  this  occasion,  making  their  way  to 
theUnited  States,  but  long  afterwards 
•we  read  in  the  Toronto  journals  that 
they  had  [)aid  the  penalty  of  their 
crimes  in  the  Far  West.  They  had 
been  captured  with  several  other  des- 
})eradoes  after  a  fearful  railway  rob- 
bery, accompanied  with  murder,  in 
Kansas,  and  after  the  briefest  of  trials 


hanged  in  accordance  with  the  usual 
despatch  which  characterizes  the  ad- 
ministration of  Lynch  Law. 

I  am  subject  to  fits  of  nervousness 
still  at  times,  although  I  am  thankful 
to  say  that  they  are  becoming  gradu- 
ally of  less  frequent  recurrence,  and  if 
1  am  ever  visited  by  unpleasant  dreams 
they  are  nearly  always  sure  to  be  as- 
sociated with  that  night  of  terror, 
from  the  peril  of  which,  1  thank  God 
fur  my  deliverance,  through  tlie  instru- 
mentality of  the  '  Secret  Passage.' 


U  0  R  N  I  X  G 


UY    D.    J.    MAC  MURCIIY,   TOIiO^TO, 


AND  now  the  night  is  past. 
Dawn's  earliest  beams  efface 
The  stars'  bright  eyes 
In  the  morning  skies  ; 
The  day  comes  on  apace. 

Over  the  land  and  sea. 

It  comes  on  a  message  of  light, 

The  tryst  to  keep, 

To  wake  from  sleep 
The  dreamers  of  the  night. 

In  through  the  churchyard  gate. 
The  joyous  sunbeams  peep, 

And,  as  they  jiass. 

Just  kiss  the  grass 
O'er  the  graves  where  the  weary  sleep. 

Tliey  play  on  the  cottage  door, 
Look  in  at  the  windows  bare, 

In  their  fairy  dance. 

They  glisten  and  glance 
On  the  palace's  marble  stair. 


102 


A  DA  Y  WITH  THE  CHILDREN. 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  CHILDREN. 


BV    J,    TOCS,    POKT    HOPE. 


MY  wife  and  I  made  up  our  minds 
to  give  the  children  an  outing. 
AVith  so  many  steamboats  and  rail- 
roads offering  excursion  fares  for  those 
Vho,  like  ourselves,  wanted  to  take 
the  balsam  of  fresh  pure  air,  it  was  no 
«asy  matter  to  decide  upon  the  route 
and  destination.  I  wanted  to  go  by 
boat,  but  Mrs.  Slater,  the  mother  of  my 
numerous  olive-branches,  was  against 
travelling  by  water,  reminding  me 
(just  as  if  1  could  ever  forget)  how 
that  the  last  time  we  went  to  Niagara 
she  and  all  the  children  were  victims 
to  sea  sickness.  1  tried  to  persuade 
my  better-half  that,  as  on  that  occa- 
sion the  lake  was  not  rough,  the  ill- 
ness of  the  family  had  probably  arisen 
from  the  fact  of  their  imprudently 
hmching  on  a  mixture  of  sardines,  cus- 
tards, cherries,  rich  cakes,  pits,ginger- 
])op,  kc,  and  that  nature  had  merely 
rebelled  at  such  an  unaccustomed  jum- 
ble. I  reasoned,  however,  with  Mrs. 
S.  in  vain  ;  she  would  not  consent  to 
let  her  darlings  risk  the  danger  of 
going  on  over-crowded  and  unsafe  ex- 
cursion boats.  Still  I  urged  the  mat- 
ter at  intervals  for  several  days,  but, 
finding  her  of  the  same  opinion,  I,  likea 
wise  man,  gave  up  the  struggle,  and  it 
was  finally  decided  that  we  were  to 
go  by  train  to  a  place  some  miles  away 
from  the  city,  and  picnic  on  a  pretty 
spot  by  the  lake-side,  and  thus  have 
all  the  advantages  of  lake  air  without 
encountering  the  disagreeables  attend- 
ing travel  by  water.  Of  course,  the 
children  were  in  a  wild  state  of  excite- 
ment when  they  heard  of  the  proposed 
excursion,  and  kept  the  house  in  a  per- 
petual racket  with  their  high  spirits 
and  healthy  lungs.     When  the  event- 


j  ful  day  arrived,  we  got  up  at  an  un- 
j  earthly  hour,  not  to  get  the  early- 
I  worm,  but  to  catch  the  7  o'clock  train, 
and  had  a  rare  scramble  for  anything 
approaching  a  breakfast.  When  we 
were  ready  to  start  I  was  dismayed  to 
find  that  the  '  baby  '  was  to  be  of  the 
])arty,  for  I  hold  with  every  sensible 
man  that  babies  are  better  at  home 
than  anywhere  else  (at  least  when 
their  fathers  are  with  them)  ;  but 
j  Mx-s.  Slater  had  her  way  in  this,  and 
as  the  youngest  Miss  Slater  crowed 
and  smiled  in  her  nurse's  arms,  and 
looked  the  merriest  little  cherub  in 
creation,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  insist 
on  her  being  left  behind.  I  was  ap- 
palled by  the  number  of  baskets  and 
shawls  that  were  to  accompany  us. 
Jane,  having  the  baby,  could  not  carry 
anything  else,  so  I  found  that  a  good 
many  more  things  than  I  bargained 
for  fell  to  me  to  look  after. 

On  arriving  at  the  station,  we  found 
that  there  was  a  large  number  of  other 
excursionists,  and  we  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  obtaining  loom  in  the  car  for 
our  party,  although  we  sat  three  in  a 
seat.  We  had  barely  settled  ourselves 
and  arranged  the  baskets  when  Harry 
discovered  he  was  '  awful  hungry,'  and 
Nellie  and  Tom  declared  themselves 
almost  on  the  point  of  starvation  and 
the  twins  begged  piteously  for  a  '  bis- 
ted.'  It  was  useless  trying  to  persuade 
them  to  wait  until  we  arrived  at  ou> 
destination,  so  after  a  good  deal  of 
trouble  I  got  the  basket  that  my  wife 
said  had  the  biscuits,  intending  to  dis- 
tribute one  to  each  of  them.  The 
basket,  however,  instead  of  containing 
biscuits,  held  a  rich  iced  plum  cake, 
and  many  were    the  exclamations  of 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  CHILDREN. 


19; 


delight  made  by  the  children  when 
they  beheld  it.  However,  I  promptly 
closed  the  lid  over  the  cake,  and  the 
pleasant  looks  of  the  little  folks  w^ere 
soon  replaced  by  those  of  disappoint- 
ment. I  was  persisting  on  their  hav- 
ing merely  biscuits  at  that  early  hour, 
when  their  mother  perceiving  that  five 
paix's  of  little  eyes  were  preparing  for 
a  down-pour  persuaded  me  to  i-elenc, 
so,  contrary  to  my  better  judgment, 
rather  than  have  such  a  damper  on  the 
day's  enjoyment,  I  gave  them  each  a 
slice  of  the  unwholesome  stuff,  de- 
claring positively  that  that  was  all 
they  should  have.  I  had  no  sooner  re- 
placed the  basket  and  settled  down 
again,  than  Nellie  having  demolished 
every  crumb  of  her  slice  of  cake,  found 
that  she  was  very  thirsty,  as  also  did 
the  other  youngsters.  Tom  immedi- 
ately vs^ent  off  to  help  himself  from  the 
■water-can  at  the  end  of  the  car,  when 
his  mother  (who  is  a  very  fastidious 
person),  saw  him  drinking  from  the 
tin  mug  left  for  the  convenience  of 
the  general  public.  Thereupon  she 
was  seized  with  the  idea  that  he  might 
contract  some  horrible  disease,  and 
called  out  for  him  to  wait  until  she 
got  him  his  silver  cup.  Of  course  the 
cup  turned  out  to  be  at  the  bottom  of 
another  basket,  the  one  containing  the 
apples.  This  in  her  hurry  she  upset, 
the  contents  running  pell  mell  along 
the  car  and  creating  quite  a  diversion 
among  the  other  passengers,  who  were 
veiy  ready  to  pick  the  apples  up  and 
help  themselves  to  all  they  could  lay 
their  hands  on,  so  that  by  the  time  we 
had  collected  as  many  as  we  could, 
more  than  half  had  been  appropriated. 
Except  that  Nellie  spilt  a  cup  of  water 
over  her  pretty  frock,  and  Harry  fell 
down  and  bruised  his  knee,  we  arrived 
without  any  further  accident  at  the 
station  we  were  to  stop  at.  There 
were  no  carriages,  and  we  found  we 
should  have  to  walk  a  mile  in  the 
blazing  sun  to  the  place  we  had  se- 
lected. T  suggested  stopping  at  the 
hotel,  but  as  the  rest  were  against  that 
plan,  I  concluded  I  would  make  an 
G 


amiable  martyr  of  myself  and  we  set 
off  accordingly. 

It  was  a  rough  walk,  and  the  twins 
were  soon  tired,  and  asked  to  be  '  tar- 
ried.' A  kind  father  could  not  resist 
the  appeal,  .so  the  young  monkeys  were 
hoisted  upon  my  shoulder  turn  about, 
and  seemed  to  enjoy  their  rides  im- 
mensely;  kicked  their  dear  little 
heels  against  my  back  occasionally, 
spurring  their  horse  to  greater  speed ; 
making  reins  of  my  whiskers,  so  that 
when  we  reached  the  place  decided  on 
for  our  pic-nic  I  felt  slightly  tired  and 
hot.  It  seemed  a  capital  place ;  it 
was  well  shaded  by  trees  and  quite 
close  to  the  lake.  The  children  were 
in  ecstasies  and  wanted  lunch  in- 
stantly, so  we  set  about  getting  it 
ready.  My  wife,  with  my  assistance, 
spread  the  repast  on  the  clean  table- 
cloth provided  for  the  purpose,  and 
though  I  refrained  from  saying  so  at 
the  time,  I  confess  I  was  surprised  at 
the  richness  of  the  food  prepared  for 
the  children.  But  it  was  too  late  to 
remedy  the  evil,  and,  certainly,  if  the 
wholesomeness  of  the  viands  might  be 
questioned,  there  was  no  doubt  as  to 
their  appetising  qualities.  Indeed, 
the  amount  consumed  by  the  little 
Slaters  was  startling.  The  usual  bee- 
tles, bugs  and  spiders  walked  care- 
lessly over  the  table-cloth,  pies,  cakes, 
meat,  plates  and  dishes,  but  in  no 
way  did  this  appear  to  affect  the  ap- 
petite of  the  children.  This  was  rather 
an  amusement  than  otherwise. 

About  the  middle  of  the  repast,  a 
large,  inquisitive  frog  hopped  unex- 
pectedly into  the  middle  of  the  table- 
cloth and  caused  great  excitement. 
Mrs.  Slater  jumped  up  as  I  had  not 
seen  her  do  for  years,  Jane  screamed, 
and  the  children  were  delighted,  some- 
body upset  all  our  milk  and  a  bottle 
of  raspberry  vinegar,  both  fluids  run- 
ning promiscously  among  chickens, 
cakes,  pies,  etc.,  and  leaving  the  baby 
with  the  prospect  of  being  starved. 
None  of  the  Slater  family  having 
shown  any  tendency  to  emulate  the 
chivalric  Dr.  Tanner,  the  latter  cir- 


194 


A  DA  Y  WITH  THE  CHILDREN. 


cumstance  seemed  a  serious  accident. 
When  she  had  had  her  lunch,  Jane 
offered  to  go  and  see  if  she  could  get 
some  milk  at  any  of  the  houses  we 
had  passed.  After  telling  her  to  be 
sure  and  hurry  back,  which  she  pro- 
mised readily  enough  to  do,  we  as- 
sented to  her  going.  She  presently 
departed,  leaving  Mrs.  Slater  and  my- 
selves  sole  guardians  of  the  remnants 
of  the  repast  and  the  children. 

For  some  time  the  little  ])eople 
played  contentedly  on  the  lake-shore 
in  front  of  us,  and  then  Tom  came  and 
asked  if  they  could  go  just  beyond  the 
tree  we  saw,  and  'paddle.' 

To  this,  on  their  promising  not  to 
wet  their  clothes,  we  gave  our  con- 
sent, and  away  they  went,  to  take  off 
shoes  and  stockings,  in  high  glee.  In 
truth,  my  wife  and  myself  were  glad 
of  a  few  minutes'  quiet,  but,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  baby,  missing  her  din- 
ner, began  to  get  cross,  and  it  was  all 
her  mother  could  do  to  partially  soothe 
her — trying,  ineffectually,  to  make  that 
young  lady  partake  of  biscuits  and 
water,  as  a  substitute  for  her  usual 
diet  of  milk.  I  do  not  remember  the 
exact  length  of  time  that  had  elai:)sed 
since  the  children  had  gone  off,  but  we 
pi-esently  heard  a  loud,  piercing  shriek 
from  one  of  them,  whicli  made  our 
hearts  jump  into  our  mouths,  and  sent 
me  running  towards  the  direction 
from  whence  the  sound  came,  expect- 
ing to  find  some  dire  accident  had  be- 
fallen one  or  other  of  them.  It  took 
only  a  few  moments  to  reach  them, 
and  I  was  infinitely  relieved  to  find 
that  they  were  all  there,  though  in  the 
gi-eatest  excitement,  for  all  the  boys 
were  in  a  state  of  nudity,  they  having 
evidently  enlarged  my  permission  to 
*  paddle  '  into  taking  a  full  bath.  One 
of  the  twins  was  howling  dismally, 
and  Harry,  the  eldest  boy,  was  up  to 
his  neck  in  water,  vainly  endeavour- 
ing to  catch  with  a  stick  a  bundle  of 
something  that  was  floating  slowly 
but  surely  beyond  his  reach.  After 
various  questions,  and  a  chorus  of 
answers  from  all  at  once,  I  learned 


the  cause  of  all  the  hullabaloo.  It 
seemed  that  the  '  twin '  who  was  cry- 
ing had  hung  his  linen  blouse,  pants, 
and  other  garments  on  the  projecting 
branch  of  a  tree,  and  while  enjoying 
the  delights  of  bathing,  had  suddenly 
perceived  that  a  cmiel  wind  had  blown 
his  garments  far  out  into  the  water, 
further  than  any  of  us  could  reach 
with  the  aid  of  the  longest  stick  to  be 
found,  I  gave  the  children  a  good 
scolding  all  round,  and  if  it  hadn't 
been  a  holiday,  would  have  added  a 
sound  thrashing  as  well.  I  ordered 
them  all  to  dress  immediately,  and  as 
it  dawned  on  the  unlucky  twin  that  in 
lieu  of  his  lost  clothes,  he  would  have 
to  sit  wrapped  up  in  a  shawl  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day,  he  cried  more 
lustily  than  ever.  The  toilet  of  the 
fry  did  not  occupy  many  minutes  ;  it 
was  but  just  completed  when  their 
mother,  remembering  that  they  had 
had  no  towels  to  dry  themselves  with, 
was  afraid  that  they  would  take  cold, 
and  get  inflammatory  rheumatism. 
Nothing  would  satisfy  the  maternal 
heai't  but  that  all  their  clothes  must 
come  off,  and  each  of  them  undergo  a 
rubbing  process  with  the  table  cloth, 
while  their  under-garments  were  laid 
in  the  sun  to  dry. 

As  Jane  had  not  yet  returned, 
Mrs.  S.  had  to  look  after  this  matter 
herself.  While  she  did  so,  she  gave 
me  the  baby  to  look  after.  That 
young  lady  was  sucking,  discontent- 
edly, a  biscuit,  and  let  me  have  a  good 
deal  more  of  the  disgusting  mess  than 
I  wanted,  putting  her  sticky  fingers 
into  my  hair,  and,  with  undesirable 
generosity,  thrusting  the  wetstuff"into 
my  eyes  and  against  my  nose,  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  put  it  into  my  mouth. 
These  pleasantries  soon  ceased  to  amuse 
her,  and  she  next  tried  pulling  my 
whiskers,  and  messing  my  white  shirt 
and  collar,  by  patting  and  pulling  them 
with  her  dirty  little  hands.  My  four 
boys,  seated  in  a  row,  wrapped  up  in 
shawls  and  waterproofs,  looked  pretty 
dismally  comical,  but  I  was  too  cross  to 
enjoy   the    situation,   and    vowed  it 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  CHILDREN. 


19; 


■would  be  the  last  time  I  would  ever 
be   found   going  on  a  pleasure  excur- 
sion with  half  a  dozen  unruly  brats. 
That    confounded    servant     never 
turned  up  for  ages,  and  then  had  only 
about  half  a  cup  of  milk,  which   had 
apparently  no  effect  but  to  make  the 
baby  cry  for  more.     When  she   did 
come,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  for  a 
walk  alone  and  ])ay  a  visit  to  a  coun- 
try   inn    which    had    large     grounds 
surrounding  it,  containing  the  usual 
swings,  merry-go-rounds,  and  summer- 
houses  that    accompany  pleasure  re- 
sorts.    Nellie  and   Harry   begged  so 
much    to    go   too,  that  I  finally  took 
them,  they  promising  to  be  very  good, 
and  with  only  two  of  my  olive  branches 
to  look  after  I   felt  a  comparatively 
happy  man.     We  reached  the  inn  witli 
its  garden  and  attractions,  'and  found 
any  number  of  people  enjoying  them- 
selves   in   their  own  way,  which  the 
greatest  part  of  them  did  by  eating 
and  talking.     Scraps  of  orange  peel, 
nut  shells,  pieces  of  paper,   crusts  of 
bread  and  rinds  of  melons  strewed  the 
loudly-advertised  velvet  lawns.      The 
candy,  cakes  and  ginger  beer,   in  the 
wooden  stalls   that  were  dotted  here 
and  there  about  the  grounds,  appeared 
to  be  in  a  dissolving  state  of  stickiness, 
and  looked  anything  but  appetising — 
.ifc  least  to  me.        Nellie    and    Harry 
thought  otherwise,  Harry  investing  his 
last  five  cents  in  a  tumbler  of  disgust- 
ing-looking lemonade,  and  Nellie  her 
coppers    in  jaundiced-looking    lemon 
and  orange  drops.     I  left  the  children 
for  a  minute  or  two  while  I  got  a  glass 
of  lager  beer,  which  I  daresay  would 
have  been   good  enough  if  it  hadn't 
been   luke-warm   (the  man's  ice  had 
given  out).     I  found  warm  lager  by  no 
means  delicious,  but  being  very  thirsty 
I  drank  it  nevertheless,    and  thought 
I'd  have  a  smoke  and  see  if  a  good  Ha- 
vana would  not  soothe  my  rutfled  feel- 
ings.    I  lit  my  cigar  and  was  enjoying 
it    fully,  when  I   remembered  Harry 
and  Nellie,  and  strolled  leisurely  round 
to  look   for   them.     They   were   not 
where  I  left  them,  but  that  caused  me 


no  alarm,  though  it  was  sometime  be- 
fore I  discovered  their  whereabouts. 
When   I  did,    it   rather  upset  me  to 
see    that    the    young  monkeys  were 
enjoying  a   swing  high  up  in  the  air, 
both  standing  to  all  appearance  in  the 
most    perilous    position,     and    trying 
their  best  to  get  on  a  level  with  the 
branches  of  the  trees.     I  hardly  knew 
what  to  do,  but  called  out  to  them  to 
;    stop  swinging  and  come  down  directly. 
1  shall    never   forget    the  eflfect    my 
I    words  had  :  they  were  at  the  farthest 
j    limit  of  the  rope  when  they  heard  my 
voice,  and  Nellie  turned  quickly  round, 
I    and  before  I  had  time  to  utter  a  word 
I    of  caution,   a  shrill   scream  rang  out 
!    into  the  air.    I  saw  the  flutter  of  some- 
!    thing  white,  and  heard  a  dull  thud  on 
j    the  ground.     I   was    horrified.     The 
I   blood  in  my  v^ns  seemed  to  stop,   I 
became  dizzy,  and  for  a  moment  could 
not    summon  courage  to  look  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound,  or  dare  to  go 
to  pick  up  the  little  mangled  form  I 
expected  to  find  lying  there.     Some- 
thing seemed  to  swim  before  my  eyes 
as  I  stooped  under  the  trees  and  looked 
blindly  for  my  child  :  for  a  moment  I 
hardly  saw  anything,   else  I  wouldn't 
have  got  such   a   knock   on  my  back 
and  head  as  I  stooped  down  from  the 
I    returning    swing,  where  to  my    com- 
i    plete  bewilderment  still  stood  Harry 
j   and  Nellie  safe  and  sound,  and  laugh- 
1    ing  heartily  at  the  rap  they  had  given 
me.     It  was  the  board  and  not  either 
of  the  children  that  had  fallen;  Nellie 
screamed   when   she   felt   it  slipping 
from    under  her  feet,  but  had  clung 
like  a  squirrel  to  the   rope,  and  ap- 
peared unconscious  of  having  escaped 
from  any  danger.     They  informed  lue 
that  they  were   '  working  down,'  and 
in   a  minute  or  two  jumped  off  the 
swing  with  rosy  cheeks  and  brimming 
over  with  excitement  at  the  fun  they 
had  had. 

I  regret  to  say  that  when  I  dis- 
covered the  needlessness  of  my  fright, 
and  the  innocent  cause  of  it  laughing 
merrily,  I  indulged  in  language  more 
expressive  than  elegant,   and  hardly 


190 


CONFESSIONS. 


fit  for  infant  ears.  I  had  a  severe 
pain  in  my  back  and  head  from  the 
blow,  and  felt  in  a  mood  to  thrash 
some  one  within  an  inch  of  his  life, 
although,  I  am  happy  to  state,  I  re- 
frained from  giving  any  jihysical  proof 
of  the  rage  I  was  in.  I  marshalled 
my  young  people  back  to  their  mother 
in  the  worst  possible  frame  of  mind, 
and  gave  my  wife  such  a  lecture  on 
the  way  she  brought  up  lier  children 
as  almost  to  bring  tears  to  her  eyes. 
Poor  woman,  she  looked  tired  out,  as, 
having  sent  the  nurse  to  look  after  the 
other  children,  she  was  trying  her  best 
to  soothe  the  baby,  who  was  awfully 
cross. 

Utterly  disgusted,  I  threw  myself 
down  on  the  grass  a  little  distance  off, 
and  tried  to  rest  my  aching  head, 
when,  glancing  at  my  watch,  I  saw 
that  we  had  only  time  to  walk  slowly 
back  to  the  station  to  get  the  train 
home.  I  immediately  got  up  and  in- 
formed my  family  that  it  was  time  to 
depart.  At  this  news  I  saw  an  intense 
look  of  relief  pass  over  my  tired  wife's 
face,  as  she  said  she  would  be  glad 
when  we  were  safe  at  home  again. 
The  children  hastily  disposed  of  the  re- 
mainder of  the  eatables,  and  we  set 
otF  on  the  walk  through  the  woods  and 
dusty  country  roads,  laden  with  the 
baskets,  which  seemed  as  heavy  as  be- 
fore. On  our  way  back  the  road  cer- 
tainly appeared  longer,  for,  instead  of 


the  twins,  I  had  to  carry  Nellie,  who 
is  a  stout  child  of  six,  the  unusual 
food,  the  excitement  of  the  trip  and 
the  famous  swing  having  completely 
upset  the  child. 

When  at  last  we  arrived  at  the  sta- 
tion, we  were  a  sorry  looking  family, 
^ly  wife,  usually  so  fresh  and  hand- 
some, looked  hot  and  flustered,  her 
hair  was  straggling  and  untidy,  and  her 
pretty  dress  showed  many  a  green 
grass  stain  and  the  marks  of  dirty 
little  fingers.  The  trip  home  was  a 
frightful  experience  ;  the  children 
were  as  cross  as  two  sticks,  and  their 
elders  (I  can  speak  positively  of  the 
feelings  of  one  at  least)  crosser.  As 
for  the  baby,  she  never  stopped  yell- 
ing, except  to  take  breath  to  begin 
again.  Besides  being  a  bother  to  our- 
selves, we  were  an  unutterable  nui- 
sance to  the  other  excursionists.  I 
heard  one  broad-shouldered  workman 
remark,  as  he  regarded  his  own  good, 
quiet  youngsters,  that  if  he  '  belonged 
to  the  gentry,  he  guessed  he'd  teach  his 
children  better  manners  or  stay  at 
home.'  lendorsedtheman'ssentiments, 
resolving  then  and  there  that  once  safe 
at  home  nothing  on  earth  would  ever 
induce  me  to  go  on  a  day's  pleasure 
in  the  country  with  a  pack  of  children, 
and  if  I  am  any  judge  of  physiognomy 
Mrs.  Slater,  in  the  inmost  recesses  of 
her  heart,  registered  a  similar  vow. 


CONFESSIONS 

A  SERIES  or  SONNETS. 

BY  '  SERANOS,'  OTTAWA. 

VI. 


SHALL  I  be  blamed  if  I  so  write  of  you 
As  lovers  of  their  mistresses  1     Her  gown. 
Her  glove,  the  mignonette  she  fastened  down 
Upon  her  bosom's  lace,  even  her  shoe 


CONFESSIONS. 

Has  claimed  their  muse  and  will  again,  for  who 
Loves  earnestly  at  all,  loves  all,  from  crown 
Of  curled  head  (so  have  they  written)  down 
To  fleeing  foot  fearing  lest  one  pursue. 

And  when  in  long  and  listless  twilight  mood 
At  twilight  I  have  sat  and  dreamed  of  you, 

How  could  I  picture  you  but  as  indeed 

I  know  you,  clad  in  dearest  suit  of  tweed 

Man  ever  wore,  with  scarf  of  richest  blue, 

Yet  fear  I  lest  I  be  not  understood. 


19: 


VII. 


For  why  should  these  things  be  less  dear  to  me 
Because  you  are  a  man  and  I — a  woman  1 
Because  I  am,  I  am  more  surely  human. 

And  though  as  surely  love  with  digiaity, 

With  stateliness  and  rigid  purity, 

With  reverence  for  all  those  gifts  of  mind 
Which  first  I  saw  in  you,  (and  long  was  blind 

To  other  gifts  which  now  at  length  I  see,) 

With  art  to  keep  your  passion  in  control. 

With  almost  mother's  yearning  for  your  Best 
And  Highest  always — yet  it  seems  to  me 
In  perfect  Love  must  be  equality  ; 

An  equal  charm  in  all  must  be  confessed. 

Body  nor  mind  the  greater,  neither 'soul. 


VIIT. 

A  sky  all  yellow  in  the  evening  west, 

But  pale  and  bluish-cold  elsewhere.     The  trees 

Like  branching  seaweeds  under  amber  seas, 
Are  traced  in  clearest,  blackest,  delicatest 
Pencillings  against  the  glow.     A  sense  of  rest 

Is  come  to  me,  and  sinking  on  my  knees 

Beside  the  opened  window  (though  it  freeze 
Who  would  shut  out  this  winter  air  1     The  best 

Of  impulses  come  with  it  !)     I  become, 
Through  gazing,  one  with  air  and  golden  sky, 

And  golden  thread  of  river  running  down 
Far  westward  by  the  sun-gilt,  glowing  town. 
0  Spirit  of  Bcavty — more  I  cannot  cry, 

Alas  !  the  Spirit  of  Love  still  keeps  me  dumb  I 


198 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


BY  PROF.  OOLDWIN  SMITH,  M.A. 


ON  opening  the  NineteentJi  Century 
the  other  day  in  Canada,  I  was 
surprised  to  tind  that  Mr.  Lucien  Wolf, 
of  tlie  Je^citih  World,  in  his  paper  on  the 
•Anti-Jewish  agitation,  had  set  me  down 
as  having  commenced  the  agitation  in 
England.  Mr.  Wolf  wi'ites,  as  he  avows, 
under  the  influence  of  '  all-consuming 
indignation  and  strong  passion,'  for 
which  it  is  easy,  under  the  circumstances, 
to  feel  respect  and  sympathy,  but  which 
cannot  fail  to  colour  his  statements.  I  re- 
plied at  the  time  that  I  was  not  aware 
that  there  had  ever  been  an  Anti- Jewish 
agitation  in  England.  No  tidings  of  such 
a  movement  had  reached  Canada.  So  far 
as  I  could  see,  fully  the  due  measure  of 
homage  was  being  paid  by  the  highest 
representatives  of  English  society  to 
Jewish  wealth.  We  had  even  received 
accounts,  in  connection  with  the  last 
general  election,  of  a  new  political  sect 
which  was  seeking  to  identify  the  Eng- 
lish race  with  the  Ten  Tribes,  and  found 
on  that  pedigree  a  claim  to  world-wide 
dominion.  In  Germany,  as  elsewhere 
on  the  Continent,  there  has  been  an 
Anti-Jewish  agitation  :  in  England,  I 
apprehend,  there  has  been  none. 

It  had  happened  that  when  I  was  last 
in  England  we  were  on  the  brink  of  a 
war  with  Russia,  which  would  have  in- 
volved the  whole  Empire,  including  C  a- 
nada,  whose  mercantile  marine  woiild 
have  been  in  great  danger  of  being  cut 
up  by  Russian  cruisers.  The  Jewish 
interest  throughout  Europe,  with  the 
Jewish  Press  of  Vienna  as  its  chief  or- 
gan, was  doing  its  utmost  to  push  us  in. 
Mr.  Lucien  Wolf  avows  that  the  Jews 
all  over  the  world  were  united  in  oppo- 
sition to  what  they  regarded  as  the  hy- 
pocritical designs  of  Russia,  though 
Russia  might  perhaps  retort  the  epithet, 
inasmuch  as  her  crime  in  their  eyes  was 
not  her  ambition  but  her  protecti<m  of 
the  Eastern  Christians,  with  whom  the 
Jews  had  a  quarrel  of  their  own.  At 
such  a  crisis  it  was  necessary  and  right 


to  remind  the  English  people  that  Israel 
was  a  separate  race,  with  tribal  objects, 
and  that  its  enmities  could  not  be  safely 
allowed  to  sway  the  councils  of  England. 
As  to  the  merits  of  the  quarrel  between 
the  Eastern  Christians  and  the  Jews, 
there  was  no  room  for  doubt  :  we  had 
some  reason  to  belie^•e  that  there  was 
as  much  of  extortion  on  one  side  as  of 
fanaticism  on  the  other  :  but  at  all 
events  it  was  not  an  English  quarrel,  or 
one  in  which  English  blood  could  justi- 
fiably be  shed. 

I  heartily  su^jported,  and,  were  it 
needful,  would  heartily  support  again, 
the  political  enfranchisement  of  the 
Jews,  though  I  do  not  pretend  to  be- 
lieve that  people  who  intrench  them- 
selves in  tribal  exclusiveness,  refuse 
intermarriage,  and  treat  the  rest  of  the 
community  as  Gentiles,  are  the  very 
best  of  candidates  for  citizenship.  But 
the  franchise  is  a  trust,  in  the  exercise 
of  which  every  one  must  expect  to  be 
watched,  especially  those  who  are  liable 
to  any  i>eculiar  bias,  above  all  when  their 
allegiance  is  divided  between  the  nation 
and  some  other  power  or  interest.  The 
staunchest  advocate  of  Catholic  emanci- 
pation has  never  doubted  that  it  was 
right  to  watch  the  Catholics,  at  least 
the  Ultramontanes,  as  often  as  there  was 
any  possibility  of  a  divergence  between 
the  interest  of  the  nation  and  those  of 
the  Papacy.  If  I  am  not  misinformed, 
the  movement  against  the  Jesuits  and 
against  Ultramontanism  in  Germany — 
the  Education  War,  as  it  is  called — has 
found  ardent  supporters  among  the  Jews. 
Especially  is  vigilance  needful  when  the 
equivocal  influence  is  exercised  through 
the  secretly  enslaved  organs  of  an  osten- 
sibly independent  Press. 

If  patriotism  means  merely  a  -v^illing- 
ness  to  perform  all  social  duties  and  to 
do  good  to  the  community,  nobody  can 
deny  that  it  may  be  possessed  in  the 
largest  measure  by  the  kinsmen  of  Sir 
Moses  Montefiore.  But  if  it  means  undi- 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


191) 


vided  devotion  to  the  national  interest, 
there  is  difficulty  in  seeing  how  it  can 
be  possessed  without  aljatenient  by  the 
members  of  a  cosmopolitan  and  wander- 
ing race,  with  a  tribal  bond,  tribal  aspi- 
rations, and  tribal  feelings  of  its  own. 
Far  be  it  from  Liberals  to  set  up  a  iiar- 
row  patriotism  as  the  highest  of  vii-tues, 
or  to  make  an  idol  of  the  nation.  There 
is  something  higher  than  nationality, 
something  which  nationality  at  present 
ought  to  serve,  and  in  wliich  it  will  ulti- 
mately be  merged.  Mazzini  taught  us 
how  to  think  upon  that  subject.  But 
tribalism  is  not  higher  or  more  liberal 
than  nationality ;  it  is  lower  and  less 
liberal ;  it  is  the  primeval  germ  of  which 
nationality  is  the  more  civihzed  develop- 
ment. i!sor  does  the  narrowest  patriot 
make  such  a  religious  idol  of  his  nation 
as  the  Jew  makes  of  his  tribe.  All  the 
other  races  profess  at  least  allegiance  to 
humanity  :  they  all  look  forward,  how- 
ever vaguely,  to  a  day  of  universal 
brotherhood ;  they  cannot  help  doing  | 
this  if  they  are  Christian,  and  have  ac- 
cepted the  ideal  of  the  Christian  Church. 
The  Jew  alone  regards  his  race  as  supe- 
rior to  humanity,  and  looks  forward  not 
to  its  ultimate  union  with  other  races, 
but  to  its  triumph  over  them  all,  and  to 
its  final  ascendancy  under  the  leadership 
of  a  tribal  Messiah.  I  mean  of  course 
the  genuine,  or,  as  the  Americans  would 
say  with  rough  picturescpieness,  the 
*  hard-shell '  Jews.  About  the  position 
of  these  alone  can  there  be  any  question. 
A.S  to  the  men  of  Jewish  descent  who 
have  put  off  tribalism  altogether,  we 
have  only  to  welcome  them  as  citizens 
in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  term  and  to 
rejoice  in  any  good  gifts,  peculiar  to 
their  stock,  which  they  may  bring  to  the 
common  store.  But  Mr.  Wolf  speaks 
for  the  genuine  Jew  :  he  rejects,  evi- 
dently with  abhorrence,  the  thought  of 
intermarriage  with  the  Gentile. 

Of  the  existence  of  Israel  as  a  power 
and  interest  apart  from  the  nations, 
though  domiciled  among  them,  there 
can  scarcely  be  a  doubt.  One  who  has 
deeply  studied  the  question,  Mr.  Oli- 
phant,  in  his  recent  and  very  interesting 
work  The  Land  of  Gilead,  dwells  more 
than  once  on  the  great  advantages  which 
any  European  Government  might  gain 
over  its  rivals  by  an  alliance  with  the 
Jews.  'It  is  evident,'  he  says,  'that 
the  policy  which  I  have  proposed  to  the 
Turkish  Government  (i.e.  the  restoration 
of  Palestine)   might  be   adopted    with 


equal  advantage  by  England  or  any 
other  European  power.  The  nation  that 
espoused  the  cause  of  the  Jews  and  their 
restoration  to  Palestine  would  be  able 
to  rely  on  their  support  in  financial  ope- 
rations on  the  largest  scale,  upon  the 
powerful  inliuence  which  they  Avield  in 
the  Press  of  many  coiuatries,  and  on 
their  political  co  ojaeration  in  those  coun- 
tries, which  would  of  necessity  tend  to 
paralyze  tlie  diplomatic  and  even  hostile 
action  of  Powers  antagonistic  to  the  one 
with  which  they  were  allied.  Owing  to 
the  financial,  political,  and  commercial 
importance  to  which  the  Jews  have  now 
attained,  there  is  probably  no  one  power 
in  EurojDe  that  would  prove  so  valuable 
an  ally  to  a  nation  likely  to  be  engaged 
in  a  European  war  as  this  wealthy, 
powerful,  and  cosmopolitan  race.'  Per- 
haps the  writer  of  these  words  hardly 
realizes  the  state  of  things  which  they 
present  to  our  minds.  We  see  the  Gov- 
ernments of  Europe  bidding  against  each 
other  for  the  favour  and  support  of  an 
anti  national  money  power,  which  would 
itself  be  morally  unfettered  by  any  alle- 
giance, would  be  ever  ready  to  betray 
and  secretly  paralyze  for  its  own  objects 
the  Governments  under  the  protection 
of  which  its  members  were  living,  and 
of  course  w^ould  be  always  gaining 
strength  and  predominance  at  the  ex- 
pense of  a  divided  and  subservient  world. 
The  least  part  of  the  evil  would  be  the 
wound  inflicted  on  our  pride.  It  is  the 
highest  treason  against  civilization  that 
Mr.  Oliphant  unwittingly  suggests.  If 
Hussia  were  alone  to  stand  out  against 
such  submission,  even  though  her  mo- 
tives might  not  be  untainted,  she  would 
practically  acquire  no  inconsiderable 
title  to  the  sympathy  of  the  nations. 

The  allusion  to  the  influence  waelded 
by  the  Jews  in  the  European  Press  has 
a  particularly  sinister  sound.  This,  as 
has  already  been  said,  is  a  danger  the 
growth  of  which  specially  justifies  our 
vigilance.  In  the  social  as  in  the  physi- 
cal sphere  new  diseases  are  continually 
making  their  appearance.  One  of  the 
new  social  diseases  of  the  present  day, 
and  certainly  not  the  least  deadly,  is  the 
perversion  of  public  opinion,  in  the  in- 
terest of  private  or  sectional  objects,  by 
the  clandestine  manipulation  of  the 
Press. 

Mr.  Wolf,  throughout  his  paper,  as- 
sumes that  the  main  question  between 
the  Jews  and  their  adversaries  is  one  of 
religion,  and  that  opposition  to  Jewish 


200 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


ascendancy  is  a  revival  of  religions  per- 
secution. To  the  full  extent  to  which 
his  belief  is  well  founded,  I  share  his 
'all-consuming  indignation.'  Indeed, 
the  fear  of  seeming  to  abet  anything 
like  an  attack  on  liberty  of  conscience 
makes  me  almost  shrink  from  dealing 
with  the  subject.  In  tliis  respect,  how- 
ever, I  feel  that  I  am  tolerably  free  from 
reproach .  1  believe  I  liave  on  all  occa- 
sions, to  the  ntmost  of  my  power,  sup- 
ported the  cause  of  perfect  freedom  of 
opinion.  I  have  advocated  nnsectarian 
educationin  all  its  grades,  and  noonecan 
desire  more  heartily  than  1  do  to  see  the 
last  relic  of  intolerance  swept  away  from 
«  the  constitution  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. But  among  the  opponents  of  Lib- 
eral principles  on  both  these  points,  as  I 
am  told,  are  rich  Jews,  wlio  have  appar- 
ently come  to  the  conclusion  that  secta- 
rian education  and  exclusive  tests  are  use- 
ful guardians  of  certain  special  interests. 
It  seems  that  in  France  corresponding 
phenomena  present  themselves.  The 
French  correspondent  of  a  thoroughly 
pro- Jewish  journal  in  this  country  re- 
marks, with  reference  to  the  part  played 
by  the  Jews  in  French  politics,  that '  the 
Jew,  when  struggling,  or  merely  rich,  is 
Anti-Clerical  and  Liberal,  but  when  he 
becomes  a  magnate  and  wants  to  marry 
his  children  to  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  ' '  crusading  "  families  of  undoubted 
nobility,  he  becomes  a  supporter  of 
moral  order  and  all  that  is  comprised 
in  the  term.  '  It  is  possible,  then,  to 
be  opposed  to  Jews  and  yet  to  be  on  the 
side  of  religious  liberty.  If  I  mistake 
not,  the  possibility  will  become  more 
evident  every  day  in  proportion  as 
Israel  accumulates  more  wealth,  and  be- 
comes more  identified  with  the  class  to 
which  the  good  things  and  the  honours 
of  the  world  belong. 

For  my  part,  I  have  been  all  along 
persuaded  that  in  these  troubles  religion 
is  not  the  i)rimary  but  a  secondary 
cause  ;  though,  as  it  struck  the  eye  of 
superficial  observers  most,  it  has  been 
hitherto  taken  for  the  primary  cause  ; 
much  as  in  the  case  of  Ireland  the  con- 
flict was  tormerly  supposed  to  be  one 
entirely  between  Catholic  and  Protes- 
tant ;  and  even  the  Whiteboy  outrages, 
though  plainly  agrarian,  were  imagined 
to  be  connected  with  the  religious  feud. 
The  root  of  the  mischief  lies,  I  am  con- 
vinced, not  in  the  peculiar  creed,  but  in 
the  peculiar  character,  habits,  and  posi- 
tion  of  the  Jewish   people  ;    in   their 


tribal  exclusiveness,  their  practice  of  the 
tribal  rite  of  circumcision,  the  nature  of 
the  trades  to  which  they  are  addicted, 
and  the  relation  in  which  they  stand  to 
the  native  races  of  the  countries  wlierein 
they  take  up  their  abode  as  a  wandering 
and  parasitic  race,  without  a  countr}% 
avoiding  ordinary  labour,  and  spreading 
over  the  world  to  live  on  the  labour  of 
others  by  means  of  usury  and  other 
pursuits  of  the  same  sort.  They  are  not 
the  only  instance  of  the  kind.  The  Ar- 
menians]are  another,  the  Parsees  a  third ; 
the  Greeks  were  fast  becoming  a  fourth, 
when  happily  alike  for  them  and  other 
nations  their  country  was  restored  to 
them.  The  Lombards  and  Cahorsins,  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  were  examples  of  the 
same  tendency  on  a  smaller  scale,  as  the 
Gypsies  are  in  a  diflerent  way.  But  the 
theological  importance  attached  to  the 
Jews  and  the  belief  in  the  divinely  or- 
dained and  penal  character  of  their 
wanderings  has  prevented  their  case 
from  being  referred  to  the  historical  class 
to  which  it  belongs,  and  caused  their 
dispersion  to  be  regarded  not  only  as 
far  the  most  memorable,  which  assur- 
edly it  is,  but  as  absolutely  unique. 

I  had  once  been  listening  to  a  debate 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  on  a  motion 
brought  forward  by  that  most  excellent 
scion  of  the  Jewish  race,  the  late  Sir  F. 
Goldsmith,  respecting  the  maltreatment 
of  the  Jews  in  the  Danubian  Principali- 
ties, in  which  it  was  assumed  both  by 
the  mover  and  by  the  Foreign  Minister, 
who  replied  to  him,  that  the  case  was 
one  of  religious  persecution.  At  my 
side  sat  a  friend,  who  knew  the  Princi- 
palities well,  who  hated  Avrong  and  op- 
pression of  all  kinds  if  ever  man  did ,  and 
who  was  not  a  Christian  but  an  avowed 
Agnostic.  He  said  that  in  his  opinion 
the  real  point  had  been  missed  ;  that  the 
case  in  its  essential  character  was  not 
one  of  religious  persecution  ;  that  the 
people,  a  good-natured  race,  were  not 
inflamed  with  fanatical  hatred  of  the 
Jewish  faith  ;  that  a  Jewish  synagogue, 
in  one  of  the  cities,  received  aid  from 
the  Government.  The  Jews,  he  said, 
came  among  a  simple-minded  peasantiy, 
devoured  its  substance  by  usury,  dis- 
possessed it  of  its  freeholds,  and  at  the 
same  time  corrupted  it  by  the  practice 
of  demoralizing  trades  ;  hence  attempts 
were  made  to  exclude  them  from  the 
country,  and  they  were  sometimes  treat- 
ed with  cruel  violence.  In  Russia,  as 
we  are  told  by  the  best  authorities,  iu- 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


201 


eluding  Mr.  Mackenzie  Wallace,  the 
people  regard  religion  very  ninch  as  a 
(luestion  of  nationality,  deeming  it  per- 
fectly natural  that  a  man  of  a  diflerent 
race  should  also  have  a  diti'erent  creed, 
so  that  the  inhabitants  of  Christian  vil- 
lages dwell  peaceably  side  by  side  with 
the  inhabitants  of  vilhiges  which  are  not 
Christian.  Hence  it  would  seem  that 
in  this  case  again  religious  fanaticism 
can  hardly  be  the  chief  source  of  the 
popular  excitement.  The  Germans  are 
being  denounced  as  a  herd  of  infuriated 
and  brutal  bigots  ;  but  they  are  in  reality 
a  kindly  people,  and  their  history  is 
peculiarly  free  from  the  stains  of  religi- 
ons persecution,  especially  if  we  take 
out  the  action  of  Austria,  which  is  really 
not  a  German  power.  Mr.  Wolf  com- 
plains of  the  frequent  Boycotting  of 
Jews  in -the  United  States.  He  refers, 
I  presume,  to  the  refusal,  some  time  ago, 
of  New  York  insurance  offices  to  insure 
the  houses  of  the  Jews,  and  to  their  re- 
cent exclusion  from  some  hotels  in  the 
same  State.  At  least  I  know  of  nothing 
else  to  which  the  term  '  Boycotting'  could 
be  applied.  In  both  cases  the  reason 
may  have  been  insufficient  ;  but  in  both 
it  was  commercial,  not  religious.  No 
New  York  insurance  office  or  hotel  would 
ever  refuse  anybody's  money  on  religi- 
ous grounds.  At  the  time  of  Secession 
an  order,  the  exact  tenor  of  which  I  do 
not  now  remember,  w'as  issued  by  a 
Federal  commander  against  the  Jews, 
who  were  plying  their  usual  trades  in 
the  wake  of  war  ;  but  we  may  be  quite 
sure  that  this  was  a  military  measure, 
with  which  bigotry  had  nothing  to  do. 
That  the  Jews  should  have  exposed 
themselves  to  exceptional  treatment  in 
a  country  where  tlie  principle  of  religious 
liberty  and  equality  is  so  firmly  esta- 
blished, not  only  in  the  Constitution, 
but  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  as  it  is 
in  the  United  States,  seems  clearly  to 
indicate  that  there  may  be  other  than 
I'eligious  groiinds  for  the  popular  feeling 
against  them  in  other  countries  also. 
No  man  is  responsible  to  his  fellow  men 
for  his  beliefs,  however  strange  they  may 
be  ;  but  every  man,  whatever  his  beliefs, 
must  take  the  natural  consequences  of 
his  actions.  He  who  plies  an  unpopular 
trade,  or  does  what  is  ofiensive  to  his 
neighbours,  at  the  same  time  treating 
them  as  Gentiles,  will  be  sure  to  incur 
odium  not  only  of  the  theological  kind. 
That  his  ancestors,  eighteen  centuries 
and  a  half  ago,  instigated  Pilate  to  cru- 


cify Christ  is  a  very  bad  reason  for  mal- 
treating any  man  at  the  present  day  ; 
but  it  is  an  ecjually  bad  reason  for  allow- 
ing any  man  to  behave  oU'ensively  at  the 
present  day  that  his  ancestors  were  mal- 
treated in  the  Middle  Ages. 

In  such  German  pamplilets  as  I  have 
seen  upcm  this  (juestion  I  have  not  no- 
ticed str(mg  traces  of  theological  antag- 
onism. Herr  Stocker  seems  fully  imbued 
with  the  old-fashioned  reverence  for  the 
faith  of  Israel  :  his  complaint  is  rather 
that  there  is  too  little  of  it  among  the 
modern  Israelites  than  that  there  is  too 
much.  The  Jewish  antipathy  to  labour 
oflends  him  as  a  Christian  Socialist,  with 
whom  the  duty  and  the  dignity  of  labour 
are  primary  articles  of  faith  :  this  is  the 
nearest  approach  to  religious  antagonism 
that  I  have  observed.  Herr  Stocker 
complains,  it  is  true,  of  the  attacks  made 
by  the  Jewish  Press  on  Christianity  ; 
but  this  he  might  do  without  exposing 
himself  to  the  charge  of  intolerance, 
though  perhaps  there  is  some  exaggera 
tion  in  his  complaints. 

The  belief  that  these  troubles  are 
wholly  or  mainly  religious  flows  natur- 
ally from  the  notion,  almost  universally 
entertained,  that  Israel  is  merely  a  dis- 
senting sect.  Talleyrand,  as  a  remark- 
able passage  quoted  by  Mr.  Wolf  shows, 
fancied  that  a  Jew  was  just  like  any 
other  citizen,  saving  his  theological 
opinions,  and  that  when  toleration  was 
extended  to  those  opinions,  he  would 
become  like  other  citizens  in  every  re- 
spect. The  advocacy  of  Jewish  eman 
cipation  in  England  proceeded  on  the 
same  assumption,  while  the  opposition 
was  founded  on  that  of  a  religious  crime 
and  a  divine  sentence.  The  result  has 
proved  that  though  emancipation  was 
wise  and  right,  the  impression  under 
which  the  debate  was  conducted  was 
mistaken.  We  now  see  that  Israel  is 
not  a  sect,  but  a  vast  relic  of  primaeval 
tribalism,  with  its  tribal  mark,  its  tribal 
separatism,  and  its  tribal  God.  The 
affinity  of  Judaism  is  not  to  non-confor- 
mity but  to  caste.  If  Judaism  were  a 
religion  as  Christianity  or  Buddhism  is, 
it  would,like  Christianity  and  Buddhism, 
proselytize  :  it  did  proselytize  during 
that  period  of  its  history  in  which,  under 
the  influence  of  Greek  philosophy  and 
other  liberalizing  agencies,  it  was  tend- 
ing from  the  condition  of  a  tribal  to  that 
of  a  universal  creed,  though  it  subse- 
quently fell  back  into  tribalism,  Philo 
succumbing  to  the  Rabbi,  while  the  more 


202 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


spiritual  and  universal  element  disen- 
gaged itself  in  the  form  of  Christianity. 
A  Jewish  writer,  who  is  himself  a  strik- 
ing proof  of  the  fact  that  the  race  is  much 
and  the  religious  profession  little,  has 
said  that  the  Jews  no  more  care  to  make 
proselytes  than  does  the  House  of  Lords. 
We  may,  with  Thackeray,  smile  at  the 
idea  that  the  denizens  of  Be  vis  Marks 
are  unapproachable  aristocrats  of  the 
human  race,  but  the  saying  points  to  a 
serious  and  important  truth. 

It  is  partly  under  the  influence  of  the 
same  erroneous  impression,  as  I  venture 
to  think,  that  Mr.  Wolf  ascribes  what- 
ever is  not  lofty  in  the  commercial  char- 
aiter  and  habits  of  the  Jews  to  the 
'  demoniac  attitude '  of  Christianity,  that 
he  depicts  the  conduct  of  Christendom 
towai'd  Judaism  throughout  history  as 
*  a  persecution  unexampled  for  its  long 
duration  and  calculated  malignity,'  that 
he  speaks  of  the  '  brutality  and  infamous 
uncharitableness  with  which  throughout 
the  ages  the  Jews  have  been  wantonly 
persecuted  by  the  soi-discmt  votaries  of 
a  Gospel  of  Mercy. '  Such  expressions, 
I  submit,  betray  a  misreading  of  history, 
and  one  which  not  only  produces  a  mis- 
conception as  to  the  main  source  of  these 
calamitous  conflicts  in  the  past,  but  pre- 
vents the  Jew  from  seeing  what  is  the 
only  real  security  against  their  recurrence 
in  the  future.  The  group  of  nations 
which  make  up  Christendom  emerged 
from  barbarism  only  by  a  very  gradual 
process,  as  did  also  the  nation  which 
deemed  that  it  pleased  God  by  the  mas- 
sacre of  the  Canaanites  with  their  wives 
and  children,  and  which  penned  the 
books  of  Judges,  Chronicles,  and  Esther  ; 
but  apart  from  any  belief  about  revela- 
tion, and  from  theological  questions 
altogether,  it  has  as  fair  a  claim  at  least 
as  any  other  group  to  be  painted  with 
historical  discrimination,  and  not  care- 
lessly daubed  with  black.  Perhaps  in 
regard  to  the  Jewish  question  the  self- 
accusation  of  Christendom,  since  its 
acceptance  of  the  principle  of  toleration, 
has  somewhat  exceeded  the  fact,  as  the 
self-accusation  of  reformed  sinners  is  apt 
to  do.  Mr.  Wolf's  sweeping  language  is 
enough  in  itself  to  suggest  the  need  of 
historical  revision,  though  by  most  of  his 
Christian  readers  it  will  be  accepted  with- 
out criticism  and  echoed  with  a  peniten- 
tial sigh. 

There  are  features  common  to  the 
characters  of  Orientals  generally,  and 
visible   in  that  of  the   Jew,  for  which 


Christendom  plainly  is  not  responsible. 
Nor  is  Christendom  responsible  for  any- 
thing that  originally  marked,  for  good  or 
for  evil,  either  the  Semitic  stock  gene- 
rally or  the  Hebrew  branch  of  it.  It  was 
nut  the  attitude  of  Christianity  that  made 
the  Phtenician  a  kidnapper  or  the  Car- 
thaginian faithless.  It  was  not  the 
attitude  of  Christianity  that  caused  the 
Jews  to  adopt  as  a  typical  hero  the  man 
who  takes  advantage  of  his  brother's 
hunger  to  buy  him  out  of  his  birthright 
with  a  mess  of  pottage,  or  led  them  to 
record  with  exultation  how  they  had 
spoiled  the  Egyptians  by  borrowing  their 
jewels  on  a  feigned  pretext.  It  was  not 
Christianity  that  penned  passages  in 
Hebrew  books  instinct  with  sanguinary 
tribalism  and  viidictive  malediction. 
But  a  more  unhappy  element  probably 
in  the  special  character  of  the  modern 
Jew  than  any  Oriental  or  Semitic  defect 
is  the  accumulated  efl'ect  of  the  wander- 
ing life,  with  its  homelessness,  its  com- 
bination of  degrading  vagrancy  with 
unpopular  exclusiveness,  its  almost  ine- 
vitable tendency  to  mean  and  hateful 
trades.  And  to  the  wandering  life  the 
Jews  were  led  partly  by  untoward  cir- 
cumstances, pai-tly  by  their  own  choice, 
certainly  not  by  the  attitude  or  the  con- 
duct of  Christendom.  They  seem  to 
have  been  not  less  unpopvilar  with  the 
nations  of  the  pagan  world,  including 
some  even  outside  the  pale  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  than  they  have  been  with  Christ- 
ian nations  ;  and  their  unpopularity 
seems  to  have  arisen  always  from  much 
the  same  causes.  Either  the  whole 
human  race  except  the  Jew  is  demoniac, 
or  there  is  something  naturally  unpopu- 
lar in  the  habits  and  bearing  of  the  Jew. 
The  Christian  States  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  in  which  the  Jews  underwent 
maltreatment,  were  in  an  early  stage  of 
civilization,  and  their  religion  was  bound 
up,  as  that  of  primitive  communities 
generally  is,  with  their  polity,  their  mor- 
ality, and  the  whole  life  of  their  people. 
They  could  no  more  help  this  than  a 
child  can  help  not  being  a  man.  His- 
torical philosophy  has  taught  us  to  dis- 
tinguish the  inevitable  shortcomings  of 
nations  from  their  crimes.  The  common 
faith  of  the  states  of  Christendom  foruied 
among  other  things  the  bond  of  their 
indispensable  and  eflective  though  loosely 
knit  confederation  against  Islam.  Into 
nations  of  this  character  the  Jew  intruded 
himself,  well  knowing  their  prejudices, 
which,  in  fact,  were  merely  the  counter- 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


203 


parts  of  his  own,  but  willing  to  run  all 
risks  in  pursuit  of  gain.  If  English 
adventurers  had  in  the  same  way  in- 
truded themselves  into  China  or  Japan 
before  these  countries  were  opened,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  the  Foreign  Office 
would  have  felt  itself  bound  to  protect 
them  in  case  of  a  riot.  Had  it  appeared 
that  they  had  been  plying  trades  oppres- 
sive and  naturally  hateful  to  the  people, 
their  misfortune,  though  it  might  have 
excited  pity,  would  have  created  little 
surprise.  Their  case  would  have  been 
still  weaker  if  they  had  been  acting  as 
instruments  of  extortion  in  the  service 
of  a  tyrant,  and  had  been  sharing  with 
him  the  spoils  of  the  people,  as  the  Jews 
did  under  the  mediaeval  kings,  and  as  it 
appears  that  they  did  also  in  Egypt 
under  the   Ptolemies. 

Jewish  writers,  in  their  natural  exas- 
peration, are  heaping  contumely  on  the 
memory  of  the  Crusaders.  By  David  or 
Isaiah  a  Crusader  might  have  been  under- 
stood: it  is  impossible  that  he  should  be 
understood  by  a  Jew  of  the  Talmud  and 
the  Stock  Exchange.  The  Crusades,  like 
theu-  sequel,  the  struggle  against  the 
Ottoman,  were  in  truth  a  defensive  war 
wagGid  by  Christendom  against  Islam, 
which,  organized  for  concpiest,  came  vic- 
toriously rolling  on,  with  fatalism,  des- 
potism, polygamy,  slavery,  and  the  other 
Eastern  vices  in  its  train,  till  on  the 
plains  of  Tours  it  had  almost  achieved 
the  subjugation  of  the  West.  The  Holy 
Sepulchre  was  the  Carroccio  of  Christen- 
dom, though  its  position,  far  in  advance 
of  the  natural  line  of  defence,  placed  the 
Christians  at  a  military  disadvantage. 
It  is  true  that  in  Godfrey  and  his  breth- 
ren in  arms  there  was  a  strain  of  savagery 
which  sometimes  totally  overpowered  the 
nobler  parts  of  their  character ;  that' they 
carried  on  their  holy  war  with  the  fero- 
city which  marked  wars  generally  in 
those  times ;  and  that  with  their  devotion 
were  largely  mingled  the  unextinguished 
propensity  to  nomadism,  the  love  of  mil- 
itary adventure,  and  the  lust  of  booty. 
Still  they  were  the  half-conscious  cham- 
pions of  that  which  has  been  incontest- 
ably  proved  by  experience  to  be  the 
higher  civilization,  and  for  the  hope  that 
was  in  them  they  gave  up  their  lands, 
their  pastimes,  and  the  bowers  of  their 
ladies,  and  went  to  die  on  Syrian  fields. 
So  long  as  Christianity  is  preferred  to 
Islam  we  must  look  with  gratitude  on 
the  stately  tombs  of  the  Crusaders.  The 
world  will  have  become  materialist  in- 


deed when  any  child  of  Western  civiliza- 
tion can  rejoice  in  abuse  of  St.  Louis  or 
Edward  I. 

Now  the  Jew  was  a  religious  alien, 
and  what  his  own  law,  if  the  parts  had 
been  changed,  would  have  called  a  blas- 
phemer in  a  religious  camp  at  a  crisis  of 
intense  excitement  and  mortal  peril. 
Not  only  so,  but  he  was  not  a  very  dis- 
tant kinsman,  and  probably  at  heart  a 
friend  of  the  enemy,  occasionally  perhaps 
even  a  confederate,  grotesque  as  some 
of  the  medi;eval  stories  of  Jewish  com- 
plicity with  the  Saracen  are.  INIrs.  Mag- 
nus, in  her  vivid  sketch  of  the  history  of 
her  compatriots,  says  : — 

'  Both  in  the  East  and  in  the  West  the 
rise  of  Mohammedanism  was,  in  truth, 
as  the  dawn  of  a  new  day  to  the  despised 
and  dispersed  Jews.  If  we  except  that 
one  bitter  quarrel  between  the  earliest 
followers  of  the  Prophet  and  the  Jews  of 
Arabia — and  that,  we  must  note,  was  no 
organized  or  systematic  pei'secution,  but 
rather  an  ebullition  of  anger  from  an 
ardent  enthusiast  at  his  first  unexpected 
rebuff — we  shall  find  that  Judaism  had 
much  reason  to  rejoice  at  the  rapid 
spread  of  Mohammedanism.  Monotlie- 
ists  like  the  Jews,  abhorring  like  them  all 
forms  of  image  worship,  worshipping  in 
simple  fashion  their  one  God  Allah, 
observing  dietary  laws  like  to  those  of 
Moses,  the  Mohammedans  both  in  their 
faith  and  in  their  practice  naturally 
found  more  grounds  for  agreement  with 
Jewish  doctrine  than  with  the  Christian 
dogma  of  a  complex  Godhead,  or  with 
the  undeveloped  aspirations  of  the 
heathen.  And  besides  some  identity  of 
principle  and  of  race  between  the  Mo- 
hammedan and  the  Jew,  there  soon  dis- 
covered itself  a  certain  hardly  definable 
kinship  of  habit  and  of  custom — a  sort 
of  sympathy,  in  fact,  which  is  often 
more  effectual  than  even  more  impor- 
tant causes  in  promoting  friendly  rela- 
tions either  nationally  or  individually. 
Then  also,  there  was  the  similarity  of 
language  ;  for  Arabic,  like  Hebrew, 
belongs  to  what  is  called  the  Semitic 
groTip.  .  .  .  Nearly  a  century  of 
experience  of  the  political  and  social 
results  of  the  Mohammedan  conquests 
must,  inevitably,  have  made  the  year 
710  stand  out  to  the  Jews  of  that  time 
as  the  beginning  of  a  grand  new  era  in 
their  history.  Centuries  of  cruelty  had 
made  the  wise, loyal  counsel  of  Jeremiah  to 
"  pray  for  the  peace  of  the  land  whither 
ye  are  led  captive  ;    its  peace  shall   be 


>04 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


your  peace  also,''  a  hard  task  f,)r  the 
most  k>yal  of  consciences  ;  and  in  that 
earl}'  year  of  the  eighth  century  when 
Spain  was  added  to  tlie  list  of  tlie  Mo- 
hammedan victories,  and  the  triumphant 
flag  of  the  Crescent  was  hoisted  on  tower 
and  citadel,  the  liberty  of  conscience 
which  it  practically  proclaimed  must  have 
been  in  the  widest  sense  a  cause  for 
national  rejoicing  to  the  Jews.' 

It  is  not  necessary  here  to  discuss  the 
bj--questions  whether  the  reign  of  Islam 
is  that  of  liberty  of  conscience,  and 
whether  centuries  of  cruelty  to  the  Jews 
had  really  preceded  the  year  710.  As 
to  the  main  point,  the  passage  quoted  is 
correct.  History  can  cast  no  blame  upon 
the  Jew  for  feeling  and  obeying  his 
natural  affinity  ;  but  on  the  other  hand, 
we  must  acquit  the  Christian  of  any- 
thing that  with  reference  to  people  in 
that  stage  of  civilization  can  reasonably 
be  called  demoniac,  and  pronounce  that 
his  rage  against  the  Jew,  even  when 
most  detestable  and  sanguinary,  falls 
within  the  measure  of  human  crime.  It 
is  probably  conjectured,  if  it  cannot  be 
said  to  have  been  proved,  that  at  the 
time  of  the  Crusades,  when  all  men  were 
hastily  raising  money  to  equip  themsel- 
ves for  the  Holy  War,  the  Jewish  usurer 
took  cruel  advantage  of  his  opportunity 
and  thereby  made  himself  more  than 
unusually  obnoxious  at  the  moment  when 
he  was  most  in  peril.  Nor  is  it  by  any 
mean*  certain  that  he  used  all  possible 
care  to  avoid  irritating  popular  feeling. 
He  has  always  been,  and  still  is,  some- 
what apt  to  presume  upon  his  wealth. 
This  is  the  cause  of  his  exclusion  from 
some  of  the  New  York  hotels.  The 
bloodiest  and  most  disgraceful  of  all  the 
outbreaks  of  popular  violence  in  Eng- 
land was  provoked  by  the  disastrous 
indiscretion  of  some  wealthy  Hebrews 
who,  in  defiance  of  a  warning  proclama- 
tion as  well  as  of  popular  sentiment,  had 
intruded  themselves  upon  the  corona- 
tion of  a  Crusader  king. 

Even  on  this  occasion,  however,  behind 
the  religious  fanaticism  which  is  set  down 
as  the  sole  incentive  to  the  outburst, 
there  is  discernible  that  wnich  I  suspect 
to  have  been  generally  the  deeper  and 
more  potent  cause  of  popular  antipathy. 
At  York,  the  rioters  made  for  the  place 
where  the  Jews  had  deposited  their 
bonds.  So,  in  French  history,  M.  Mar- 
tin, though  he  usually  treats  the  out- 
rages against  the  Jews  as  religious,  and 
descants  on  them  in  the  ordinary  strain, 


sometimes  le-ts  us  see  that  other  causes 
of  animosity  were  at  work.  '  Never," 
he  says,  in  relation  to  the  rising  of  1380, 
'  had  the  Jews  been  more  hateful  to  the 
people  than  since  they  had  been  pro- 
tected with  so  mtich  solicitude  by  the 
Crown  :  they  abused  the  need  which  men 
had  of  their  capital  to  suck  to  the  very 
marrow  both  the  spendthrift  nobleman 
and  the  necessitous  citizen. '  The  money 
trade  is  not  more  oppressive  or  odious 
than  any  other  trade,  provided  it  is  not 
pursued  in  an  illiberal  and  grasping 
spirit  ;  bur  there  are  money-lenders  of 
difterent  kinds  ;  there  is  tisury  which  is 
fair  lending,  and  there  is  usury  which 
is  extortion  ;  there  are  mortgagees  who 
do  not  want  to  foreclose,  and  there  are 
mortgagees  who  do.  A  tyranny  not  less 
grinding  or  hateful  than  that  of  an  armed 
conqueror  or  a  political  despot  may  be 
exercised  by  a  confederacy  of  crafty 
operators  which  has  got  the  money  of 
a  country  into  its  hands  and  makes  a 
ruthless  use  of  its  power.  In  the  Chron- 
icle of  J(jcelyn  de  Brakelond  we  find  an 
example  of  the  prodigious  usance  by 
which  a  debt  to  a  Hebrew  money-lender 
grew  :  and  we  are  not  surprised  or  much 
scandalized  on  learning  from  a  subse- 
quent page  of  the  Chronicle  that  the 
worthy  Abbot  Samson  procured  letters 
from  the  king  empowering  him  to  com- 
pel all  Jews  to  quit  St.  Edmondsbury,  on 
the  condition  however  that  they  sliould 
be  allowed  to  take  with  them  their 
chattels  and  the  price  of  their  houses 
and  lands.  It  was  the  period  of  the 
Crusades,  and  Samson  was  an  enthu- 
siast, it  is  true  ;  yet  we  cannot  doubt, 
looking  to  what  had  preceded,  that  his 
main  object  was  to  save  his  people  from 
the  bloodsucker.  The  Jews  had  a  strong 
tendency  to  congregate  at  Oxford,  a  large 
portion  of  which  is  said  at  one  time  to 
have  been  in  their  hands.  We  may 
believe  that  they  were  partly,  perhaps 
chiefly,  drawn  to  it  as  a  seat  of  learning 
and  science  ;  but  a  university  city  also 
atibrds  special  opportunities  for  usury  ; 
and  as  the  Universities  in  the  Middle 
Ages  were  distinctly  liberal,  it  seems 
probable  that  here  again  the  conflicts 
which  took  place  had  a  social  and  econo- 
mical rather  than  a  theological  cause. 
The  truth  is,  religious  fanaticism,  and 
especially  the  fanaticism  of  Christianity, 
has  had  quite  as  heavy  a  load  of  histori- 
cal responsibility  laid  on  it  as  it  deserves. 
Persecution,  among  Christians  at  least, 
has  usually  been  the  crime  not  of  popular 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


205 


bigotry  but  of  wealthy  Church  establish- 
ments threatened  in  their  tem[)()ral  in- 
terests by  the  growth  of  new  beliefs. 
The  wars  of  the  sixteenth  century,  which 
are  always  called  religious,  and  con- 
stantly cited  as  proof  that  Christianity 
is  the  parent  of  evil,  were  in  fact 
attempts  of  an  enormously  rich  and  cor- 
rupt clergy  to  put  down  a  revival  of 
religious  life,  while  the  life  was  strug- 
gling to  save  itself  from  extermination. 
It  seems  very  doubtfid  whether,  even  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  peasant  or  me- 
clumic,  having  no  pecuniary  interest  in 
theological  questions,  would,  merelj'-  on 
account  of  a  ditference  of  opinion,  have 
made  a  bloodthirsty  onslaught  on  a  man 
of  the  same  race,  or  of  a  race  not  hostile 
to  his  own,  who  was  working  as  a  fellow 
labourer  at  his  side.  The  Cahorsins 
were  Christians  ;  yet  as  extortioners 
they  were  not  less  hated  than  the  .Jews, 
nor  was  their  expulsion  less  eagerly 
demanded. 

Into  England  the  Jews  streamed  after 
the  Contpiest,  as  they  follow  in  the  train 
of  modern  war  ;  and  we  may  be  sure 
that  their  presence  was  not  the  least  part 
of  the  calamity  which  befell  the  hapless 
people.  Through  them  the  Norman  and 
Angevin  kings  were  enabled  to  organize 
vicarious  extortion,  and  though  the  king 
squeezed  the  sponge  when  it  had  sucked 
up  the  money  of  the  people,  this  process 
while  it  tilled  his  C(jffers  did  not  restore 
the  popularity  of  the  unfortunate  Jews. 
Nor  does  it  seem  that  the  Jew,  to  make 
up  for  his  exactions, when  he  had  amassed 
wealth,  bore  himself  meekly  towards 
the  natives.  Our  highest  authority  on 
mediieval  history,  Mr.  Freeman,  says  : 
*  In  the  wake  of  the  Conqueror  the 
Jews  of  Rouen  found  their  way  to  Lon- 
don, and  before  long  we  find  settlements 
of  the  Hebrew  race  in  the  chief  cities 
and  boroughs  of  England:  at  York,  Win- 
chester, Lincohi,  Bristol,  Oxford,  and 
even  at  the  gate  of  the  Abbot  of  St.  Ed- 
monds and  St.  Albans.  They  came  as 
the  king's  special  men,  or  more  truly  as 
his  special  chattels,  strangers  alike  to  the 
Church  and  tlie  commonwealth,  but 
strong  in  the  protection  of  a  master  who 
commonly  found  it  his  interest  to  protect 
them  against  all  others.  Hated,  feared, 
and  loathed,  but  far  too  deeply  feared  to 
be  scorned  or  ojipressed,  they  stalked 
Ictiantly  among  the  people  of  the  land, 
n  whose  wants  they  throve,  safe  frohi 
Jiarm  or  insult,  save  now  and  then, when 
popular  wrath  burst  all   bounds,  when 


their  proud  mansions  and  fortified  quar- 
ters could  shelter  them  no  longer  from 
raging  crowds,  who  were  eager  to  wash 
out  their  debts  in  the  blood  of  their 
creditors.  The  romantic  picture  of  the 
despised,  trembling  Jew,  cringing  before 
every  Christian  whom  he  meets,  is,  in 
any  age  of  English  history,  simply  a  ro- 
mantic picture.'  The  siippleness  of  the 
Oriental,  which  made  him  willing  to  be 
the  chattel  for  the  sake  of  the  royal  pro- 
tection in  his  trade,  might  diminish  the 
respect  of  the  people  for  liim,  but  would 
not  diminish  their  hatred  or  their  fear. 

Like  the  expulsion  of  the  Jews  from 
St.  Edniondsbury  by  Abbot  Samson,  the 
banishment  of  tlie  whole  race  from  Eng- 
land by  Edward  \.  was  unquestionabfy 
intended  by  the  king  and  welcomed  by 
the  nation  as  a  measure  of  social  reform 
and  relief  to  the  people.  The  execution 
of  the  measure  was  marked  by  savage 
outbursts  of  popular  passion  against  the 
objects  of  general  hatred  ;  and  Jewish 
writers  may  be  easily  forgiven  for  de- 
noimcing  Edward  as  one  of  a  set  of  '  in- 
solent, unprincipled,  and  rapacious 
tyrants,  whose  virtues,  if  they  happened 
to  possess  any,  were  overshadowed  by 
their  crimes.'  But  this  is  not  history. 
Edward  was  as  great,  as  noble-minded, 
and  as  beneficent  a  king  as  ever  sat  upon 
tne  English  throne  ;  and  he  must  have 
made  no  small  fiscal  sacrifice  in  sending 
away  the  luckless  race  whose  craft  had 
filled  his  coffers  and  those  of  his  prede- 
cessors. The  situation  was  throughout 
miserable,itstermination  was  hideous  and 
heartrending,  but  the  English  people 
had  never  invited  the  Jews  to  England. 

In  Sixain  the  situation  was  still  worse 
than  in  England,  and  the  consequences 
were  still  more  hideous.  For  centuries 
a  struggle  raged  for  the  possession  of  the 
peninsula  between  Christendom  and 
Islam,  by  which  religious  passion  as  well 
as  antipathy  of  race  was  excited  to  the 
highest  pitch.  At  last  the  Christian  tri- 
umplied,  and  the  Mohammedan  was 
ruthlessly  driven  out,  as,  we  may  be 
sure,  the  Christian  would  have  been 
driven  out  from  any  realm  in  Islam  in 
which  he  had  planted  himself  for  a  time 
as  an  invader,  unless  he  had  preferred 
to  banishment  the  most  abject  and 
wretched  slavery.  The  Jew  being  con- 
nected, as  we  have  seen,  with  the  Mo- 
hammedan, and  bound  to  him  by  sym- 
pathy, shared  his  piteous  doom.  In  the 
dreadful  reign  of  persecution  which  fol- 
lowed, after  the  establishment  of  the  In- 


>00 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


quisition,  the  Jtnv  or  'New  Christian' 
did  not  sufl'er  more  thiui  the  Christian 
who  was  suspected  of  heresy,  or,  to 
speak  perhaps  more  correctly,  of  disloy- 
alty to  that  religious  union  which  the 
Spaniards  had  learned  to  regard  as  the 
palladium  of  the  national  existence. 
Perhaps  even  in  Spain  the  vast  revenues 
of  tlie  State  Church  had  as  much  to  do 
with  persecution  as  had  the  bigotry  of 
the  nation  ;  and  assuredly  the  religion  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  vast  revenues  of  the  State 
Church.  All  these  horrors  now  belong 
to  the  past  as  completely  as  the  massa- 
cre of  the  Canaan  ites. 

During  the  Middle  Ages  intolerance 
was  universal,  perhaps  inevitable,  and 
the  Christian  heretic,  though  a  native 
and  a  member  of  the  commonwealth, 
was  persecuted  not  less,  but  far  more 
cruelly,  than  the  Jew  who  was  an  in- 
truder. In  England  the  Jews  were  re- 
lieved of  their  political  disabilities 
almost  as  soon  as  the  Dissenters,  and 
those  who  relieved  them  were  of  course 
Christians.  It  is  tacitly  assumed  that 
all  the  time  Judaism  itself  was  tolerant, 
and  would  have  established  religious 
liberty  had  power  been  in  its  hands.  No 
assumption  surely  could  be  more  pre- 
carious. Judaism  persecuted  Christian- 
ity while  it  could,  calling  in  the  lloman 
authority  for  the  purpose.  In  a  later 
age  the  heresy  of  Uriel  D'Acosta  was 
piuiished  with  forms  apparently  bor- 
rowed, as  has  been  remarked,  from  the 
practice  of  the  Inquisition.  Spinoza 
was  put  in  peril  of  his  life.  To  burn  or 
stone  him,  or  any  other  apostate,  was 
not  possible  where  Jewish  orth  idoxy  did 
not  wield  the  civil  sword.  The  works 
of  Maimonides  were  publicly  burned. 
Instances  of  anathema  and  excommuni- 
cation launched  by  the  priesthood  against 
freedom  of  thought  abound  in  Jewish 
history,  and  Jewish  writers  acknowledge 
the  fact  that  bigotry  capable  of  anything 
is  to  be  found  among  the  zealots  of  their 
race  in  Poland.  Even  so  liberal  an  Is- 
raelite as  Mr.  Samuel,  the  author  of 
Jcxrish  Lifeiutlie  Ead,  speaks  of  'rene- 
gades,' that  is,  converts  from  Judaism 
to  Christianity,  in  a  tone  suggestive  of 
social  penalties  if  not  of  fagots.  After 
all,  whence  did  ecclesiastics  in  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  chiefly  derive  their  notions  as 
to  the  duty  of  extirpating  misbelief  with 
the  sword  ?  Was  it  not  from  passages 
in  the  sacred  books  of  the  Hebrews  ? 
Was  it  not  from  the  injunction  to  exter- 


minate the  idolatrous  Canaanites,  and 
the  precepts  i>f  the  law  making  death  t4ie 
penalty  of  apostacy,  blasphemy,  and 
religious  perversion  ?  Even  the  super- 
stition of  witch -burning,  had  it  not  its 
origin  in  an  uncritical  adherence  to  the 
Mosaic  law  which  ordains  tluit  a  witch 
shall  not  be  allowed  to  live  l  Among 
rational  Christians  the  Old  Testament 
has  given  place  to  the  New.  But  in  the 
synagogue  is  not  the  Old  Testament  still 
read  as  the  Jiiial  expression  of  the  Divine 
Will  ?  Is  not  the  Feast  of  Purim  still 
kept  by  the  Plebrew  race  i  If  so,  Juda- 
ism ought  to  be  cautious  how  it  applies 
such  epithets  as  demoniac  to  Christen- 
dom, on  account  of  any  misdeeds  of  the 
ignorant  and  irrational  past. 

Mr.  Wolf  ascribes  the  abandonment 
of  husbandry  by  the  Jews  to  the  cruel 
bigotry  of  Christian  rulers,  who  forbade 
them  to  hold  Christians  as  farm-slaves, 
it  being  regarded  as  out  of  the  question 
that  a  Jew  should  put  his  own  hand  to 
the  plough.  Would  the  Jews  in  their 
own  country,  or  in  any  country  where 
they  were  dominant,  have  allowed  Chris- 
tians to  hold  Jews  as  slaves  I  Mr.  Sam- 
uel, the  Jewish  writer  already  mentioned, 
says,  '  A  Jewish  servant  or  labourer  is 
almost  unknown  in  Egypt,  our  people 
here  as  elsewhere  being  infected  with 
that  dislike  for  manual  labour  and  that 
preference  for  earning  their  living  with 
their  heads  which  is  at  once  the  strength 
of  our  upper  and  the  destruction  of  our 
lower  classes.'  The  destruction,  then, 
of  the  lower  classes  among  tlie  Jews, 
their  economical  destruction  at  least,  is 
not  to  be  laid  at  the  door  of  Christen- 
dom. Their  propensities  with  regard  to 
labour  are  the  same  in  the  East  and  in 
their  own  land  as  in  the  Christian  coun- 
tries of  the  West.  It  is  true  that  in 
those  ?iappier  days  when,  instead  of 
Rabbinism  and  the  Cabala,  they  were 
producing  a  great  religion,  and  memor- 
ably contributing  to  the  progress  of  hu- 
manity, the  Jews  were,  as  Mr.  Wolf 
reminds  us,  a  community  of  husband- 
men ;  but  they  have  now  been  so  long  a 
wandering  race,  'preferring  to  earn  their 
living  with  their  heads,'  that  the  ten- 
dency is  ingrained, and  cannot  be  altered 
by  anything  that  Christendom  can  do. 
Not  even  in  lands  where  they  have  been 
longest  and  most  completely  emancipat- 
ed, such  as  Holland  and  the  United 
States,  have  the  Jews,  it  is  believed, 
shown  any  disposition  to  return  to 
the     blameless     industry     any      more 


I 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTIOX. 


207 


than  to  the  simple  and  devout  character 
of  the  husbandmen  who  gathered  in  the 
Courts  of  Zion.  The  same  thing  would 
probably  have  befallen  the  Greeks  had 
they,  like  the  Jews,  been  permanently 
converted  into  a  race  without  a  home. 
For  such  habits,  whether  formed  by 
an  individual  or  a  race,  humanity 
is  not  responsible,  nor  can  it  pre- 
vent them  from  bearing  their  natural 
fruits.  The  one  valid  ground  of  com- 
plaint which  the  Jews  have  in  this  re- 
spect is  the  mediioval  prohibition  of 
usury,  which,  so  far  as  it  was  operative, 
tended,  no  doubt,  at  once  to  throw  the 
trade  into  the  hands  of  the  Hebrews, 
and  to  degrade  it.  But  this  again  had 
its  origin  mainly  in  the  Hebrew  law, 
tliough  that  law  makes  a  tribal  distinc- 
tion between  taking  interest  of  a  Hebrew 
and  taking  it  of  a  stranger. 

Again,  it  is  constantly  asserted  that 
the  Jews  during  the  Middle  Ages  were 
rendering  some  brilliant  services  to  civ- 
ilization when,  their  beneficent  efforts 
were  arrested  by  the  intolerance  and 
folly  of  Christianity.  Christendom,  it 
ii  said,  was  wasting  itself  in  the  pursuit 
of  a  spiritual  ideal,  in  crusades,  in  reli- 
gious art,  and  scholastic  •  philosophy, 
while  the  J  ew  was  promoting  the  real 
welfare  of  mankind,  by  founding  medi- 
cine and  developing  trade.  Scholastic 
philosophy  need  hardly  shrink  fromcom- 
parison  in  point  of  practical  utility  with 
the  Talmud  and  the  Cabala.  If  the  Jew 
founded  medicine,  what  became  of  the 
medicine  which  he  founded  ?  The  Mid- 
dle Ages  be([ueathed  none,  it  is  believed, 
worthy  of  the  name  of  science.  Trade 
was  developed,  not  by  the  Jews,  but  by 
the  merchants  and  mariners  of  the  great 
Italian,  Gerinan,  Flemish,  and  English 
cities.  Its  progress  in  England  did  not 
in  any  appreciable  way  suffer  by  the  ab- 
sence of  the  Jews  from  the  time  of 
Edward  I.  to  that  of  Charles  II.  It  may 
be  doubted  whether  even  the  money 
trade,  which  was  the  special  province  of 
the  Jew,  did  not  owe  at  least  as  much  to 
the  bankers  of  Florence  and  Augsburg 
as  to  any  Jewish  house.  Rossieu  St. 
Hilaire,  in  his  history  of  Spain,  while  he 
shows  abundant  sympathy  for  Jewish 
wrongs,  finds  himself  compelled  to  con- 
trast the  '  narrowness  and  rapacity  '  of 
their  commerce  with  the  boldness  and 
grandeur  of  Arab  enterprise.  In  the  early 
Middle  Ages  Jews  were  the  great  slave- 
dealers.  This  was  not  the  reproach  in 
those  times  which  it  would  be   in  ours  : 


but  slave-dealing  was  never  the  noblest 
or  the  most  beneficent  part  of  commerce. 

The  idea  that  to  exclude  the  Jew  was 
to  shut  out  commerce  and  prosperity  is 
curiously  at  variance  with  the  indications 
of  the  ethnographical  map  at  the  present 
day,  from  which  it  would  appear  that 
the  number  of  Jews  was  nearly  in  in- 
verse proportion  to  national  well-being. 
In  wretched  Poland,  including  Posen 
and  Galicia,  the  proportion  of  them  is 
largest  ;  they  abound  in  Hungary,  in 
Roumania,  in  the  Southern  parts  of 
Russia  ;  in  England  and  France  they  are 
comparatively  few  ;  in  Scotland,  the 
soundest  and  healthiest  of  communities, 
hardly  any.  Nothing  can  really  increase 
the  wealth  of  a  country  but  productive 
industry,  in  which  the  Jews  stand  low. 
Mere  money-dealing,  though  necessary 
and  therefore  legitimate,  is  not  produc- 
tive and  when  it  assiunes  the  form  of 
stock-jobbing  it  is  anything  but  benefi- 
cent. The  success  of  a  Brassey  or  a 
Titus  Salt  adds  greatly  to  the  general 
wealth  of  the  community,  and  stimulates 
industrial  energy  into  the  bargain  ;  the 
success  of  a  stock-jobber  no  more  adds 
to  the  wealth  of  a  community  than  does 
the  success  of  a  gambler.  Stock-job- 
bing, with  the  advantage  of  exclusive  in- 
formation, in  fact  bears  a  close  resem- 
blance to  gambling  with  loaded  dice,and 
it  is  in  this  way  that  some  of  the  greatest 
Jewish  fortunes  are  said  to  have  been 
made.  That  the  presence  in  large  num- 
bers of  a  wandering  race  of  money-deal- 
ers and  petty  traders  does  more  harm  to 
a  nation  than  good  is  a  fact  which  does 
not  justify  the  maltreatment  of  any 
member  of  that  race,  but  a  fact  it  ap- 
pears to  be. 

In  cases  where  a  military  race  has  ab- 
solutely refused  to  engage  in  trade,  and 
has  prevented  its  serfs  or  rayahs  from 
engaging,  the  Jew  has  found  a  natural 
opening  ;  but  while  he  has  filled  the  gap, 
he  has  precluded  native  commerce  from 
coming  into  existence,  as  otherwise  in 
course  of  time  it  would  almost  certainly 
have  done. 

'  The  Jew,'  says  Renan,  '  from  that 
time  (that  of  the  final  dispersion)  to  this 
has  insinuated  himself  everywhere, 
claiming  the  benefit  of  cmmon  rights. 
But  in  reality  he  has  not  been  within 
the  pale  of  common  rights  ;  he  has  kept 
his  status  apart  ;  he  has  wanted  to  have 
the  same  securities  as  the  rest,  with  his 
exceptional  privileges  and  special  laws 
into  the  bargain.     He  has  wished  to  en- 


>08 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


joy  the  advaiita;4es  of  nationality  without 
being  a  member  of  the  nation,  or  bear- 
ing his  share  of  national  burdens.  And 
this  no  people  has  ever  been  able  to  en- 
dure.' There  is  no  reason  why  any  pco- 
l>le  should  endure  it,  at  all  events  if  the 
number  and  intlnence  of  the  intruders 
are  such  as  to  constitute  a  serious  dan- 
tjer  to  the  nation,  and  the  parasite  seems 
likely  to  injure  the  growth  of  the  tree. 
In  England  tlie  Jews  are  few;  and  though 
some  of  them  have  made  colossal  for- 
tunes by  stock-broking,  the  aggregate 
amount  of  their  wealth  is  not  great  com- 
]nvred  with  that  of  the  whole  country. 
English  writers  are  therefore  able,  much 
at  their  ease,  to  preach  the  lessons  of  a 
serene  philosophy  to  the  Germans,  who 
have  as  many  Jews  in  a  single  city  as 
there  are  in  the  whole  of  England  or 
France,  and  are  moreover  threatened 
with  fresh  eruptions  from  Poland,  that 
grand  reservoir,  as  even  Jewish  writers 
admit,  of  all  tliat  is  least  admirable  in 
Israel.  Seeing  the  growth  of  the  Jewish 
power  in  Germany,  the  immense  wealth 
which  it  has  amassed  by  stock-broking, 
and  which,  refusing  intermarriage,  it 
holds  with  a  grasp  almost  as  tight  as 
mortmain,  its  influence  over  the  Press, 
the  lines  of  sumptuous  mansions  which 
bespeak  its  riches  and  its  pride,  the 
rapid  multiplication  of  its  people,  and 
the  reinforcements  which  it  receives 
from  abroad,  its  tribal  exclusiveness  and 
compactness, its  disdain  of  manual  labour 
and  inci-easing  appropriation  of  the 
higher  and  more  influential  places  in  the 
community,  a  German  may  be  excused 
for  feeling  apprehensions  which  in  an 
Englishman  would  be  absurd.  No  won- 
der if  he  fancies,  as  he  walks  along  the 
principal  street  of  his  chief  city,  that  he 
is  in  some  danger  of  being  reduced  to 
the  condition  of  a  hewer  of  wood  and  a 
drawer  of  water  for  an  intrusive  race  in 
his  own  land.  Not  the  German  only, 
but  any  one  who  feels  an  interest  in  the 
fortunes  of  Germany,  may  well  regard 
the  growth  of  Jewish  influence  there 
with  some  anxiety,  at  least  if  he  deems 
it  best  for  the  world  that  the  great  Teu- 
tonic nation,  at  last  united  and  liberated 
by  efforts  so  heroic  and  at  so  great  a  cost, 
should  be  allowed  to  develop  its  char- 
acter, and  work  out  its  destiny  in  its 
own  way.  German  patriotism  is  derided 
as  Philistinism,  and  it  does  no  doubt 
sometimes  manifest  itself  in  ways  dis- 
tasteful to  those  whose  model  is  Hein- 
rich  Heine.     But  it  has  wrought  a  great 


deliverance  not  only  for  Germany  but 
for  Europe.  Tht)se  who  have  appealed 
to  it  can  hardly  cxi)ect  it  to  cool  down 
on  the  morrow  of  Sedan  :  in  fact,  the 
need  of  its  devotion  is  as  yet  far  from 
being  at  an  end.  Tliat  Goethe,  who  in 
the  calmness  of  his  cold  and  statuesque 
superiority  went  to  pay  his  homage  to 
the  conqueror  and  oppressor,  would  have 
looked  with  indiflerence  on  the  struggle 
between  German  and  Semite  is  very 
likely  ;  but  it  was  not  tlie  spirit  of 
Goethe  that  hi;rled  the  soldier  against 
the  French  lines  of  Gravelotte.  This 
revolt  against  Semite  ascendency  may 
be  regarded  in  fact  as  a  natural  sequel  of 
the  revolts  against  Austrian  domination 
and  French  intrigue.  Crushed  by  a 
brood  of  petty  despots,  Germany,  after 
the  Thirty  Years'  War,  had  been  lying 
depressed  and  torpid, the  prey  of  all  who 
chose  to  prey  on  her  ;  she  is  now  awak- 
ened to  national  life,  feels  the  blood 
coursing  through  her  veins  again,  and  is 
successively  casting oif all  her  bonds.  The 
economical  yoke  of  the  Jew  becomes  as 
irksome  as  the  rest.  In  the  Danubian  * 
Principalities  a  similar  revival  produces 
a  similar  revolt  in  a  coarser  and  more 
cruel  form. 

The  situation  is  a  most  unhappy  one. 
Such  consecpiences  as  have  flowed  from 
the  dispersion  of  the  Jews  are  enough 
to  prove  to  the  optimist  that  there  are 
real  and  lasting  calamities  in  history. 
Repression,  though  duty  imposes  it  on 
a  government,  does  not  seem  hopeful  ; 
soldiers  may  be  sent,  and  some  of  the 
Anti-Semitic  rioters  may  be  shot  down, 
but  this  will  not  make  the  rest  of  the 
people  love  the  Jew.  That  the  people 
should  ever  love  the  Jew  while  he  ad- 
heres to  his  tribalism,  his  circumcision, 
and  his  favourite  trades,  seems  to  be 
morally  impossible.  It  is  not  difficult 
to  frame  golden  rules  by  which  Jews  and 
Gentiles  as  well  as  Magyar  and  Sclav, 
Anglo-American  and  Negro,  shall  live  in 
philosophic  amity  ;  but  it  is  too  cer- 
tain what  the  practical  result  will  be. 
The  common  people  know  nothing  about 
Lessing  and  Nathan  Der  Weise  ;  and  if 
they  did  they  might  say  with  truth  that 
the  character  of  Nathan  Der  Weise  is  as 
fictitious  as  that  of  the  Eastern  sages  of 
Voltaire.  No  real  solution  seems  to 
present  itself  except  the  abandonment 
by  the  Het:)rew  of  his  tribalism,  with  its 
strange  and  savage  rite,  and  of  all  that 
separates  him  socially  from  the  people 
among    whom    he    dwells.     As    to  the 


I 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


209 


hygienic  practices,  on  tlie  importance  of 
which  Mr.  Wolf  insists  as  a  ground  for 
separatism,  there  is  not  the  smallest  rea- 
son, if  they  are  rational  and  good,  why 
the  Jew  should  not  retain  them  himself, 
and  impart  them  to  other  people. 
Thenceforth,  if  Jewish  genius  showed 
itself  so  3uperi(jr  as  Jews  assert  that  it 
is  to  that  of  people  of  other  blood, 
and  if  any  one  sought  to  deny  it 
a  fair  career,  there  would  be  justice  in 
assuming  him  to  be  actuated  by  envy. 
We  should  all  be  bound  to  welcome  it 
without  prejudice  as  a  purely  beneficent 
power.  In  England  and  France  such  a 
solution  seems  possible — the  Jewish  ele- 
ment is  not  so  large  as  to  defy  assimila- 
tion and  absorpticm,  but  in  Germany 
and  Poland  it  api)ears  very  remote. 

What  can,  what  ought,  the  Germans 
to  do  .'  It  behooves  them  calmly  to  con- 
sider this  (piestion.  Violence  clearly  in 
any  form  is  neither  right  nor  expedient. 
The  Government  is  bound  to  put  it 
down,  and  excesses  wliich  provoke  a  de- 
served reaction  will  only  leave  Semitisin 
morally  stronger  and  more  formidable 
than  ever.  The  withdrawal  of  political 
rights,  once  conceded,  is  also  practically 
out  of  the  question,  more  especially  as 
the  Jew  had  not  only  been  jjermitted  to 
vote,  but  compelled  to  serve  iu  the  army. 
This  last  fact  is  decisive.  On  the  other 
hand,  no  principle,  political  or  moral, 
forbids  a  German  to  use  his  own  vote 
for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the  govern- 
ment and  guidance  of  the  nation  in  Ger- 
man hands.  Of  course  he  is  equally  at 
liberty  to  encourage,  or  refuse  to  en- 
courage, such  journals  as  he  tliinks  fit. 
Associations  against  anybody  have  a  very 
ugly  h)ok,  yet  they  may  be  justified  by 
great  compactness  of  tribal  organization 
and  corporate  activity  on  the  side  of  the 
Hebrews.  Restraints  upon  immigration 
are  harsh  and  inhospitable,  except  in  a 
case  of  absolute  necessity.  But  a  case  of 
absolute  necessity  maybe  conceived, and 
the  land  of  every  nation  is  its  own.  The 
right  of  self-defence  is  not  confined  to 
those  who  are  called  upon  to  resist  an 
armed  invader.  It  might  be  exercised 
with  etpial  propriety,  though  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  by  a  nation  the  character  and 
commercial  life  of  which  were  threatened 
by  a  great  irruption  of  Polish  Jews. 
The  Americans  think  themselves  per- 
fectly at  liberty  to  lay  restrictions  on 
the  immiijration  of  the  Chinese,  though 
the  Chinaman,  with  his  labourer's  shovel 
is  nothing  like  so  formidable  an  invader 


as  the  Jew.  In  trade  the  sons  of  those 
who  founded  the  Free  Cities  will  surely 
be  able,  now  that  their  energies  have 
been  restored  and  their  shackles  struck 
off,  to  hold  their  own,  without  legislat- 
ive protection,  against  the  Hebrew,  pre- 
ternatural as  his  skill  in  a  special  tone  of 
business  has  become  :  and  everything 
that  tends  to  improve  the  tone  of  com- 
merce and  diminish  stock-jobbing  will 
help  the  Teuton  in  the  race. 

It  has  been  said,  and  I  believe  truly, 
that  religion  is  the  least  part  of  the  mat- 
ter. Yet  there  is  between  the  modern 
Jew  and  the  comjaatriot  of  Luther  a  cer- 
tain divergence  oi  general  chai-acter  and 
aim  in  life  connected  with  religion  which 
makes  itself  felt  beside  the  antagonism 
of  race,  and  the  traces  of  which  appear 
in  the  literature  of  this  controversy. 
Judaism  is  material  optimism  with  a 
preference  to  a  chosen  race,  while  Christ- 
ianity, whether  Catholic  or  Protestant, 
is  neither  material  nor  in  a  temporal 
sense  optimist.  Judaism  is  Legalism, 
of  which  tlie  Talmud  is  the  most  signal 
embodiment,  and  here  again  it  is  con- 
trasted with  Christianity  and  the  Christ- 
ian Ideal  ;  which  is  something  widely 
different  from  the  mere  observance, 
however  punctual,  of  the  law.  In  the 
competition  for  the  world's  goods  it  is 
pretty  clear  that  the  legalist  will  be  apt 
to  have  the  advantage,  and  at  the  same 
time  that  his  conduct  will  often  appear 
not  right  to  those  whose  highest  monitor 
is  not  the  law.  The  Agnostic,  seeing 
what  he  deems  the  reveries  of  Christian- 
ity rejected  by  the  Jew,  and  imagining 
this  to  be  the  cause  of  quarrel,  is  ready 
to  take  the  Jew  to  his  heart.  But  it 
may  be  questioned  whether  he  will  find 
the  affinity  so  close  as  at  first  sight  it 
appears.  The  Agnostic  after  all  is  the 
child  of  Christendom.  He  is  still  prac- 
tically tlie  liegeman  of  the  Christian 
conscience,  whatever  account  of  its  gen- 
esis he  may  have  given  to  himself.  He 
has  a  social  ideal,  not  that  of  the  Church, 
but  that  of  humanity,  which  has  come 
to  him  through  the  Church,  and  which 
is  utterly  at  variance  with  the  preten- 
sion of  a  chosen  race.  Mr,  Wolf's  text 
'  Ye  shall  eat  the  riches  of  the  Gentiles, 
and  in  their  glory  shall  ye  boast  your- 
selves,' would  not  express  the  aspira- 
tions of  a  Positivist  any  more  tlian  those 
of  a  Christian. 

Apart  from  these  local  collisions,  there 
is  a  general  curiosity,  not  unmingled 
with  anxiety,  to   know   what  course  in 


210 


THE  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


politics  the  cnfrancl'.isod  Jew  will  take. 
He  i3  everywhere  luiiking  his  way  into 
the  political  arena,  which  indeed,  under 
the  system  of  party  government,  suits 
his  traditional  habits  as  well  as  the  stock 
excliange.  A  money  power  is  sure  in 
the  mani  to  be  conservative,  and  the 
inclination  of  Jewish  wealth  to  the  side 
of  reaction  in  England  and  other  coun- 
tries is  already  becoming  apparent.  Poor 
Jews  will  be  found  in  the  revolutionary, 
and  even  in  the  socialist,  camp.  But  in 
whatever  camp  the  Jew  is  found  he  will 
be  apt  for  some  time,  unless  the  doctrine 
of  heredity  is  utterly  false,  to  retain  the 
habits  formed  during  eigliteen  centuries 
of  itinerant  existence,  without  a  coun- 
try, and  under  circumstances  which 
rendered  cunning,  suppleness,  and  in- 
trigue almost  as  necessary  weapons  of 
self-defence  in  his  case  as  the  sword  and 
the  lance  were  in  the  case  of  the  feudal 
soldier.  He  will  be  often  disposed  to 
study  the  '  spirit  of  the  age '  much  as 
he  studies  the  stock  list  and  to  turn  the 
knowledge  to  his  own  jirotit  in  the  same 
•way.  It  is  very  likely  that  he  may 
sometimes  outrun  and  overact  national 
sentiment  or  even  national  passion, 
which  be  does  not  himself  share.  This 
is  one  of  the  dangerous  liabilities  of  his 
character  as  a  statesman.  It  might  have 
been  supposed  that  the  Jews,  having 
been  for  so  many  centuries  shut  out 
from  military  life,  would  be  free  from 
militarism  ;  indeed  a  high  rank  in  civil- 
ization has  been  plausibly  claimed  for 
them  on  that  ground.  Yet  a  Jew- 
ish statesman  got  up  Jingoism  much 
as  he  would  have  got  up  a  speculative 
mania  for  a  commercial  purpose,  and  his 
consuming  patriotism  threw  quite  into 
the  shade  that  of  men  who  though  op- 
posed to  Jingoism,  would  have  given 
their  lives  for  the  country.  Among 
the  ablest  and  most  active  organisers  of 
that  rebellion  in  the  United  States  which 
cost  a  thousand  millions  sterling  and  half 
a  million  lives,  was  a  Jewish  senator 
from  Louisiana,  who  when  the  crash 
came,  unlike  the  other  leaders,  went  off 
to  push  his  fortune  elsewhere.  There 
was  no  particular  reason  why  lie  should 
not  do  so,  being,  as  he  was,  a  member 
of  a  cosmopolitan  race  ;  but  there  was  a 
particular  reason  why  the  people  who 
had  no  other  coimtry  should  receive  his 
counsels  with  caution  in  a  question  of 
national  life  or  death.  A  political  ad- 
venturer will  not  be  sparing  of  that 
which  in  the  pride  of  Jewish  superiority 


he  regards  as  'gutter  blood.'  Joseph, 
being  the  Prime  Minister  of  Pharaoh, 
displays  his  statecraft  for  the  benefit  of 
his  employer  by  teaching  him  to  take 
advantage  of  the  necessities  of  the  people 
in  a  time  of  famine  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  them  to  surrender  their  freeholds 
into  the  royal  hands.  He  would  no 
doubt  have  played  the  game  of  an  aris- 
tocracy or  even  of  a  democracy  in  the 
same  spirit, though  his  natural  taste,  being 
an  Oriental,  would  lead  him  if  possible 
to  be  the  vizier  of  an  absolute  mcjnarch. 
There  are  some  who  think  that  the  He- 
brew adventurer,  with  a  cool  head  and  a 
cool  heart,  may  be  specially  useful  as  a 
mediator  between  heated  political  part- 
ies, and  a  reconciler  of  the  interests 
which  they  represent.  But  this  is  surely 
a  condemnation  of  party  rather  than  a 
recommendation  of  the  Hebrew. 

Mr.  Oliphant,  in  the  work  to  which  re- 
ference has  already  been  made,  proposes 
that  Palestine  should  be  restored  to  the 
Jew,  with  some  of  the  vacant  country 
adjoining  ;  and  it  appears  that  this  plan 
is  not  unlikely  to  be  carried  into  effect. 
The  restoration  of  their  own  land  may 
have  the  same  good  influence  upon  the 
Jews  which  it  has  had  upon  the  Greeks. 
It  is  not  likely  that  of  those  now  settled 
in  the  West  any  considerable  number 
would  ever  turn  their  steps  eastward. 
We  know  the  anecdote  of  the  Parisian 
Jew  who  said  that  if  the  kingdom  of  Jer- 
usalem was  restored  he  should  ask  for  the 
ambassadorship  at  Paris  ;  but  the  west- 
ward flow  of  migration  might  be  checked, 
and  from  the  eastern  parts  of  Europe, 
where  the  relations  of  the  Jews  to  the 
native  population  are  very  bad,  some  of 
them  might  i-eturn  to  their  own  land. 
Mr.  Oliphant  seems  to  have  little  hope 
of  seeing  the  Jews,  even  in  Palestine, 
take  to  husbandry,  and  proposes  that 
they  should  be  the  landowners,  and  that 
the  lands  hould  be  tilled  for  them  by  '  fel- 
lahs.' We  must  assume  that  fellahs  con- 
vinced of  the  validity  of  the  Je  wa'  claim  to 
exemption  from  the  indignity  of  manual 
labour  will  be  found.  But  necessity 
would  in  time  compel  the  Jew  once  more 
to  handle  the  plough.  The  situation  at  all 
events  would  be  cleared,  and  the  states- 
men who  are  now  inditing  despatches 
about  religious  toleration  would  see  that 
Israel  is  not  a  sect  but  a  tribe,  and  that 
the  difticulty  with  which  they  have  to  deal 
arises  not  merely  from  difference  of  opin- 
ion, or  anyanimosities  produced  by  it,  but 
from  consecrated  exclusivenesa  of  race. 


TUB  JEWISH  QUESTION. 


211 


In  one  respect  the  Jew  certainly  has 
9.  right  to  comphiin,  even  in  a  country 
where  his  emancipation  lias  heen  most 
Complete,  not  of  persecution  hut  of  wliat 
may  be  called  a  want  of  religioius  delicacy 
and  courtesy  on  the  part  of  Christians. 
He  is  singled  out  as  the  object  of  a 
special  propagandism  carried  on  by  such 
societies  ;i3  that  for  the  conversion  of  the 
Jews.  The  conduct  of  those  who  are 
trying  to  impart  to  him  the  truth  which 
they  believe  necessary  to  salvation  is  not 
'  demoniac,'  but  the  reverse  ;  yet  it  is 
easy  to  understand  his  annoyance  and 
indignation.  The  barrenness  of  this  pro- 
pagandism  in  proportion  to  the  money 
and  efiort  spent  on  it  is  notorious  ;  the 
object  against  which  it  is  directed  is  not 
mere  [intellectual  conviction,  but  some- 
thing as  ingrained  and  and  tenacious  as 
caste.  Simple  respect  for  the  Jew's  opin- 
ions and  perfect  religions  courtesy  are 
more  likely  to  reach  his  mind  than  any 
special  propaganda. 

Of  the  lack  of  theological  interest  in 
him  the  Jew  can  scarcely  complain.  If 
there  has  been  error  here,  it  has  certain- 
ly been  on  the  side  of  exaggeration. 
The  formal  relation  of  Christianity  in  its 
origin  to  Judaism  perhaps  we  know  ;  its 
essential  relation,  hardly.  What  was  a 
peasant  of  Galilee  ?  Under  what  influ- 
ence, theological  or  social,  did  he  live  \ 
Who  can  exactly  tell  ?  We  have  a  series 
of  lives  of  Christ,  from  which  eager  read- 
ers fancy  that  thej'  derive  some  new  in- 
formation about  the  Master,  but  which, 
in  fact,'  are  nothing  but  the  gospel  nar- 
rative shredded  and  mingled  with  highly 
seasoned  descriptions  of  Jewish  customs 
and  of  the  scenery  of  the  lake  of  Gen- 
nesaret,  while  the  personal  idiosyncracy 
of  the  biographer  strongly  flavours  the 
whole.  If  there  are  any  things  of  which 
we  are  sure,  they  are  that  Galilee  was  a 
place  out  of  which  orthodox  Judaism 
thought  that  no  good  could  come  ;  that 
the  teaching  of  the  Galileans  was  essen- 
tially opposed  to  thatoftheJevvishdoctor, 
and  that  Judaism  strove  to  crush  Christi- 
anity \>y  all  the  means  in  its  power.  Thus 
if  Israel  was  the  parent  of  Christendom, 
it  was  as  much  in  the  way  of  antagonism 
as  in  that  of  generation.  There  is  an 
incomparably  greater  affinity  between 
Christianity  and  Platonism  or  Stoicism, 
than  between  Christianity  and  tlie  Tal- 
mud. The  exaggerated  notion  of  Christ- 
ians about  the  importance  of  the  Jews 
has  been  curiously  reproduced  of  late  in 
an  unexpected  corner,  and  under  a  most 


fantastic  form.  Even  wlien  theological 
belief  h;is  departed,  religions  sentiment 
is  not  easily  expelled,  nor  does  the  love 
of  the  mysterious  die  out  at  once,  es- 
pecially in  a  .woman's  breast.  Miss  ]\Iar- 
tineau,  after  renouncing  Theism,  indem- 
nified herself  with  mesmeric  fancies.  The 
authoress  of  '  Daniel  Deronda '  in  a 
like  manner  indemnified  herself  with  the 
Jewish  mystery.  No  Jewish  mystery, 
except  a  financial  one,  exists.  Daniel 
Deronda  is  a  showman  who,  if,  after  tak- 
ing our  money,  he  were  desired  to  raise 
the  curtain,  wonld  be  obliged  to  confess 
that  he  had  nothing  to  show.  A  relic  of 
tribalism,  however  vast  and  interesting, 
is  no  more  hallowed  than  any  other 
boulder  of  a  primfeval  world.  Every 
tribe  was  the  chosen  people  of  its  own 
God  ;  and  if  it  were  necessary  to  institute 
a  comparison  between  the  different  races 
in  respect  to  their  '  sacredness,'  which 
it  happily  is  not,  the  least  sacred  would 
be  that  which  had  most  persistently  re- 
fused to  come  into  the  allegiance  of  hu- 
manity. 

One  more  remark  suggested  by  the 
discussion  of  the  Jewish  question,  and 
perhaps  it  is  the  most  important  of  all. 
It  is  surely  time  for  the  rulers  of  Christ- 
tian  Churches  in  general,  and  for  those 
of  the  Established  Church  in  j^articular, 
to  consider  whether  the  sacred  books  of 
the  Hebrews  ought  any  longer  to  be  pre- 
sented as  they  are  now  to  Christian  peo- 
ple as  pictures  of  the  Divine  character 
and  of  the  Divine  dealings  with  man- 
kind. Historical  philosophy  reads  them 
with  a  discriminating  eye.  It  severs  the 
tribal  and  the  primaival  from  the  uni- 
versal, that  which  is  perennially  moral, 
such  as  most  of  the  Commandments  in 
the  Decalogue,  from  that  which  by  the 
progress  of  humanity  has  ceased  to  be 
so.  It  marks,  in  the  midst  of  that  which 
is  utterly  unspiritual  and  belongs  merely 
to  primitive  society  or  to  the  Semite  of 
Palestine,  the  faint  dawn  of  the  spiritual, 
and  traces  its  gi-owing  brightness  through 
the  writings  of  prophets  and  psalmists 
till  it  becomes  day.  But  the  people  are 
not  historical  philosophers.  Either  they 
will  be  misled  by  the  uncritical  reading 
of  the  Old  Testament  or  they  will  lie  re- 
pelled. Hitherto  they  have  been  misled, 
and  some  of  the  darkest  pages  of  Ciirist- 
ian  history,  including  those  which  re- 
cord the  maltreatment  of  Jews  in  so  far 
as  it  was  religious,  have  been  the  result 
of  their  aberrations.  Now  they  are  being 
repelled,    aud   the   repulsion  is  growing 


212 


RONDEAU. 


stronger  and  more  visible  every  day.  It 
is  not  necessary,  and  it  may  be  irritat- 
ing, to  rehearse  the  long  series  of  equi- 
vocal passages  which  shocked  the  moral 
sense  of  Bishop  Colenso,  and  of  which 
Mr.  IngersoU,  the  great  apostle  of  Agnos- 
ticism in  America,  makes  use  in  his  pop- 
ular lectures  with  terrible  effect.  The 
question  is  one  of  the  most  practical 
kind,  and  it  will  not  well  brook  delay. 
It  is  incomparably  more  urgent  than 
that  of  Biblical  revision. 


I  cannot  conclude  without  repeating- 
that  if  this  was  a  case  of  opposition  to 
religious  liberty,  I  should  thoroughly 
share  tlie  emotions  and  heartily  echo  the 
words  of  INIr.  Lucien  Wolf.  But  I  have 
convinced  myself — and  I  think  Mr. 
\\\>lf's  own  paper  when  carefully  ex- 
amined affords  proof — that  it  is  a  case  of 
a  different  kind. — Nineteenth  Centunj. 


EONDEAU, 


TO   LOUIS   HOXORE   FEECHETTE. 


BY  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  M.  A.,  CHATHAM,  N.  B. 


LAURELS  for  Song  !  and  nobler  bays, 
In  old  Olympian  golden  days, 
Of  clamour  thro'  the  clear-eyed  morn, 
No  bowed  triumphant  head  hath  borne- 
Triumphant  in  all  Hellas'  gaze  : 

They  watched  his  glowing  axles  graze 
The  goal,  and  rent  the  heavens  with  praise 
Still  the  supreme  heads  have  worn 
Laurels  for  Soncr. 


So  thee,  from  no  palaestra  plays 
A  victor,  to  the  Gods  we  raise, 

Whose  brows  of  all  our  singers  born 
The  sacred  fillets  chief  adorn, — 
AVho  first  of  all  our  choir  displays 
Laurels  for  Song. 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


213 


YOUNG    PEOPLE. 


THE    MAJOR'S    BIG-TALK 
STORIES. 

BY    F.    BLAKE   CROFTON. 

I. 
A    VACILLATING     BEAR. 

■*  /^H,  uncle,  you  must  tell  us  some 

\_J  stories  ! '  cried  little  Bob,  run- 
ning over  from  grandmamma's  corner  ; 
'  grandmamma  says  you  used  to  tell  such 
stories  before  you  went  to  Africa,  and 
she's  afraid  you'll  tell  more  than  ever 
now.  I  don't  see  why  African  stories 
should  frighten  her — I  love  them,' 

'  My  child,  1  never  tell  stories,'  said 
the  Major. 

'  One,'  whispered  grandmamma. 

'  But,'  resumed  the  Major,  '  if  you 
are  good  boys  and  don't  interrupt,  I 
might  tell  you  a  few  events  of  a  highly 
moral  kind. ' 

'  Two,'  whispered  grandmamma. 

'These  adventures,'  continued  the 
Major,  in  his  dignified  manner,  '  teach 
that  "  necessity  is  the  mother  of  inven- 
tion," that  you  should  "  never  say  die," 
and  sundry  other  morals.  Most  of  them 
are  experiences  of  my  own.' 

'  Three,'  whispered  grandmamma. 

'  One  at  a  time  is  all  I  can  manage — 
you  mustn't  bother  me  for  more,  boys.' 

*  All  serene,'  said  bumptious  Bill  ; 
*  out  with  Number  One.' 

One  morning,  began  the  Major,  my 
negro  gardener  came  to  me  in  great  alarm 
and  stated  that  his  twin  sons,  Mango 
and  Chango,  had  taken  out  his  gun  that 
morning,  and  had  been  missing  ever 
since.  I  at  once  loaded  my  rifle,  loosed 
my  Cuban  blood-honnd,  and  followed  ' 
the  man  to  his  hut.  There  I  fjut  the  dog  I 
upon  the  children's  scent,  following  on 
horseback  myself.  ' 

It  turned  owt  that  the  young  scamps    ' 
had  gone  on  the  trail  of  a  large  bear, 
though  they  were  only  thirteen  years 
old,  and  their  father  had  often  warned 
them  not  to  meddle  with  wild  beasts.    ' 


They  began  their  adventure  by  hunting 
the  bear,  but  ended,  as  often  happens, 
in  being  hunted  by  the  bear  :  for  Bruin 
had  turned  upon  them,  and  chased  them 
,    so  hard  that  they  were  fain  to  drop  the 

gun  and  take  to  a  tree. 
I        It  was  a  sycamore  of  peculiar  shape, 
sendintr  forth  from  its  stem  many  small, 
but   only   two   large,  branches.     These 
[    two   were    some    thirty    feet    from   the 
i    ground,  and  stretched  almost  horizon- 
tally in  opposite  directions.     They  were 
as  like  each  other  as  the  twin  brothers 
themselves.     Chango  took  refuge  on  one 
of  these.  Mango  on  the  other. 

The  bear  hugged  the  tree  till  he  had 
I  climbed  as  far  as  the  fork.  There  he 
!  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  began  to 
I  creep  along  the  branch  which  supported 
1  Chango.  The  beast  advanced  slowly  and 
gingerly,  sinking  his  claws  into  the  bark 
I  at  every  step,  and  not  depending  too 
much  upon  his  balancing  powers. 

Chango's  position  was  now  far  from 
pleasant.  It  was  useless  to  play  the  trick 
— well  known  to  bear-hunters — of  en- 
ticing the  animal  out  to  a  point  where 
the  branch  would  yield  beneath  its  great 
weight,  for  there  was  no  higher  branch 
within  Chango's  reach,  by  catching  which 
he  could  save  himself  from  a  deadly  fall. 
Three  more  steps,  and  the  bear  would 
be  upon  him  or  he  would  be  upon  the 
ground.  Brave  as  the  boy  was,  his  teeth 
chattered. 

At  this  moment  INIango,  nerved  to 
heroism  by  his  brother's  peril,  moved 
rapidly  from  the  opposite  limb  of  the 
tree.  Stepping  behind  the  bear,  he 
grasped  with  one  hand  a  small  higher 
bough,  which  extended  to  where  he 
stood,  but  not  to  where  his  brother 
lay  ;  with  the  other  hand  he  seized  the 
animal  firmly  by  its  stumpy  tail.  The 
bear  turned  to  punish  his  rash  assailant  ; 
but,  angry  as  he  was,  he  turned  cau- 
tiously. It  was  no  easy  task  to  right- 
about-face on  a  branch  which  had  al- 
ready begun  to  tremble  and  sway  beneath 
his  weight. 

Chango  was  saved,  for  the^bear  evi- 
dently had  transferred  his  anunosity  to 


214 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


Mango,  whom  he  pxirsueil,  step  by  step, 
towards  tlie  extremity  of  the  other  limb. 
But  Chango  was  not  the  bo}"^  to  leave  his 
brother  and  rescuer  in  the  lurch.  Wait- 
ing until  the  enraged  brute  was  well 
embarked  upon  Mango's  branch,  he 
pulled  his  tail,  as  he  had  seen  his  bro- 
ther do  before.  Again  Bruin  turned 
awkwardly,  and  resumed  the  interrupted 
chase  of  Chango. 

The  twins  continued  their  tactics  with 
success.  Whenever  the  bear  was  well 
advanced  on  one  limb  and  dangerously 
close  to  one  twin,  the  other  twin  would 
sally  from  the  other  limb  and  pull  the 
beast's  tail.  The  silly  animal  always 
would  yield  to  his  latest  impulse  of 
wrath,  and  sufler  himself  to  be  diverted 
from  the  enemy  who  was  almost  in  his 
clutches. 

After  two  hours  of  disappointment  he 
recognised  his  mistake.  He  was  now, 
for  the  tenth  time,  on  Chango's  branch, 
and  very  near  Chango.  In  vain  Mango 
dragged  at  his  hinder  extremity  :  he 
kept  grimly  on  till  Mango,  forced  to 
choose  between  letting  go  the  brute's 
tail  or  the  higher  branch  which  alone 
enabled  him  to  keep  his  feet,  let  go  the 
former. 

Chango  could  now  retreat  no  further, 
and  he  was  hardly  a  yard  beyond  the 
bear's  reach.  The  branch  was  swaying 
more  than  ever,  and  the  beast  seemed 
quite  aware  that  he  might  tax  its 
strength  too  far.  After  a  pause,  he  ad- 
vanced one  of  his  fore-feet  a  quarter  of 
a  yard.  To  increase  the  bear's  difficulty 
in  seizing  him,  the  terrified  boy  let  him- 
self down  and  swung  with  his  hands 
from  the  bough. 

He  was  hanging  in  suspense  between 
two  frightful  deaths.  His  heart  was  sink- 
ing, his  lingers  were  relaxing. 

^hen  the  deep  baying  of  a  hound 
struck  his  ear,  and  his  hands  again  closed 
firmly  on  the  branch.  In  a  moment  a 
blood-hound  and  a  horseman  sprang 
through  the  underwood. 

Chango  held  on  like  grim  death^held 
on  till  he  heard  the  sharp  report  of  a 
rifle  ringing  through  the  air  ;  held  on 
t^ll  the  falling  carcass  of  the  bear  passed 
before  his  eyes  ;  held  on  till  I  had 
climbed  the  tree,  crawled  along  the 
branch,  and  grasped  his  wearied  wrists. 

If  that  bear  only  had  understood  in 
time  that  a  boy  in  the  hand  is  worth  two 
in  the  bush,  he  might  have  lengthened 
his  days  aud  gone  down  with  honour  to 
the  grave. 


'  But,  uncle,'  observed  Bill,'  my  Natu- 
ral History  says  that  there  is  only  a 
single  representative  of  the  bear  family 
in  all  Africa,  and  it  inhabits  the  Atlas 
Mountains,  and  is  scarce  there.' 

'  I  never  said  I  met  more  than  one 
member  of  the  family,  did  I  I  '  said  the- 
Major.  '  And  I  don't  wonder  these  bears- 
are  dying  of!',  either,  if  they  are  all 
equally  wanting  in  decision  of  character. 


II. 


THE    ILL-REQUITED   CAMEL. 

Waali,  son  of  Hassan  the  camel-dealer, 
borrowed  the  finest  camel  in  his  father's 
stud.  He  was  going  to  make  a  run- 
away match,  like  young  Lochinvar,  and 
his  love  was  daughter  of  a  desert  chief- 
tain who  hated  Waali  and  his  creed  of 
Islam.  So  Waali  was  right  to  select 
Benazi,  a  camel,  or,  strictly  speaking,  a. 
dromedary,  famed  for  speed,  sagacity 
and  endurance. 

A  leisurely  ride  of  two  days — he  rode 
leisurely  to  keep  his  camel  fresh — 
brought  him  to  his  rendezvous.  But  he 
arrived  a  day  too  late.  The  terrible 
father  of  Kuku,  for  that  was  the  fair 
one's  name,  had  folded  his  tents  and 
gone  many  miles  further  into  the  desert. 
But  Waali  gamely  resolved  to  persevere. 
The  trail  was  broad  and  fresh,  and  easy 
to  follow,  unless  it  should  be  suddenly 
eft'aced  by  a  simoom. 

After  sundry  hardships  he  reached  the 
summer  resort  of  Kuku's  tribe — a  grove 
watered  by  a  pretty  stream.  He  caught 
the  first  glimpse  of  it  over  the  summit 
of  a  little  knoll.  At  the  near  side  of  the 
grove  stood  a  dark  and  graceful  figure,, 
which  his  lover's  instinct  told  him  was 
Kuku's. 

'  Kneel,  Benazi .! '  he  commanded  ; 
and  the  camel  knelt,  and  lowered  his 
neck  too  ;  for  he  understood  that  hi* 
rider  wanted  to  use  the  knoll  as  a  screen. 

Waali  had  not  to  wait  for  nightfall,  as 
he  intended,  for  Kuku's  watchful  eye 
had  seen  his  head  and  the  camel's  at 
the  same  moment  that  her  lover  had 
seen  her  ;  so  she  strolled  towards  the 
knoll  to  satisfy  her  curiosity.  After  a 
fond  embrace,  Waali  placed  her  behind 
him  on  the  dromedary's  back  and  urged 
Benazi  to  his  utmost  speed. 

No  sooner  had  they  left  the  shelter  of 
the  knoll  than  the  chieftain  spied  them. 
He  roared  for  his  lasso  and  assegai,  and. 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


215 


untetliered  his  wild  zebra,  which  de- 
lighted in  pursviing  fugitives,  but  could 
not  be  forced  to  budge  on  any  other  errand. 

The  chase  was  a  notable  one.  The 
fiery  zebra,  fresher  and  less  enciunbered, 
gained  slightly  but  perceptibly  on  the 
camel.  Their  wild  galop  was  unbroken 
when,  three  hours  later,  the  sun  went 
down  and  the  lustrous  moon  of  the  tro- 
pics loomed  above  the  horizon. 

A  little  stream  lay  before  them  just 
then,  and  the  lovers  were  thirsty  and 
Waali's  water-skin  was  empty.  He 
loosed  it  from  Benazi's  side  and  appeal- 
ed— not  in  vain — to  the  sagacity  of  the 
noble  animal.  The  camel  reached  back 
his  head,  grasped  the  skin  in  his  teeth, 
and  lowered  his  long  neck  into  the 
stream  as  he  trotted  through  it.  The 
water  j;urgled  into  the  opened  mouth  of 
the  water-skin,  which  was  full  when 
Benazi,  still  running,  stretched  it  back 
to  his  rider  ;  but  not  a  drop  found  its 
way  down  the  parched  throat  of  the  \\\\- 
selfish  dromedary.  He  would  not  waste 
one  precious  moment  on  himself. 

On  they  flew  through  the  moonlit 
waste.  Wild  beasts  that  joined  in  the 
chase  on  their  own  account  were  soon 
hopelessly  distanced.  About  midnight 
the  camel  was  only  ten  rods  ahead  ;  but 
half  an  hour  later  he  was  still  keeping 
the  same  lead.  His  superior  staying 
power  was  beginning  to  show.  Seeing 
this  the  savage  chieftain  goaded  his 
zebra  with  his  spear-point,  and  the 
frenzied  animal  made  a  last  efi'ort  to 
close  upon  the  fugitives.  Soon  only  five 
rods  divided  pursuers  and  pursued;  then 
four  ;  then  three.  The  gentle  Kuku 
shut  her  eyes  and  clung  closer  to  her 
lover,  as  the  chief  poised  his  lasso  and 
hurled  it  with  unerring  aim. 

But  the  intelligent  Benazi  saw  the 
danger  and  tossed  his  long  neck  back 
above  the  heads  of  his  riders.  He  knew 
that  they  could  be  pulled  off  his  back, 
but  his  neck,  he  reckoned,  was  a  fixture; 
and  besides,  he  trusted  in  his  master's 
aid.  The  noose  descended  on  his  de- 
voted neck  ;  but  before  it  stopped  or 
stifled  him,  the  alert  Waali  severed  it 
with  his  knife. 

This  was  the  end  of  the  race,  for  the 
zebra  now  dropped  more  and  more  be- 
hind in  spite  of  the  threats  and  cruelty 
of  his  rider.  At  last  the  jaded  animal 
fell  heavily  and  lay  motionless  ;  and  the 
angry  chieftain  faded  from  the  lovers' 
view,  impotently  sliaking  his  assegai  and 
mumbling  wicked  oaths  in  Tuaric. 


Poor  Benazi,  too,  was  nearly  drop- 
ping before  very  long.  The  drain  of 
that  desperate  race  had  quite  exhausted 
those  wonderful  reserves  of  fat  and  of 
water  that  every  camel  carries  inside  ; 
and  next  morning  his  hump  had  well- 
nigh  disappeared. 

'  What  ! '  exclaimed  little  Bob  in  be- 
wilderment. 

*  Camels  do  lose  their  humps  from  ex- 
haustion,' said  Bill  decisively. 

'  Benazi  did,  at  all  events,'  resumed 
the  Major  ;  '  not  a  vestige  of  his  hump 
remained  in  the  afternoon;  for  they  had 
come  to  no  water  since  the  pursuit  end- 
ed, and  Waali  wanted  all  that  was  in  the 
water-skin  for  Kuku  and  himself. ' 

The  young  couple  reached  their  desti- 
nation that  evening,  having  made  a  sis- 
days'  journey  in  little  more  than  one. 
Old  Hassan  hastened  to  congratulate  his 
son  and  welcome  his  daughter-in-law  to 
her  new  home.  Her  trousseau,  indeed, 
was  sadly  '  conspicuous  by  its  absence,' 
as  the  reporters  say  ;  but  she  brought  a 
dower  of  beauty  and  innocence,  and  the 
camel-dealer  had  never  learned  in  any 
centre  of  civilization  to  ignore  his  chil- 
dren's sentiments  in  selecting  spouses 
for  them.  But  when  he  saw  the  hump- 
less  camel,  he  did  not  recognise  it  at  all, 
and  treated  the  scraggy  animal's  endear- 
ments with  disgust  and  scorn.  He 
thought  his  son  had  been  swapping 
camels  and  been  beaten  in  the  trade. 

'  Ah,  you  fright  of  a  camel  !  '  he  ex- 
claimed, '  why  did  you  come  to  me  in- 
stead of  my  own  beautiful  Benazi  ? '  And 
he  began  belabouring  the  dilapidated 
beast  in  his  vexation. 

*  He  is  Benazi,  and  he  saved  my  life,' 
cried  Waali. 

But  the  explanation  was  too  late.  The 
heroic  animal  died  at  the  first  blow.  In- 
gratitude, more  strong  than  traitor's 
arms,  quite  vanquished  him.  His  heart 
— which  had  remained  stout  when  his 
hump  shrunk  and  his  various  stomachs 
failed — his  heart  was  broken. 


On  the  spot  where  he  fell  a  monument 
was  erected  some  months  afterwards  by 
his  remorseful  master,  with  a  legend  in 
Arabic  : — 

HERE  LIES  BEXAZI,   THE  GELERT 
OF  HIS  KIND. 

So  '  nations  slowly  w^se  and  meanly  just, 
To  buried  merit  raise  the  tardy  bust. ' 


216 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


III. 


MY    OWX    BUGBEAR. 


*  Among  its  other  wasted  wonders  the 
western  Sahara  hid  the  hideoiisness  of  a 
native  boy  called  Kigg.  He  had  a 
mouth  reaching  very  nearly  from  ear  to 
ear,  jagged  teeth,  a  teapot  nose,  and  the 
Grossest  cross-eyes  to  be  found  in  the 
Old  World.  A  piebald  comiDlexion  and 
a  hare-lip  were  among  his  charms  ;  for 
his  beauty,  like  a  bull  dog's,  consisted 
in  his  ugliness.  IVIoreover,  he  was  the 
only  negro  I  ever  heard  vi  who  was  both 
red-haired  and  partly  bald.  His  fame 
was  becoming  so  great  that  travellers 
were  beginning  to  take  him  in  as  one  of 
the  sights  of  Africa. 

*  When  things  had  come  to  this  point 
I  went  to  see  him  myself,  and  found 
him  even  more  hideous  than  he  was  ru- 
moured to  be.  My  horse  bolted  at  the 
first  sight  of  him,  and  I  could  hardly 
make  the  animal  come  near  him,  even 
after  the  youngster  had  closed  his  eyes 
and  mouth,  as  his  parents  bid  him  do. 
I  had  heard  of  people  being  "  frights" 
before,  but  this  fellow  was  one  in  ear- 
nest. So  I  thought  it  well  to  secure  him 
before  his  parents  knew  his  worth  or 
grew  conceited  about  him.  These  simple 
old  folk  gave  him  up  for  the  moderate 
price  of  ninety-three  cents,  and  thought 
they  had  made  a  good  bargain. 

'  I  called  for  him  next  day,  and 
brought  a  blind  mule  to  carry  him  to 
my  house.  His  parents  never  kissed 
him  when  bidding  him  good-bye,  and 
even  his  mother  had  to  shut  her  eyes 
when  he  stood  in  front  of  her.  He  was 
very  docile,  and  kept  before  me  all  the 
way,  as  he  was  told,  without  looking 
round  once  or  frightening  my  horse. 

'  Having  fully  determined  to  grow  ac- 
customed to  him,  I  forced  myself  to  look 
at  him  many  times  each  day,  and  soon 
was  able  to  view  his  face  for  several 
seconds  without  shuddering.  After  a 
while  I  even  began  to  fear  that  Nigg  was 
not  so  very  frightful  after  all,  at  least 
not  frightful  enough  to  scare  cannibals 
and  beasts  of  p'rey,  as  I  had  fondly  hoped 
when  purchasing  him. 

'  However,  T  was  cheered  up  from 
time  to  time  by  seeing  the  terrifying  ef- 
fect he  produced  on  men  and  animals 
that  saw  him /or  the  first  time.  None  of 
these  were  more  alarmed  than  he  him- 
self was  when  he  first  looked  into  a  mir- 
ror.    He  started  back  with  a  yell,  and 


rushed  to  me,  exclaiming:  "  Massa ! 
massa  !  Black  debbil  in  a  dish  !  Black 
debbil  in  a  dish  !  "  He  was  generally  an 
amiable  lad,  and  so  he  rather  astonished 
me  one  day  by  darting  a  spiteful  glance 
at  his  mule,  which  had  just  thrown  him. 
Well  for  the  mule  that  it  was  blind,  for 
I  never  saw  so  hideous  a  face  in  a  dream, 
even  after  eating  four  platefuls  of  plum- 
pudding.  I'or  my  part,  although  the 
sight  did  bring  on  a  slight  attack  of  the 
chills,  I  was  quite  charmed  at  this  proof 
of  Nigg's  powers.  If  any  hyena,  or 
snake,  or  goi'illa,  could  face  the  face 
Nigg  made  then  I  wanted  to  see  the 
animal. 

*  And  so  I  took  Nigg  out  on  a  hunt- 
ing expedition.  The  first  beast  we  came 
upon  was  a  leopard,  which  lay  on  the 
carcase  of  an  antelope,  and  growled  as 
animals  are  wont  to  do  when  interrupt- 
ed at  their  meals. 

'  "  Make  the  face  you  made  at  the 
mule  !  "  I  cried. 

'  But  poor  Nigg  never  looked  more 
frightened  and  less  frightful  than  when 
he  tried  to  do  so.  If  the  leopard  was 
not  showing  signs  of  charging,  I  think  I 
should  have  burst  out  laughing  at  the 
abject  terror  of  the  boy.  In  another 
second  he  was  running  for  his  life,  and 
the  leopard  after  him.  However,  I 
managed  to  bowl  the  beast  over  at  the 
first  shot,  for  he  presented  a  full  broad- 
side as  he  bounded  after  Nigg. 

'  This  cowardice  of  Nigg  seemed  fatal 
to  my  hope  of  using  him  as  a  body- 
guard. He  was  frightened  by  every 
animal  that  we  wanted  to  frighten,  and 
he  only  scared  the  animals  we  wanted  to 
get  near.  1  could  not  get  a  shot  at  a 
deer  or  antelope  closer  than  five  hun- 
dred yards,  and  was  soon  forced  to  turn 
homewards  from  loss  of  ammunition  and 
want  of  meat.  I  spent  my  last  cartridge, 
in  missing  a  gazelle,  about  ten  miles 
from  home. 

'  Soon  after  this  unlucky  shot  we  en- 
tered a  valley,  through  which  a  stream 
had  formerly  flowed.  Happening  to 
look  a-head,  I  saw  some  creature  creep- 
ing stealthily  towards  our  path.  Its 
outlines  were  obscured  by  the  dense 
shade  of  a  tamarind  tree,  which  stood  at 
the  edge  of  a  thicket.  My  horse  was 
too  tired,  and  the  ground  too  uneven, 
to  retreat  ;  besides  which  disadvantage 
a  violent  wind  would  be  blowing  in  our 
faces  if  we  turned.  To  go  on  boldly  was 
our  best  chance. 

'  If  I  could  only  call  forth  that  Gor- 


II 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


217 


gon  gUance  that  Niger  had  once  wasted  on 
his  blind  mule  !  There  was  Nigg,  and 
there  was  the  mule.  The  same  causes 
generally  produce  the  same  effects.  The 
question,  therefore,  was  how  to  make 
the  mule  throw  Nigg.  Happily,  Nigg 
had  not  seen  the  wild  beast,  which  I 
could  only  see  dimly  myself,  and  that 
because  I  knew  where  to  look  for  it.  As 
we  approached  the  tree,  I  leaned  forward 
in  my  saddle  and  tickled  the  mule  with 
my  whip.  Most  African  cattle  start  vio- 
lently when  anything  like  an  insect 
touches  them  ;  for  some  insect  bites  are 
fatal  to  them. 

'  Up  went  the  mule's  "business  end," 
and  down  went  the  unsuspecting  Nigg, 
with  his  angry  face  happily  turned  from 
me  and  towards  the  ambushed  beast. 
AVith  a  howl,  rather  than  a  roar,  a 
large  lion  sprang  from  the  thicket  and 
disappeared  beyond  the  summit  of  the 
right-hand  slope.  Such  a  shivering, 
wilted,  scared  animal  in  a  lion's  skin  I 
never  saw  before  or  after.' 

*  And  what  became  of  Nigg  after- 
wards ! '  asked  Bill,  as  the  Major  made 
a  pause. 

'  In  spite  of  his  usefulness  on  this  one 
occasion,'  said  the  Major,  '  I  found  him 
too  unreliable  to  employ  as  a  scarecrow. 
A  friend,  learning  I  was  disappointed  in 
the  boy,  begged  him  of  me,  promising 
to  use  him  kindly  ;  and  so  I  gave  him 
away.  1  did  foolishly,  for  the  rascally 
"  friend"  sold  him  soon  afterwards  for 
£2,000  as  an  escort  to  some  traders  from 
Morocco.' 

'  As  an  escort  ! '  ejaculated  Bill. 

'  Yes.  You  see  these  fellows  have  to 
take  a  number  of  armed  men  with  them 
in  their  trading  expeditions,  and  Nigg 


was  just  as  much  protection;  for  they 
knew  how  to  use  him.  I  might  have 
guessed  how  myself,  for  I  had  often 
been  told  in  ray  boyhood  that  anybody 
could  scare  a  bull  by  merely  turning  his 
back  to  the  an  mal  and  bending  down 
and  gazing  calmly  at  it  through  his  legs. 
The  sudden  cliange  of  shape,  they  say, 
will  frighten  any  animal  unused  to  trans- 
formaticm  scenes. 

'  It  is  true  that  little  Washington 
Smith  tried  the  dodge  unsuccessfully 
with  our  bull.  Jack  Horner.  But  Hor- 
ner either  understood  transformations 
or  else  thought  the  new  animal  before 
him  would  toss  just  as  nicely  as  a  boy. 
After  a  further  brief  transformation  into 
a  bird,  little  Wash  touched  the  ground 
on  the  safe  side  of  the  fence,  thereby 
shortening  the  pleasant  pastime  of  the 
bull. 

'  But  then,  you  see,  Nigg  had  certain 
advantages  that  little  Wash  Smith  had 
not.  His  face,  looking  at  one  in  this  in- 
verted and  unusual  position,  was  simply 
diabolical.  Not  a  liun,  nor  a  buffalo, 
nor  any  other  living  thing  wanted  any 
closer  acquaintance  with  so  terrible  a 
creature.' 

'  Is  he  an  escort  still  ? '  inquired  little 
Bob. 

'  No,  the  poor  fellow ! '  said  the  Major. 
'  The  traders  once  came  upon  a  short- 
sighted lion,  which  did  not  seo  Nigg, 
and  consequently  did  not  run  away,  and 
the  unhappy  escort  was  fcjrced  to  stay 
with  his  head  down  until  he  died  from 
pressure  of  blood  upon  the  brain. 

'  Poor  Nigg  !  Barring  perhaps  the 
Gorgon  Medusa  and  the  Veiled  Prophet 
of  Khorassan,  he  certainlywas  the  ugliest 
thing  out.' 


BOOK    REVIEWS. 


Old  Greek  Education.  By  J.  P.  Ma- 
HAFFY,  M.A.  London  :  Kegan  Paul, 
Trench  &  Co.  Toronto  :  Willing  & 
Williamson,  1881. 

IN  the  midst  of  our  keen  debates  on 
the  best  eductional  methods,  de- 
spite classical  reading,  it  requires  a 
strong  mental  effort  to  realize  that  the 
very  thoughts  that  stir  our  brains  and 


struggle  for  expression  were  on  earth 
befoi'e,  at  least  a  couple  of  milleniums 
ago,  and  were  then  clothed  in  a  literary 
furm  which  excites  the  envy  and  the 
despair  of  the  best  modern  writers.  On 
a  (question  of  training  processes,  literary, 
aesthetical  or  physical,  it  would  be  ex- 
ceedingly ditficult  now  to  enqiloy  an 
argument  which  cannot  be  either  actu- 
ally reproduced,  or  at  all  events  closely 


218 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


paralleled,  from  the  lectures  of  Socrates, 
Plato,  Aristotle,  or  Isocrates.  Even  in 
athletic  training,  which  now  engrosses 
so  much  attention  and  ingenuity,  it 
seems  hopeless  to  attempt  anything  very 
new.  We  Canadians  pride  ourselves  on 
our  graceful  national  uame  Lacrosse.  As 
in  duty  bound,  we  believe  it  to  be  a  gen- 
uine product  of  our  own  soil,  found  here 
by  Cartier,  Champlain,  and  the  other 
pioneers  who  saw  the  IndiaTis  at  play  in 
the  broad  glades  t»f  the  forest ;  and  handed 
directly  to  our  sons  by  these  red-skinned 
antorltthoni.  As  we  all  know,  the  Byzan- 
tine Empire  lived  on  the  stirring  mem- 
ories and  traditions  of  those  glorious  old 
•Greeks  who,  alike  in  physique  and  intel- 
lect, were  held  to  be  the  type  of  perfect 
development.  Now  hear  the  game  of 
Lacrosse  described  by  a  Greek  of  Con- 
stantinople (380  years  ago,  and  we  may 
be  reasonably  sure  that  the  game  was 
then  a  venerable  legacy  :  —  '  Certain 
youths,  divided  equally,  leave  in  a  level 
place,  which  they  liave  before  prepared 
and  measured,  a  ball  made  of  leather, 
about  the  size  of  an  apple,  and  rush  at 
it,  as  if  it  were  a  prize  lying  in  the  mid- 
dle, from  their  fixed  starting-point. 
Each  of  them  has  in  his  right  hand  a 
"stick''  (rhahdus)  of  suitable  length 
ending  in  a  sort  of  flat  bend,  the  middle 
of  which  is  occupied  by  gut  strings, 
dried  by  seasoning,  and  plaited  together 
in  a  net  fashitm.  Each  side  strives  to 
be  the  first  to  bring  it  to  the  opposite 
end  of  the  ground  from  that  allotted  to 
them.  Wlienever  the  ball  is  driven  by 
the  "  sticks  ''  to  the  end  of  the  ground, 
it  counts  as  a  game. ' 

Some  fine  manly  sports,  though 
thoroughly  understood,  were  from  as- 
sociation of  ideas  distasteful  to  free-born 
Greeks.  Even  iii  sea-girt  Attica  our 
champion  Hanlan  would  have  ranked 
far  below  a  cabman.  Regattas  were 
quite  usual,  but  the  rowing  was  given 
over  to  slaves,  though  the  memories  of 
Salamis  might  well  have  secured  for 
future  oarsmen  high  and  honourable 
recognition.  There  was  no  lack  of 
leisure  among  the  youth  of  Greece,  for 
they  had  no  foreign  language  to  learn,  and 
the  ologies  were  still  in  a  state  of  proto- 
plasm,— mere  scientific  jelly,  so  to  speak. 
And,  truth  to  say,  the  idle  hours  were 
often  filled  in  by  employments  that  gave 
the  old  statesmen  much  anxiety  for  the 
future  of  their  country.  Gambling  took 
early  and  deep  root.  Some  few  of  the 
identical  dice  that  were  employed  have 


come  down  to  us.  and  of  these  few  it  is 
melancholy  to  relate  that  some  are 
loaded. 

It  was  not  for  want  of  State  oversight 
the  Greek  youth  went  astray.  At  Athens 
as  well  as  at  Sparta  the  child  was  held 
to  be  the  property  of  the  State,  and  the 
father  was  thus  a  trustee  for  the  State. 
At  Sparta  an  ignorance  of  the  three  Rs* 
Avas  rather  expected  than  otherwise  ; 
there,  the  ambition  was  to  beget  stalwart 
men-at-arms, — tall,  lithe,  and  adroit. 
At  Athens  the  ideal  of  perfect  manhood 
comprised  not  only  a  splendid  physique, 
but  graceful  action,  and  eloquent  expres- 
sion. In  both  cities,  infants  that  were 
weak,  undersized  or  deformed,  were  re- 
morselessly exposed,  so  that  a  household 
of  four  persons  under  one  roof  would 
have  exceeded  the  average  of  families.  In 
either  city  it  would  certainly  have  fared 
ill  with  Isaac  Newton  of  whom  at  his  birth, 
as  the  midwife  contemptuously  declared, 
there  was  not  enough  to  fill  a  quart-pot. 
No  better  fate  would  have  been  in  store 
for  Pope,  Voltaire,  and  the  whole  host  of 
literary  Titans  whose  brains,  even  before 
their  birth,  had  got  the  better  of  their 
muscles . 

The  training  of  youth  being  regarded 
as  the  very  corner-stone  of  State- craft, 
we  find  the  most  profound  thinkers  of 
Ancient  Greece  bending  their  powers  to 
the  solution  of  infantile  difficulties,  as 
well  as  to  the  highest  speculations  in 
philosophy.  By  Greek  fire-sides  Archy- 
tas,  the  famous  astronomer  of  Tarentum, 
was  better  known  for  his  invention  of 
the  child's  rattle  than  for  his  profound 
researches  into  the  weight  and  figure  of 
the  earth.  And  his  great  ancestor  in 
philosophy,  Pythagoras,  is  at  this  day 
known  chiefly  for  his  device  of  the  '  mul- 
tiplication table  '  and  for  his  discovery 
of  the  47th  proposition  ;  while  all  the 
vast  and  recondite  stores  of  knowledge 
that  he  had  amassed  by  a  lifetime  of 
travel  and  study  are  for  us  hopelessly 
lost.  So  with  the  most  eminent  sons  of 
Athens. 

'  Ancient  of  daj's  !  angnsit  Athena  !  where. 
Where  are  thy  men  of  might  ?  thy  grand  in 

soul  ? 
Gone — glimmering    through    the    dream    of 

things  that  were  ; 
First  in  the  race  that  led  to  Glory's  goal, 
They  won    and    passed   away — is   this   the 

whole  ? 
A  schoolboy's  tale,  the  wonder  of  an  hour  ! ' 

Among  the  numerous  heirlooms  that 
have   descended  to   our  children  from 


I 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


219 


those  early  Greek  schools  is  the  ahax 
[Roman  abacus]  or  numeral  frame.  Jn 
default  of  decimal  notation,  and  relative 
numerals,  the  old  mathematicians  used 
this  device  or  its  precise  equivalent, 
though  of  course  with  applications  far 
beyond  the  range  of  our  infant  scliools. 
The  basis  of  ancient  notation  was^ire,and 
theGreek  child  so  far  from  beingchecked 
in  using  his  fingers  for  counting,  was 
taught  to  extend  this  dactylic  arithmetic 
so  as  to  include  high  multijiles  of  hve. 
Here  we  may  remark,  that  it  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  noticed  by  any 
writer  how  easy  the  decimal  s^'stem  and 
relative  numerals  may  have  been  sug- 
gested by  the  abacus  as  used  by  the 
aiicietits ;  and  it  seems  to  us  incredible 
that  a  mechanician  and  mathematician 
having  the  intellectual  stride  of  Archi- 
medes could  have  failed, — if  indeed  he 
did  fail, — to  take  the  short  and  easy 
steps  necessary  for  the  transition. 

Art  education  in  its  higher  aspects 
was  at  Athens  a  subject  exterior  to  the 
ordinary  school  course,  which  seems  to 
have  been  confined  to  geometrical  draw- 
ing or  conventional  models. 

An  extraordinary  degree  of  importance 
was  in  Greece  attached  to  the  selection 
of  musical  instruments  and  of  instrumen- 
tal music  :  An  unwise  choice  being  held 
by  Plato  and  other  eminent  education- 
ists as  infallibly  disastrous  to  morals. 
The  flute  was  looked  upon  with  suspicion  : 
the  clarionet  was  the  favourite  wind 
instrument,  as  the  lyre  was  the  standard 
in  strings.  This  department  of  ancient 
school-craft  has  fairly  baffled  the  major- 
ity of  commentators,  but  Professor 
Mahafiy  treats  the  question  with  char- 
acteristic skill  and  ingenuity.  He  first 
prepares  us  for  the  discussion  by  illus- 
tration, and  then,  having  arranged  this 
light  underneath,  he  applies  to  the  ques- 
tion from  above  natural  insight  of  tine 
definition  and  of  very  high  power.  A 
close  reader  will  notice  that  this  system 
of  literary  research  is  adopted  by  the 
best  analysts  of  our  day  ;  but  its  succes- 
ful  employment  requires  rare  skill. 

The  literary  training  of  ancient  Greece 
is  better  understood  than  any  of  the 
other  branches.  This,  however,  is  too 
tempting  a  subject  to  be  treated  or  even 
characterized  at  the  end  of  a  brief  review. 
Plato's  school,  or  rather  University,  had 
of  itself  a  distinct  history  of  seven  cen- 
turies, before  the  intellectual  glow  faded 
into  the  deep  night  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
The  '  Academy '  was,  by  the  arrange- 


ment of  its  generous  founder,  free  to  all 
qualified  students.  This  noble  instinct 
in  the  Greeks  for  high  culture  is  still 
exemplified  in  the  administration  of  the 
1  great  University  on  which  Modern 
Athens  generously  spends  much  of  her 
resources,  and  to  which  studious  Greeks 
are  admitted  without  let  or  fee  from  all 
the  wide  world  over.  Here  we  have  re- 
alized the  highest  ideal  of  a  Panhellen- 
ion  ;  and  a  race  that  thus  shows  itself 
conscious  of  its  past  history  and  of  a 
lofty  future  mission,  is  ultimately  sure 
to  win  for  itself  not  only  sympathy  but 
success  in  its  national  aspirations. 


The  Formation  of  Vegetable  Mould 
through  the  action  of  Worms,  with  ob- 
servations on  their  Habits.  By  Char- 
les Dakwin,  LL.  D.,  F.  R.  S.,  Avith 
illustrations.  New  York  :  D.  Apple- 
ton  &  Co.  ;    Toronto  :  N    Ure  &  Co. 

This  remarkable  little  book  comes 
upon  us  with  the  effect  of  a  veritable  re- 
velation. It  has  hitherto  been  gener- 
ally supposed,  that  the  influence  of  our 
lowly  fellow-creature,  the  earthworm, 
upon  the  face  of  nature  has  been  as  tri- 
fling in  eftect  as  itself  is  insignificant  in 
appearance.  Now,  however,  thanks  to 
the  genius  and  patience  of  the  greatest 
naturalist  of  this  or  any  other  age,  we 
know  that  its  labours  have  altered  the 
earth's  surface  to  an  extent  which  has- 
been  rivalled  only  by  the  changes  effected 
by  its  even  more  lowly  organised  con- 
geners, the  coral  and  chalk  animals  ; 
and  that,  as  our  author  tells  us,  'it  may 
be  doubted  whether  there  are  many 
other  animals  which  have  played  so  im- 
portant* a  part  in  the  history  of  the- 
world.'  A  brief  resume  of  the  contents 
will  probably  be  the  best  way  of  sending 
the  reader  to  the  work  itself  for  the  pur- 
pose of  getting  the  full  details  of  the  au- 
thor's investigations. 

The  one  fact  in  the  economy  of  the 
earthworm  of  supreme  importance  in  re- 
lation to  the  present  subject  is,  that  it 
swallows  large  quantities  of  earth,  which, 
when  the  contained  organic  nutriment 
has  been  extracted  by  the  animal,  it 
voids  at  the  surface  in  the  shape  oi  what 
are  called  'casts.'  The  worm  is  a  noc- 
turnal animal.  It  lives  underground, 
usually  close  to  the  surface,  tliough  its- 
burrows  sometimes  extend  to  a  depth  of 
eight  feet.  At  night  it  emerges  from  its 
hiding-place  in  search  of  leaves  and 
other  things,  which   it   uses   partly   as. 


220 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


food,  and  partly  for  the  purpose  of  plug- 
ging up  the  entrance  to  and  lining  the 
walls  of  its  burrow.  The  actual  num- 
ber of  earthworms  is  almost  incredible. 
They  are  found  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
They  abound  throughout  all  the  great 
continents  ;  and  are  known  to  exist  in 
Iceland,  the  West  Indies,  St.  Helena, 
Madagascar,  New  Caledonia,  Tahiti,  and 
«ven  in  such  desolate  and  out-of-the- 
way  regions  as  the  Falkland  Islands  and 
Kerguelen  Land.  According  to  calcu- 
lations made  by  Hensen  the  average 
number  per  acre  in  garden  land  in 
Europe  is  about  53,767  ;  but  he  thinks 
that  on  ordinary  farm  land  they  are  only 
about  half  as  numerous.  From  actual 
weighings  of  the  castings  thrown  up  in 
a  given  time  on  a  given  area  of  farm 
land,  it  is  calculated  that  the  amount  of 
earth  annually  brought  to  the  surface  by 
worms  is  from  ten  to  fifteen  tons  per 
acre.  On  garden  land  it  is  of  course 
twice  as  great.  This  would  give  about 
twenty  ounces  per  year  for  each  earth- 
worm. In  like  manner,  from  measure- 
ments of  the  volume  of  the  earth  thrown 
up  on  a  given  area  in  a  given  time,  it 
appears  that,  if  the  earth  were  spread 
out  equally  on  the  surface,  it  would 
make  a  uniform  coating  of  about  one- 
fifth  of  an  inch  a  year,  or  twenty  inches 
per  century.  In  the  course  of  a  few 
iiundred  years  then,  the  whole  surface 
soil,  to  the  depth  of  four  or  five  feet, 
must  pass  through  the  bodies  of  worms 
and  be  worked  up  by  the  trituration 
which,  as  Dr.  Darwin  shows,  it  there 
undergoes,  into  fine  vegetable  mould. 

But  the  preparation  of  the  soil  for  the 
farmer  is  not  by  any  means  the  only  work 
done  by  worms.  Objects  at  the'surface, 
by  being  undermined  through  their  bur- 
ffowings,  and  the  removal  of  the  underly- 
ing earth,  gradually  sink  into  the  soil, 
till, — at  least  in  the  case  of  objects  of  no 
greater  thickness  than  four  or  five  feet, — 
they  are  finally  completely  covered  up  by 
the  castings  of  worms.  In  this  way  stony 
places,  boulders,  and  the  foundations 
and  floors  of  old  ruins,  are  covered  up 
through  the  action  of  worms.  A  re- 
markable transformation  of  this  kind  oc- 
curred on  the  author's  own  property. 
One  of  his  fields  which,  in  1841,  from 
being  so  thickly  covered  with  flints,  was 
called  '  the  stony  field,'  in  the  course  of 
thirty  years  became  covered  with  mould 
to  the  depth  of  two  inches  and  a  half, 
so  that,  '  in  1871  a  horse  could  gallop 
over  the  compact  turf,  from  one  end  of 


the  field  to  the  other,  and  not  strike  a 
single  stone  with  his  shoes.'      In   the 
same  way  the  old  Roman  ruins  at  Abin- 
ger,  Chedworth,  Brading,  Silchester,  and 
Uriconium  (Wroxeter)  have,  through  the 
action    of   worms,    been   covered    with 
mould  to  various  depths   ranging  from 
nine  inches  to  over  three  feet,   and  so 
preserved  for  the  benefit  of   the  archae- 
ologist of  to-day.     In  many  of  such  and 
similar  cases  pavements  and  even  mas- 
sive walls  of  old  buildings  subside  un- 
equally   in  consequence    of  being    un- 
j    equally  undermined  by  worms  ;  and  here 
we  have  a  possible  explanation  of  the 
I    otherwise  singular  fact  of  massive  archi- 
1    tectural  structures,  such  as  the  leaning 
I    tower  of  Pisa,  getting  out  of  the  perpen- 
I    dicular    through   the    sinking   of    their 
j    foundations.      It  is   worthy   of  enquiry 
I    whether  a  similar  explanation  may  not 
!    be  given    why  the  wooden    and    stone 
sidewalks  in  our  cities  get  so  rapidly  out 
of  gear.     From  this  result  of  Darwin's 
researches,    architects  may   derive   the 
practical  lesson  to  lay  the  foundations  of 
costly    buildings  beyond  the    reach    of 
earthworms,    remembering    that    these 
animals  as  has  been  already  stated,  do 
not  extend  their  burrows   to  a  greater 
depth  than  eight  feet. 

Worms  effect  changes  in  the  configur- 
ation of  the  earth  in  other  ways.  By 
their  work  of  bringing  svibsoil  to  the 
surface  in  a  form  easily  carried  away, 
they  materially  assist  in  that  general 
process  of  wearing  away  of  the  land 
which  goes  by  the  name  of  '  denudation.' 
Furthermore,  the  humus  acids  generated 
in  their  bodies  during  the  process  of  di- 
gestion appear,  by  their  corroding  ac- 
tion, to  play  an  important  part  in  the 
disintegration  of  the  various  kinds  of 
rockp. 

The  present  volume  is  the  outcome  of 
fifty  years  of  research ;  and  astonishing 
as  are  the  results  arrived  at,  the  whole 
investigation  is  marked  by  the  caution 
and  thoroughness  which  are  so  eminently 
characteristic  of  the  great  naturalist  by 
whom  it  has  been  carried  on.  It  only 
remains  to  add  that  the  book,  like  every 
other  which  has  proceeded  from  the 
same  hand,  is  written  in  so  simple  and 
charming  a  style  that  even  a  child  could 
readily  understand  it. 


LovelVs  Business  and  Professional  Direc- 
tory of  the  Province  of  Ontario,  for 
1882,  with  a  classified  Business  Direc- 
tory of  the  City  of  Montreal.     1  vol. 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


221 


imp.  8vo.   1442  pp. 
Lovell  &  Son. 


Montreal  :  John 


! 


To  the  statistician  few  publishing  en- 
terprises possess  a  greater  degree  of  in- 
terest than  the  successive  issues  of  Gazet- 
teers and  Business  Directories.  An 
analysis  of  these  publications,  and  a  com- 
parison of  the  later  with  the  earlier  vol- 
umes, furnish  as  good  an  index  as  it  is 
possible  to  have  of  the  growth  and  de- 
velopment of  a  Province,  or  of  a  specific 
industry.  A  comparison  of  the  bulk 
merely,  of  the  several  books,  tells  its 
own  ready  tale.  The  one  before  us  is  a 
mammoth  octavo,  of  1442  compact 
pages,  and  a  close  scrutiny  testifies  to  a 
degree  of  careful  labour,  and  what  may 
be  termed  a  genius  for  compilation,  in 
the  preparation  of  the  work,  which  is 
deserving  of  all  praise.  Issuing  from 
Mr.  Lovell's  firm,  accuracy  and  conscien- 
tious thoroughness,  in  the  compilation 
of  the  book,  was  of  course  to  be  looked 
for  ;  but,  in  a  volume  of  its  scope,  at 
what  cost  of  labour  and  money  this  is 
attained  is  not  likely  to  be  often  con- 
sidered or,  if  thought  of  at  all,  adequate- 
ly realized.  Too  frequently,  we  fear, 
that  where  an  error  does  happen  to 
creep  into  a  work  of  this  character,  lit- 
tle allowance,  generally,  is  made  for  it, 
and  a  hasty  condemnation  of  the  whole 
is  the  result.  A  glance  at  the  extent 
and  general  accuracy  of  the  matter 
brought  within  the  covers  of  the  Ontario 
Directory,  for  1882,  should  at  least  se- 
cure for  this  new  enterprise  of  Messrs 
Lovell  &  Son  a  more  considerate  ap- 
praisement. The  work  is  divided  into 
three  sections,  the  first,  which  covers 
some  300  pages,  embraces  a  list  of  rail- 
way and  steamboat  routes,  an  enumera- 
tion of  the  Post  Offices  in  the  Dominion, 
the  customs  tarifi",  and  general  statisti- 
cal information.  The  second  section 
consists  of  the  Directory  proper,  giving 
in  alphabetical  order,  under  each  town 
in  Ontario,  the  names  and  occupations 
of  the  business  and  professional  classes 
of  the  Province.  This  department 
covers  over  six  hundred  pages.  The 
third  is  devoted  to  a  classification  of  the 
matter  under  section  two,  arranged  al- 
phabetically under  trades,  businesses, 
and  professions,  and  extends  from  pages 
1055  to  1364  of  the  work.  The  remain- 
der of  the  book  is  taken  up  with  a  classi- 
fied business  directory  of  Montreal,  and 
the  general  advertisements.  Such,  in 
brief,  is  an  enumeration  of  the  contents 


of  the  work.     Its  value  to  the  commer- 
cial world  of  Canada,    we  feel  sure,  is 
greatly  disproportionate  to   its   trifling 
cost  ;  and  we  hope  that  the  Publisher* 
will  at  once  be  relieved  of  the  edition 
that  they  may  promptly  be  reimbursed 
for  their  enterprise  and  generous  outlay. 
The   admirable  historical  sketch  which 
precedes  the  work,  and  the  list  of  news- 
papers and  periodicals  of  this  Province, 
with  its  accompanying  introductory,  are 
a  valuable   addition  to    the    book   and 
must  prove  useful  material  for  reference* 
i    The  work,  throughout,    is  most  credit- 
';    able  to  the  publishers,  and  worthily  at- 
[    tests    the    industry,    care,    and    energy 
1    which  have  been  exercised  in  its  produc- 
!    tion.     The  book,  moreover,  is  a  gratify- 
j    ing  evidence  of  the  growth  of  the  Pro- 
j    vince  and  the  expansion  of  its  trade. 


Th  e  Majors  Big-  Talk  Stories.  By  Francis. 
Blakk  Crofton,  with  original  illus- 
trations. 1  vol.  4to.  London  :  F. 
Warne  &  Co.,  1881. 

Few  things  are  more  acceptable  than 
a  book  of  clever  fooling,  and  nothing  is- 
more  rare.  In'Mr.  Blake  Crofton's  'Big- 
Talk  Stories  '  we  have  a  volume  of  quiet 
but  sometimes  outrageous  fun.  And  itis- 
fun  which  leaves  no  bad  flavour  in  the 
mouth,  nor  does  it  rely  upon  irreverence^ 
or  anything  approaching  it,  for  its  hu- 
mour. The  book  consists  of  a  series  of 
Munchausen-like  stories  of  adventure  in 
Africa,  related  by  an  Army  Major  to  his 
young  nephews,  with  a  delightful  disre- 
gard of  the  probable,  and  with  streaks  of 
subtle  humour  running  through  each 
page,  that  makes  the  volume  irresistibly 
amusing,  and  the  most  farcical  reading 
for  old  or  young.  Some  of  the  tales  first 
appeared  in  St.  Nicholas,  and  rarely  have 
readers  been  more  amused  than  by  pe- 
rusing the  stories  of  the  extraordinary 
creatures  themajor  hunts,  and  is  hvinted 
by,  in  the  wilds  of  Africa.  The  book  is 
cleverly  illustrated,  and  manifestly  de- 
serves the  high  encomiums  passed  upon 
it  by  the  English  critics  and  reviewers, 
on  its  appearing  a  month  ago  in  London 
In  our  new  '  i^oung  Folks  '  section  of 
The  Monthly,  we  give  a  few  specimens 
of  Mr.  Crofton's  drollery,  which  we 
doubt  not  will  be  appreciated.  In  '  Sam 
Slick,' Nova  Scotia  gave  to  humour  a 
writer  racy  of  the  soil.  In  Mr.  Crofton, 
who  is  a  native  of  Truro,  N.  S.,  she  has 
given  to  English  literature  another  hu- 
morist, his  peer  in  story  telling. 


222 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


My  Boxi  Life,  presented  in  a  succession 
of  True  Stories,  by  John  Carroll, 
D.  D.  12nio.  Toronto  :  William 
Briggs  (Methodist  Book  Room),  1882. 

Notwithstanding  the  occasional  un- 
couthness  of  the  literary  form  of  this 
book,  one  is  consciously  drawn  to  it  by 
the  interest  of  the  mutative,  and  by  the 
delightful  naturalness  manifested  by  its 
venerable  author  in  depicting  the  scenes 
and  incidents  of  his  boyhood,  when  the 
site  of  Toronto  was  little  more  than  a 
howling  wilderness,  and  when  little  had 
been  done  to  win  any  portion  of  the 
f  country  for  civilization.  As  an  incen- 
tive to  the  youth  of  the  present  day  the 
story  of  this  dear  old  man  should  be  very 
helpful ;  and  few  can  read  the  record  of 
his  early  life,  in  a  period  when  no  man's 
lot  was  cast  in  a  pleasant  place,  and 
■when  war  overflowed  the  cup  of  bitter- 
ness which  the  striiggle  with  nature  had 
already  filled,  without  feeling  admiration 
for  the  sturdy  heroes  who  were  the  pio- 
neers in  the  fight,  and  whose  toil  has 
made  '  life  worth  living'  to-day.  The 
present  volume,  though  complete  in  it- 
self,  is  only  an  instalment,  dealing  with 
the  earlier  years  of  the  author's  life,  and 
covering  the  incidents  of  the  removal  of 
his  father's  family  from  New  Brunswick 
to  Newark  (Niagara),  and  the  vicinity  of 
what  is  known  as  the   '  Ten  mile  Creek,' 


and  subsequently  to  a  location  on  the 
Grand  River,  and  at  a  later  date  to  York 
(Toronto).  A  graphic  account  of  these 
several  migrations  takes  up  a  consider- 
able portion  of  the  book,  interspersed  as 
it  is  with  many  personal  references  which 
make  repeated  drafts  upon  one's  sympa- 
thy, together  with  vivid  pictures  of  the 
condition  of  the  country  during  the  War 
of  1812-15,  and  of  the  social  events  of 
the  time.  Later  volumes,  which  we  trust 
the  author  may  be  spared  to  publish, 
are  to  deal  with  subsequent  periods  in 
his  career,  as  a  zealous  and  hardworking 
minister  of  the  Methodist  Church  of 
Canada — a  Church  that  has  done  noble 
things  in  carrying  the  lamp  of  the  Gos- 
pel into  the  dark  solitudes  of  early  pio- 
neering settlement  in  the  Province,  with 
other  incidents  of  an  earnest  and  busy 
life,  which  has  won  for  the  now  patriar- 
chal John  Carroll  the  well- deserved 
honour  and  respect  of  thousands  within 
and  without  the  denomination  to  which 
he  has  long  and  loyally  been  attached. 
A  brief  and  kindly  introduction  from 
the  pen  of  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Withrow, 
M.  A. ,  the  cultured  editor  of  the  Connex- 
ional  Magazine,  prefaces  the  volume  ; 
and  a  Lancashire  story,  entitled  '  Ben 
Owen,'  is  appended — forming  a  hand- 
some duodecimo  which  well  merits  ready 
sale  and  the  hearty  favour  of  an  appre- 
ciative pubUc.     "^ 


BEIC-A-BKAO. 


AN  ESTHETIC. 

She  was  a  maiden  of  mournful  mien, 
Clad  in  a  garment  of  sad,  sage  green, 
With  peacocks'  feathers  strangely  bedight ; 
Skimp  was  the  skirt,  and  the  sleeves  full 

tight. 
No  frivolous  gems  that  maiden  wore. 
But  a  fan  in  her  taper  hand  she  bore, 
And  on  it  was  painted — so  simple  and  neat — 
A  sunflower,  ^vith  all  its  petals  complete. 
Her  face  was  weary  and  white  and  wan, 
Her  hair  was  the  hue  of  the  setting  sun  ; 
She  did  not  smile,  she  did  not  talk, 
She  drooped  like  a  lily  upon  its  stalk, 
And  what  were  her  musings  none  might 

guess — 
Her  thoughts  were  too  '  utter '  for  words  to 

express ! 

— TJie  Argosy. 


'I  don't  mias  my  church  as  much 
as  you  suppose,'  said  a  lady  to  her 
minister,  who  had  called  upon  her  dur- 
ing her  illness  ;  '  for  I  make  Betsy  sit  at 
the  window  as  soon  as  the  bells  begin  to 
chime,  and  tell  me  who  are  going  to 
church,  and  whether  they  have  got  on 
anything  new.' 

Last  Sunday  night  during  service,  a 
west  side  clergyman  noticed  several  of 
his  congregation  dozing,  and  one  man 
in  particular  was  snoring  vigorously. 
The  preacher  paused  in  his  discourse, 
and  pointing  to  him  said  :  '  Will  some 
one  please  stop  that  man's  snoring  ?  I 
fear  he  will  keep  the  rest  of  the  congre- 
gation awake.' 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


223 


THE    SKATER'S    SONG. 

BY  KEY.  EPHRAIM  PEABODY. 

Away  !  away  !  our  fires  stream  bright 

Along  the  frozea  river, 
And  their  arrowy  sparkles  of  frosty  liglit 

On  the  forest  branches  quiver. 
Away  !  away  !  for  the  stars  are  forth, 

And  on  the  white  snows  of  the  valley 
In  a  giddy  trance  the  moonbeams  dance, — 

Come,  let  us  our  comrades  rally. 

Away  !  away  !  o'er  the  sheeted  ice, 

Away,  away,  we  go  : 
On  our  steel-bound  feet,  we  move  as  fleet 

As  deer  o'er  the  Lapland  snow. 
What  though  the  sharp  north  winds  are  out. 

The  skater  heeds  them  not  : 
Midst  the  laugh  and  shout  of  the  joyous  rout, 

Gray  Winter  is  forgot. 

'Tis  a  pleasant  sight,  the  joyous  throng 

In  the  light  of  the  reddening  flame,    . 
While  with  many  a  wheel  on  the  ringing  steel 

They  wage  their  riotous  game  ; 
And,  though  the  night  air  cutteth  keen 

And  the  white  moon  shineth  coldly. 
Their  home  hath  been  on  the  hills,  I  ween 

They  should  breast  the  strong  blast  boldly. 

Let  others  choose  more  gentle  sports. 

By  the  side  of  the  Winter's  hearth. 
Or  'neath  the  lights  of  the  festal  hall 

Seek  for  their  share  of  mirth. 
But  as  for  me  away,  away, 

Where  the  merry  skaters  be  ;  [ice  glows. 
Where  the  fresh  wind  blows  and  the  smooth 

There  is  the  place  for  me. 

Going  to  the  School  of  Philosophy  1 
Kant. 

Modest  women  wearveils  because  they 
don't  like  to  appear  barefaced. 

The  most  pointed,  and  perhaps  the 
most  just,  criticism  upon  Mr.  Hep- 
worth's  new  book,  '!!!,'  has  been '  ?  ]  ?.' 

Self-made  man  (examining  school,  of 
•which  he  is  a  manager)  :  '  Now  what  is 
the  capital  of  'Olland  ? '  Boy  :  '  An ' '  H," 
sir. ' 

Breakfast-table  :  Father  of  family, 
reading  :  '  There  is  a  cat  in  Cincinnati 
"that  drinks  beer.'  Daughter  (sixteen)  : 
'  Pa,  she  must  be  a  Maltese  cat.' 

Advantages  of  being  a  numbskull  : 
Tutor :  '  What  is  the  dative  of  donum  1 ' 
What?  Next?  Next?  Next?  Dunce: 
*  Do'no.'  Tutor :  '  Correct ;  go  to  the 
head  ! ' 

A  down-east  editor's  wardrobe,  which 
was  inventoried  by  an  officer  who  was 
endeavouring  to  satisfy  an  execution, 
was  found  to  consist  of  just  two  suits, 
one  of  which  was  for  libel. 


An  agent  selling  JeflF  Davis's  '  History 
of  the  Southern  States  '  found  a  citizen 
who,  after  hearing  his  exordium,  looked 
at  him  with  suspicion.  '  Why,  how  could 
Jefl"  Davis  write  a  book  ? '  demanded  the 
mossback  ;  '  I  thought  he  was  kilt  juring 
the  wah  !  '     Such  is  fame  ! 

An  absent  wife  is  thus  advertised  for: 
— 'Jane,  your  absence  will  ruin  all. 
Think  of  your  husband — yonr  parents — 
your  children.  Return— return — all  may 
be  well — happy.  At  any  rate,  enclose 
the  key  of  the  cupboard  where  the  whis- 
key is.' 

Music -teacher  :  '  Oh,  yes.  Miss  Clo- 
tilda likes  playing  times  well  enougli,  but 
she  shudders  at  the  very  mention  of 
the  scales.'  Retired  cheesemonger^ s  vnfe 
(loftily)  :  '  I  should  hope  so,  indeed  ! 
You'll  bear  in  mind,  sir,  that  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  business  now.' 

Mr.  Morice,  minister  of  Kincardine 
O'Neil,  with  a  stipend  of  only  £59  and 
a  manse  and  glebe,  brought  up  a  family 
of  seventeen  children.  His  wife,  a  con- 
tented, easy-minded  lady,  a  friend  of 
Dr.  Paul's  mother,  said,  '  She  wished 
she  had  just  aneither  lassie  to  make  out 
the  dizzen  and  a  half.' 

An  American  reporter  once  trans- 
formed the  quotation,  'Amicus  Plato, 
amicus  Socrates,  sed  major  Veritas,' 
into,  '  I  may  cus  Plato,  I  may  cus  So- 
crates, said  Major  Veritas.'  The  next 
morning's  feelings  of  the  orator  to  whose 
words  this  extraordinary  rendering  saw 
given  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than 
described. 

An  old  man  was  fishing  one  Sunday 
morning,  just  before  church  time,  when 
the  curate  saw  him,  and  enquired  in 
dulcet  tones  '  My  man,  don't  you  hear 
those  heavenly  chimes  ? '  '  Eh.'  '  Don't 
you  hear  those  heavenly  chimes  calling 
you  ? '  '  Beg  pardon,  sir  ;  but  1  really 
can't  hear  what  you  say  for  those  infer- 
nal bells.' 

'  Mr.  So-and-so  has  a"splendid  Claude 
Lorraine,  and  two  chanuuig  little  frames 
of  the  same  epoch.'  'Yes — well?'  'Well, 
the  landscape  being  twice  too  large  to 
go  into  one  of  the  frames,  he  had  it  cut 
in  halves,  and  framed  half  in  each. 
Then  he  has  a  large  inscription  put  on 
the  first  half:  "The  conclusion  oppo- . 
site."  ' 

'  Papa,  me  has  been  baptized,  ain't 
me  ? '  asked  a  little  three-year-old.  'Yes, 
dear.'     '  Then  we  won't  have  to  be  bap- 


224 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


tized  again  I'  '  No  ;  but  can  you  re- 
member anj-thing  about  being  baptiz- 
ed ? '  *I  des  I  can.'  'Well,  what  did 
the  minister  do  to  you  ? '  'He  shoved 
up  my  sleeve  and  stuck  a  knife  in  my 
arm.' — N.  Y.  Star. 

A  story  is  told  of  William  Whewell, 
the  English  scientist,  that  on  one  occa- 
sion he  was  engaged  in  argument  con- 
cerning a  subject,  in  discussing  which 
his  antagonist  took  his  stand  upon  a  cer- 
tain article  in  an  encycloptedia,  from 
whichjin  fact,  he  appeared  to  have  gained 
the  greater  part  of  his  knowledge.  The 
discussion  was  somewhat  shortened  by  a 
quiet  remark  dropping  from  Whewell's 
lips  :  '  Yes,  I  wrote  that  article.' 

Song  of  the  youthful  apple  peddler  at 
the  country  railwaj^  stations  in  Pennsyl- 
vania :  '  Apple  !  Sapple  !  Sapples  !  Sap- 
pies  !  Two  for  five  ;  Napple,  mister  ] 
Mister,  Rapple  i  Wan  tan  apple,  mister  ? 
Six  for  tive  cents  !  Fresheat  m  apples  ; 
Ni  seatin  nappies,  seven  forannickle  ! 
Napple,  mister  ?  INIister,  wantanapple  I 
Want  smappuls,  mister  ?  Nine  foran- 
nickle 1  Here's  yourappuls  I  Ten  fura- 
nickel  I ' 

There  is  a  pleasant  story  of  a  rebuke 
once  administered  by  Admiral  Farragut 
in  a  most  neat  and  decorous,  but  very 
effective,  manner  to  a  tobacco-smoking 
bishop.  At  dinner  with  Farragut,  and 
after  the  meal  was  over,  the  bishop, 
about  to  select  a  cigar,  offered  the  bunch 
to  the  sailor.  '  Have  a  cigar,  admiral  ? ' 
said  he.  '  No,  bishop,'  said  the  admiral, 
vrith  a  quizzical  glance  ;  '  I  don't  smoke 
— I  swear  a  little  sometimes.' 

In  passing  a  row  of  miners'  houses  in 
a  mining  district  of  Ayrshire,  observes 
Dr.  L.,  i  overheard  the  following  con- 
versation between  two  children  : — First 
child  :  '  1  say,  Jock,  are  ye  gavm  tae  let 
us  play  wi'  ye  ? '  Second  ditto  :  '  No, 
for  ye  aye  stick  the  game.'  First  ditto  : 
'  Then  your  cat'll  no  get  rinnin'  through 
our  entry  nae  mair.'  Second  ditto  : 
*  Aweel,  you'll  no  get  crying  "  Hurrah  " 
when  our  coal  coups.' 

'  You  have  some  fine  turkeys  this 
morning,'  said  a  schoolmaster  to  poul- 
terer. '  Yes,  sir,  all  fresh  from  Norfolk 
to-day.'  '  NMiat  is  the  price  ?  '  '  Y'ou  can 
take  your  choice,  sir.  I  have  them  at 
all  prices.'  '  Well,  I  want  to  give  my 
boys  a  treat ;  but  I  do  not  want  them  to 
be  too  tender.  There  are  a  dozen  here  ; 
pick  out  four  of  the  toughest.'  The  poul- 


terer obeyed.  '  Here,  sir,  you  have  four 
of  thetoughestbirdsin  my  shop.'  'Thank 
you,'  said  the  schoolmaster,  '  I'll  take  the 
other  eight. ' 

Last  Sabbath,  I  asked  my  class  of  lit- 
tle boys  if  they  remembered  last  Sun- 
day's Golden  Text.  It  had  been  a  diffi- 
cult one  to  teach  them,  as  I  could  not 
seem  to  make  them  remember  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words.  So  I  was  not  much 
surprised  to  see  but  one  little  hand 
raised,  though  I  confess  to  being  slight- 
ly astonished  to  hear,  in  response  to  my 
'  Well,  Irvie,  say  it  out  real  loud,  so 
that  all  can  hear  :  "A  double-minded 
man  is  ttp  on  top  of  his  barn  in  all  his 
ways.'" 

To-day,  to-morrow,  everj"^  day,  to  thou- 
sands the  end  of  the  world  is  close  at 
hand.  And  why  should  we  fear  it  1  We 
walk  here,  as  it  wtre,  in  the  crypts  of 
life  ;  at  times  from  the  great  cathedral 
above  us  we  can  hear  the  organ  and  the 
chanting  choir ;  we  see  light  stream 
through  the  open  door  when  some  friend 
goes  out  before  us  ;  and  shall  we  fear  to 
mount  the  narrow  staircase  of  the  gi'ave 
that  leads  us  out  of  this  uncertain  twi- 
light into  eternal  life  I 

THE  DIFFERENCE. 

BY  GRACE  S.  WELLS. 


Only  a  few  more  notes, 

Only  a  finer  tone  : 
And  lo  1  the  world  bows  down 

Before  the  singer's  throne. 

Only  the  same  old  thoughts 
Clothed  with  a  sweeter  sound  ; 

And  lo  !  a  poet's  brow 
With  laurel  leaves  is  crowned. 

Only  a  finer  ear. 

Only  a  swifter  skill : 
And  lo  !  the  artist  plays 

On  human  hearts  at  will. 

Only  a  tint  or  line. 

Only  a  subtler  grace  : 
And  lo  !  the  world  goes  mad 

Over  a  woman's  face. 

Yet  thongh  so  slight  the  cause 
For  wliich  men  call  us  great. 

This  shade  the  more  or  less 
May  fix  an  earthly  fate. 

For  few  may  wield  the  power 
Whose  spells  uplift  or  thrill ; 

The  barrier  fixed,  yet  fine, 
We  may  not  pass  at  will. 


EOSE-BELFORD'S 

CANADIA]^  Moi^thlt 

AND  :national  reyiew. 


MARCH,    1882. 
A  STRAIN  FROM   THE   SEA-SIDE. 

BY   J.    A.    BELL,    HALIFAX,    N.    S. 


THE  Fisherman's  skiff  is  away  on  the  deep, 
From  daylight  to  sunset  all  weathers  he  braves 
And  often  at  night  when  his  little  ones  sleep. 
He  gallantly  buffets  the  winds  and  the  waves. 

Beyond  the  dim  headlands  unhelped  and  alone. 
He  tAists  to  his  craft  as  she  rolls  in  the  swell ; 

While  the  surf  breaks  afar  with  a  roar  and  a  moan, 
In  the  caves  of  the  rocks  where  the  sea -fairies  dwel 

A  venturesome  life  doth  the  fisherman  lead. 

And  Fortune,  not  seldom,  withholdeth  her  smile  ; 

By  patient  persistence  he  earneth  his  bread, 
But  he  cheerily  labours  and  hopetli  the  while. 

A  man  every  inch  is  our  fisherman  bold, 

And  modest,  withal,  as  a  true  man  should  be ; 

He  cringes  to  no  one — he  bows  not  to  gold. 
His  mien,  like  his  calling,  is  born  of  the  sea. 

Broad-chested  and  lithe  with  a  courage  to  dare, 
How  stalwart  he  looks  as  he  speeds  from  the  shore 

Never  his  to  despond  though  the  breeze  be  not  fair, 
So  deftly  he  handles  the  sail  and  the  oar. 


226 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


Not  all  for  himself  doth  he  toil  in  his  skiff, 

His  heart  is  as  warm  as  his  motions  are  free ; 
There's  a  father,  perchance,  at  the  home  on  the  cliff, 

The  mother  that  bore  him  and  nursed  on  her  knee. 

But  his  sons  are  all  growing,  and  soon  by  his  side, 
Very  chips  of  the  block,  they  will  come  to  the  fore  ; 

And  his  daughters  to  match  them,  brown-cheeked  and  black-eyed, 
Will  assist,  like  their  brothers,  to  add  to  his  store. 

The  farmer  hath  honour,  and  honour  is  due ; 

The  artisan  counts  not  the  least  in  our  land  ; 
But  honour  belongs  to  the  fisherman,  too, 

To  the  strength  of  his  arm  and  the  skill  of  his  hand. 

All  honour  to  M'orkers  of  hand  or  of  brain. 

To  toilers,  stout-hearted,  let  laggards  give  phice  ; 

There's  a  manhood  in  labour  that's  better  than  gain, 
And  hope  for  the  country  that  breeds  such  a  race. 


ILLUSTEATIONS   OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


BY    WILLIAM    WYE    SMITH. 


THE  PIONEERS. 

MANY  of  the  first  settlers  are  a 
class  of  people  quite  distinct 
and  by  themselves.  They  do  not  take 
kindly  to  refined  life ;  even  the  modi- 
fied type  of  it  to  be  found  in  the  some- 
what new  townships  is  alien  to  their 
tastes.  They  think  people  get  '  stuck- 
up  '  when  they  are  able  to  supplant 
the  log-house  with  a  frame  one,  and  to 
put  on  good  clothes,  and  ride  in  a  ve- 
hicle to  chiirch.  And  so  we  find  them 
continually  selling  out  and  'going  into 
the  bush'  again. 

As  I  never  exactlv  lived  in  the  'bush' 


myself,  I  may  not  have  had  as  good 
opportunities  as  some  for  stiidying  this 
phase  of  character.  My  'pioneers  '  are 
rather  those  who  had  outlived  their 
bush-life,  and  found  themselves — per- 
haps both  unwittingly  and  unwillingly 
— in  established  settlements.  It  is 
some  of  these  who  must  sit  for  their 
portraits. 

One  class  of  pioneers,  either  too 
lazy  or  too  unfortunate  to  have  ac- 
quired anything  of  their  own,  might 
be  found  in  every  township.  They 
lived  in  old  log  houses,  for  which  they 
paid  no  rent.  They  had  a  little  patch 
of  corn  and  potatoes — the  cultivation 
of  which  was  too  often  left  to  *  the  old 
woman.'     They  generally  kept  a  pig; 


I 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


227 


and  often  a  cow.  These  pastured  on 
the  roads,  and  on  the  yet  unclosed 
patches  of  woodland.  Mj  pioneers 
were  '  handy '  men,  who  made  axe- 
handles  and  butter-ladles,  and  had  al- 
ways a  bunch  of  shingles  to  '  trade'  at 
the  store.  They  were  variously  spoken 
of  as  being  engaged  in  '  shingle-weav- 
ing,' 'coon-hunting,  axe-handle-mak- 
iug,  horse-doctoring,  sucker-spearing, 
or  in  '  loafing.'  Mrs.  Stowe's  '  Sam 
Lawson '  is  a  good  example  of  the  class. 
My  friend  Dr.  Mainwaring,  of  St. 
George,  once  met  one  of  this  class,  who 
had  fallen  below  the  general  level  of 
the  axe-handle  fraternity,  and  had  been 
taken  up  for  some  petty  crime.  It  was 
on  a  very  hot  day  ;  and  the  doctor  was 
driving  slowly  along  the  Gait  and  Dun- 
lids  macadamized  road,  a  few  miles 
above  the  latter  place.  First  he  met 
two  young  men,  on  foot,  carrying  guns. 
Behind  them,  at  a  distance,  was  a  man 
they  were  taking  to  a  magistrate,  to 
be  committed  for  theft.  Behind  him 
again,  was  his  slatternly  wife,  and 
some  children ;  and  the  latter  group 
were  crying.  When  the  doctor  met  the 
man,  he  stopped  him  for  a  talk.  '  What 
have  you  been  doing?'  'Well,  they 
say  I've  been  stealin'.'  '  Where  are 
you  going  1 '  '  'Spose  I'm  goin'  to  a 
magistrate,  and  then  to  gaol.'  '  Why 
don't  you  run  away  ? '  'I  dass'nt  ! 
They'd  shoot  me  !  '  '  No  they  wont  ! 
They  are  about  as  sick  of  it  as  you  are. 
I  was  talking  to  them.  Can  you  run?  ' 
*■  Vaas  !  '  said  the  unfortunate,  with  a 
knowing  look.  '  Well  now,  clear  !  And 
let  us  see  how  fast  you  can  run  !  Only 
let  me  be  past  a  bit,  so  that  they  won't 
think  that  I  put  up  you  to  it.'  The  doc- 
tor drove  on,  keeping  an  eye  over  his 
shoulder  at  proceedings  behind  him. 
Soon  the  old  fellow  made  a  dash  for 
the  woods,  his  worn  boots  clattering  as 
he  went,  and  the  brushwood  snapping 
beneath  his  feet !  The  young  men 
made  a  great  deal  of  shouting  ;  but 
they  never  stirred  from  the  road.  There 
was  no  '  commitment ;  '  but  the  neigh- 
bourhood got  rid  of  a  nuisance,  which 
was  of  quite  as  much  importance. 


I  met  a  specimen  of  another  variety 
of  the  pioneer  at  Spanish  River,  Al- 
goma,  a  few  years  ago.  He  said  that 
he  had  taken  up  a  lot,  built  a  house, 
and  had  made  a  beginning,  fifteen 
miles  up  the  river,  on  its  right  bank  ; 
that  we  would  see  his  clearing  as  we 
paddled  up  the  stream,  and  were  wel- 
come to  go  ashore  and  supply  oui'selves 
(if  they  were  far  enough  advanced) 
with  potatoes  and  onions  from  hi.s  gar- 
den. He  was  a  New  Brunswicker  : 
was  '  engaged  '  to  a  fine  young  woman 
of  nineteen, and  going  to  'settle  down  ' 
for  life,  when  his  jjarents  interfered, 
determined  to  break  off  the  match. 
He  went  off  to  British  Columbia,  and 
remained  there  twelve  years.  The 
neighbours  all  told  him  when  he  came 
back  that  '  it  was  too  bad ;  here  the 
poor  girl  had  been  waiting  for  him  all 
this  time  ! '  But  his  parents  were  just 
as  much  opposed  to  the  match  as  ever. 
'  Well,'  I  said  to  him,  '  you  were  now 
a  man  of  mature  years,  and  you  should 
have  done  what  was  honourable  and 
right,  whatever  your  parents  might 
say.'  '  This  I  determined  to  do,'  he 
said,  with  some  feeling.  '  I  didn't 
want  to  have  a  quarrel  with  my  rela- 
tions, and  so  I  came  up  here,  and  took 
»  \ot  in  the  township  of  Salter,  and 
put  up  a  house,  and  made  a  clearing  ; 
you'll  see  my  place  on  the  north  bank 
as  you  go  on  ;  it'.s  the  only  one  up  the 
river.'  '  And  didn't  you  marry,  after 
ain  '  I  asked.  '  No,'  the  poor  fellow 
replied,  with  a  husky  voice  ;  '  my  girl 
died  of  fever  a  year  ago  last  Christ- 
mas, when  I  was  up  here  ;  and,'  he 
added,  after  a  pause,  '  I'm  not  going 
back  into  the  settlements  any  more  ; 
I'm  going  to  stay  here  in  the  woods ! ' 

Having  spent  three  years  in  the 
Eastern  Townships  of  Quebec,  where 
the  population  is  all  of  New  England 
descent,  I  could  not  help  hearing  many 
stories  of  the  early  life  of  the  |  lioneers 
who  came  in  over  the  line  about  the 
year  1800.  As  these  tales  nearly  all 
relate  to  the  earlier  period  of  the  set- 
tlements, I  will  give  such  as  I  recollect 
in  one  connection. 


228 


ILLVSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


The  tirst  settlers  in  Eaton  and  New- 
port came  over  the  mountains  from 
the  Vermont  settlements.  Every- 
thing had  to  be  carried  on  men's  backs. 
One  of  these  settlers — this  I  heard 
from  a  very  old  man,  who  had  never 
read  yEsop's  account  of  the  tricky  ass 
and  his  load  of  s[ionges — was  travelling 
in  from  the  nearest  settlements  on  the 
Connecticut  river  with  a  side  of  sole- 
leather.  His  burden  was  heavy,  and, 
what  was  worse,  it  was  exceedingly 
bulky.  When  he  cami>ed  for  the 
»  night,  he  put  his  leather  in  water  to 
soak,  thinking  that  next  morning  he 
would  be  able  to  roll  it  up  in  a  porta- 
ble solid  roll,  more  convenient  to 
shoulder.  It  was  certainly  more  porta- 
ble, but  his  having  made  it  twice  as 
heavy  as  it  was  before,  he  only  thought 
of  when  too  late  ! 

When  the  International  Boundary 
Commission  were  at  work,  in  pursu- 
ance of  the  Ashburton  Treaty,  many 
of  the  men  employed  were  from  the 
Eastern  Townships.  People  who  are 
acquainted  only  with  the  '  bush '  in 
Ontario  have  little  idea  of  the  density 
of  the  spruce  and  balsam  woods  of 
Quebec.  A  poor  Frenchman,  when 
pathetically  describing  what  kind  of 
woods  he  had  recently  been  '  lost '  in, 
told  a  friend  of  mine,  as  he  held  up 
four  fingers  out-spread  of  one  hand, 
that  '  de  trees  were  as  tick  as  dot  I  ' 
Several  times,  in  trout-fishing,  once 
within  a  couple  of  miles  of  the  Boun- 
dary, I  had  an  experience  of  what 
the  settlers  call  '  the  black  timber ' — 
that  is,  the  slim  evei-greens,  growing 
so  closely  together — sometimes  over 
hundreds  of  acres  at  a  time — that  a 
man,  if  trout  fishing,  is  very  thankful 
indeed  to  have  the  choice  of  wading 
the  bed  of  a  rocky  stream.  Well,  a 
poor  Irishman,  engaged  on  the  Survey 
of  the  Boundary,  had  for  his  '  pack  ' — 
for  everything  had  to  be  carried — a 
grivdstone,  which  was  continually 
needed  for  the  pioneers'  axes.  Paddy 
got  lost  in  the  woods,  and  after  his 
party  were  camped  his  absence  was 
discovered,  and  men  were  sent  oflf  in 


search  of  him.  In  the  meantime 
Paddy  had  had  a  conversation  with  an 
owl.  He  never  once  suspected  it  was 
a  bird.  But  when  he  sang  out,  '  Hirru, 
there  !  a  man  lost !  '  he  was  startled 
and  pleased  to  hear  somebody  call  out, 
'Wlio?  who?'  Paddy  bawled  out, 
'  It's  I,  sur  !  one  of  Captain  Lawley's 
men,  lost  in  the  woods  with  a  grind- 
stone ! '  This  short  conversation  was 
repeated  several  times  ;  and  though 
the  poor  fellow  wondered  why  his 
yet-unseen  friend  did  nothing  for 
him  beyond  enquiring  who  he  was,  yet 
the  sound  of  his  *  Hirru,  there  ! ' 
brought  the  men  who  were  searching 
for  him  to  the  spot,  and  '  Captain 
Lawley's  man,'  as  well  as  the  '  grind- 
stone,' was  rescued.  My  brother,  John 
Anderson  Smith,  in  his  recently  pub- 
lished '  Humorous  Sketches  and 
Poems,'  has  a  story  somewhat  similar 
to  this,  the  locality  being  his  own 
township,  Burford,  Ontario.  The  story 
has  become  one  of  the  humoi'ous 
'  classics  '  of  the  locality.  It  is  easy 
to  embellish  stories,  and  his  is,  per- 
haps, the  best  owl-story  extant.  But> 
I  got  the  incidents  of  this  'conversa- 
tion '  within  sight  of  the  mountains 
where  it  took  place,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  of  the  literal  correctness  of  the 
anecdote. 

The  same  friend  from  which  I  got 
the  owl  story,  Mr.  Levi  E..  French, 
told  me  of  a  neighbour,  whose  extra- 
ordinary noise  in  prayer  was  some- 
times complained  of  by  his  brethren 
in  the  church.  The  good  man  did  not 
wish  to  be  noisy  ;  but  when  he  '  let 
himself  out,'  as  he  phrased  it,  he  be- 
came unconscious  of  the  lung-power 
he  was  exercising.  One  day  he  was 
some  distance  ofT  in  the  tangled  spruce 
woods,  and  he  bethought  himself  that 
now  he  could  have  a  '  comfortable  time 
in  prayer,'  and  annoy  no  one.  He 
thereupon  began  to  pray  aloud.  But 
'  praying  aloud  '  meant  with  him  such 
vehemence  of  utterance  as  suggested 
to  any  one,  a  mile  away,  the  idea  of  a 
man  in  dire  extremity.  While  this 
was   occurring  a   hunter  steered  his 


I 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


229 


way  to  the  brothei*  engaged,  directed 
V)y  the  sound.  He  himself  was  a  reli- 
gious man  ;  and  when  he  came  to  the 
place,  he  (juietly  stood  still.  A.t  length 
the  petitioner  ended  ;  and  opening  his 
eyes,  beheld  a  neighbour  standing  be- 
side him.  '  Well,'  said  he,  '  it  does 
beat  all  !  I  can't  get  away  out  into 
the  woods  to  ]tray,  where  I  think  I 
won't  annoy  nnybjdy,  and  can  "hol- 
ler "  as  much  as  1  like,  but  somebody 
will  hear  me  from  whatever  distance, 
and  come  along  ! '  The  neighbour, 
however,  suggested  that  he  was  not 
annoyed,  but  would  be  glad  to  join 
with  him  in  having  a  'prayer-meeting' 
then  and  there — which  they  had. 

]\Iy  friend,  Mr.  Hiram  French,  of 
Eaton,  many  years  ago,  had  spent  a 
year  or  two  in  Upper  Canada,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Oshawa.  On  one  occasion, 
speaking  to  squire  Labaree,  one  of  the 
'  old  settlers '  in  Eaton,  of  what  he 
had  seen,  he  received  this  very  phi- 
losophical reply  : — '  Well,'  said  the 
squire  (every  body  in  the  country  parts 
begins  an  observation  with  '  well ' — a 
sort  of  a  delibei-ative-starting  point 
for  a  discourse),  '  well,  there  are  ad- 
vantages and  disadvantages  in  every 
place.  And  if  a  man  knows  enough 
to  make  a  good  use  of  the  advantages, 
and  let  the  disadvantages  alone,  in 
the  place  where  he  is,  he  will  do  loell 
anywhere  ! '  On  one  occasion  they 
were  celebrating  '  the  King's  Birth- 
day,' by  having  a  township  IMilitia- 
muster,  where  the  men  were  merely 
ranked  up,  and  answered  to  their 
names.  While  this  was  occurring,  the 
boys  went  down  to  '  the  flats  '  for  a 
good  game  of  ball,  while  the  older  men 
sat  down  to  a  grand  dinner  at  Squire 
Labaree's,  at  a  dollar  a  head.  Captain 
Powers,  another  of  the  old  pioneers, 
who  was  just  as  '  shiftless '  as  the 
Squire  was  provident,  was  going  home 
from  want  of  funds  to  enable  him  to 
attend  the  dinner.  This,  however,  his 
comrades  would  not  hear  of,  so  they 
made  up  a  dollar  for  him,  and  insisted 
on  his  company.  The  dinner  was  a 
grand  *  success,'  and  was  well  washed 


down  with  the  cider  the  Squire  was 
famed  for  making.  Among  the  bar/, 
mots  of  tlie  dinner  was  the  following: 
The  Squire  said  '  he  owed  nobody,  and 
everybody  owed  him.'  Captain  Powers 
rejoined,  'Well,  nobody  owes  me,  and 
I  owe  everybody  ; '  which  was  pretty 
nearly  the  state  of  the  case. 

Here  are  three  other  stories  of  Mr. 
French's.  Captain  Sawyer  was  one 
of  the  *  Associates,'  or  members  of  the 
junta  to  whom  the  Township  of  New- 
port was  granted  by  the  Government, 
about  the  year  1800.  The  Cai.tain's 
nose  was,  from  some  accident  or  other, 
much  bent  to  one  side.  In  fact,  I 
have  observed  that  almost  one-half  the 
men  I  meet,  either  have  the  nose  set 
on  at  a  variation  of  '  ninety  degrees  ' 
with  the  line  of  the  eyebrows,  or  else 
have  it  bent  sidewise  at  the  end.  But 
the  worthy  Captain's  nasal  organ  was 
more  noticeable  in  this  latter  respect 
than  ordinarily.  Once  when  calling 
at  a  settler's,  the  woman  of  the  house 
happened  to  ask  him  'where  he  was  go- 
ing 1 '  As  he  did  not  wish  to  tell  her, 
he  said,  laughingly,  that  he  'was  going 
after  his  nose  ! '  '  Oh,'  said  the  wo- 
man, who  looked  pointedly  at  that 
ornament  on  his  face,  but  not  relish- 
ing the  rebuff  he  intended  for  her,  '  I 
am  sorry  for  that ;  for  you  will  be 
back  again  before  night  ! '  And  sure 
enough — having  lost  his  way  in  the 
woods  he  came  round  unconsciously 
in  a  circle — people  generally  do  this 
when  lost,  and  usually  in  a  circle  to 
the  left — and  actually  got  back  to  the 
same  little  clearing  at  nightfall  ! 

Mr.  French  was  teaching  school,  on 
one  occasion  in  his  early  life,  when  a 
young  man  tapped  at  the  school-house 
door,  and  desired  the  young  '  master' 
to  send  him  out  one  of  the  young  lady 
scholars,  as  he  wanted  her  to  go  to  a 
ball  with  him  that  night.  The  master 
went  in  and  did  so  ;  and  as  there  was 
no  windows  in  front  of  the  log  school- 
house,  the  youngsters  could  not  satisfy 
their  curiosity  by  seeing  who  was  out- 
side. When  the  girl  came  in,  some 
of  the  others,  in  a  loud  whisper  asked 


230 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


her  '  who  it  was  that  called  for  her  ? ' 
'  Deacon  Alger,'  she  replied,  with 
ready  promptitude  and  gravity  !  Now 
the  Deacon  was  a  very  aged  man,  a 
'  father  of  tlie  Newport  Baptist 
Church  ;  and  the  announcement  put 
an  entirely  different  face  on  the  visit 
to  the  girl  !  The  same  friend  told  me 
of  another  witty  retort.  A  young  man 
came  into  one  of  the  country  stores  of 
the  settlement.  The  '  trader'  was  a 
very  bustling  man,  and  came  round 
with  a  skip,  saying  :  '  Well,  my  young 
man  ;  what  do  you  want  to-day  ] ' 
*  '  Nothing,  Sir,'  promptly  replied  the 
youngster.  '  And  what  have  you 
brought  to  carry  it  in  ? '  demanded  the 
trader.  '  My  hat ! '  said  the  young 
man,  snatching  off  his  'straw  thatch.' 
The  storekeeper  thought  his  ready  wit 
deserved  a  reward  ;  and  he  dropped  a 
handful  of  raisins  in  the  proffered  re- 
ceptacle ! 

These  men  had  much  of  self-respect. 
And  after  they  got  through  the  first 
trying  years  of  their  bush- life,  they 
developed  into  liberal  and  genial  cha- 
racters ;  and  looked  back  with  some- 
thing of  astonishment  at  the  enforced 
narrowness  of  their  former  life.  '  You 
must  not  think,'  said  John  Ryder,  of 
Listowel,  referring  to  a  visit  he  had 
made  into  the  '  Queen's  Bush,'  that 
the  people  who  live  up  north  in  the 
woods  are  savages,  with  bristles  on 
their  backs,  and  living  on  rusty  pork  !' 
Yet  the  pioneers — many  of  them  from 
necessity  rather  than  from  choice — 
are  not  all  either  thoughtful  or  pru- 
dent. One  of  them,  a  Glasgow  wea- 
ver, took  up  a  lot  two  or  three  miles 
inland  from  where  my  friend  William 
Bull  lived,  on  Colpoy's  Bay.  Mr. 
Bull  told  me  this  story.  Tlie  man  left 
his  wife  in  the  settlement,  and  went 
boldly  alone  into  the  wilderness  to  put 
up  a  house.  He  got  a  number  of  small 
logs  rolled  together,  and  was  slowly  get- 
ting a  house  built.  The  walls  were  fin- 
ished and  '  daubed,'  and  he  was  work- 
ing at  the  door  and  window,  but  had 
not  yet  reached  the  roof,  though  he 
had  been  two   weeks  at  work  !     He 


camped  at  night  under  a  booth  of  hem- 
lock branches ;  but  woke  up  nearly 
smothered  one  morning,  with  the 
branches  pressing  heavily  upon  him. 
weighed  down  with  eight  inches  of 
snow  that  had  fallen  between  dusk  and 
dawn.  The  man  was  much  exercised 
at  this  mishap,  and  came  out  for  Mr- 
Bull's  help.  The  latter  told  him  that 
he  should  have  '  covered  in'  his  house 
as  soon  as  the  logs  of  the  walls  were 
up.  However,  the  two  went  to  work 
and  prepared  '  basswood-trou^hs  ;'  and 
with  the  help  of  a  yoke  of  oxen  got 
them  drawn  to  the  j^lace  ;  and  a  roof — 
such  as  these  troughs  make ;  clumsy, 
but  water-tight — was  on  before  night. 
The  pioneers  and  their  families  did 
notatall  display  the  'fashions.'  If  they 
followed  them  in  the  least,  it  was  toiling 
after  them  at  such  an  immense  distance 
that  the  likeness  was  lost !  I  have 
seen  the  men  often  at  church  in  their 
flannel  shirt-sleeves.  Indeed,  as  a  boy, 
I  have  gone  thus  myself.  I  have  also 
seen  a  backwoods  minister  strip  off  his 
coat  in  the  pulpit,  hang  it  over  the 
side,  and  folding  back  his  wristbands, 
begin  vigorously  at  his  sermon.  The 
women  generally  wore  gowns  of  home- 
spun and  home-coloured  flannel.  Their 
bonnets — well,  a  '  handy'  woman  can 
arrange  a  bonnet  out  of  almost  any- 
thing :  only  they  were  made  much 
larger  in  those  days,  and  not  so  easily 
extemporised.  The  boys — even  big 
boys  and  occasionally  an  old  man — 
w^ould  be  seen  barefooted.  Felt  hats 
had  not  come  in — we  owe  them  to 
Kossuth's  visit  in  1850,  or  '51.  The 
head-gear  was  either  a  cap  of  some 
sort,  or  a  straw  or  '  chip'  hat;  or,  on 
some  gi'and  occasion,  abeaverhat.  No- 
body thought  of  colouring  a  straw  hat; 
and  the  'chip' hats,  made  of  wood-fibre, 
were  in  shape  an  imitation  of  the  tall 
'  stove-pipe'  hat.  But  the  backwoods 
farmers,  when  they  ^bought  them  for 
Sunday  wear,  cut  them  down  in  height. 
I  have  thus  worn  them  forty  years 
ago.  In  those  days  boys  did  not  wear 
overcoats  ;  and  seldom  wore  long  boots. 
These  were  supposed  to  belong  strictly 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


281 


to  grown  men.  The  pioneers  had  no 
friction  matches.  These  came  into  use 
in  Canada  about  the  year  1842.  The 
single  small  box,  of  which  we  now  get 
three  dozen  for  ten  cents,  was  sold  in 
country  stores  for  four  'coppers.'  Be- 
fore that,  it  was  a  matter  of  some  im- 
portance to  keep  the  fire  in.  I  have 
been  sent  to  a  neighbour's  with  two 
pieces  of  bark,  to  bring  back  a  live 
coal.  Though,  generally,  we  managed 
with  flint  and  tinder,  I  remember  in 
the  year  1840,  once  kindling  a  fire 
with  the  flint  of  my  gun,  and  a  piece 
of  cotton  rag  for  wadding,  A  man 
was  supposed  to  aim  at  full  dress,  if 
he  had  a  folded,  yard-square,  black 
silk  neckerchief,  and  a  coloured  silk 
handkerchief.  But  often  a  compro- 
mise was  made  with  a  coloured  cotton 
handkerchief,  instead  of  a  silk  one. 

The  farming  of  the  pioneers  was  as 
rude  as  was  their  personal  adornments. 
A  man  was  glad,  in  any  way  what- 
ever, to  get  a  little  red  earth  tui-ned  up, 
and  fortunate  when  he  had  gee'd  and 
'  lap-furrowed '  round  a  goodly  num- 
ber of  stumps.  A  young  friend  of 
mine,  long  since  dead,  poor  fellow  ! 
spoke  poetically  of  the  latter,  as 
*  those  odious  things  termed  stumps  !' 
Such  a  man  would  not  care  about  the 
straightness  of  his  furrows.  He  left 
that  to  his  sons  !  An  old  Dutchman, 
from  Yonge  Street,  once  remarked  to 
a  blacksmith  in  Woodbridge  :  'I  want 
you  to  make  me  a  plough  '  (it  was  the 
blacksmith  who  made  the  ploughs  for 
the  first  settlers),  '  and  I  want  you  to 
make  it  so  that  it  will  turn  a  good, 
broad  farrow  ;  one  I  can  get  my  hip 
against,  if  it  don't  go  over  ! '  If  the 
team  did  not  need  to  be  turned  round 
in  mid-furrow  more  than  once,  in  finish- 
hing  up  '  a  land*'  it  was  looked  upon  as 
pretty  successful  ploughing  !  It  was 
only  after  the  Agricultural  Societies 
were  established,  and  {)rizes  were  given 
for  competition  in  ploughing  matches, 
that  the  winding  furrows  began  to  be 
straightened  out,  and  farmers  took  a 
pride  in  their  ploughing. 

I  have  made  many  pleasant  visits  to 


Alton,  and  hope  yet  to  make  many 
more.  On  the  occasion  of  one  of  my 
visits,  in  the  hospitable  house  of  James 
McClellan,  my  host  told  me  the  fol- 
lowing story  of  a  pioneer  he  knew  in 
that  region.  A  man  had  settled  on  a 
new  lot,  where  a  '  slashing'  had  been 
made  ;  and,  fearing  that  when  winter 
came  he  was  going  to  be  scarce  of  hay, 
he  determined  to  mow  a  nice  patch  of 
raspberry  bushes,  just  *in  the  bloom,' 
in  the  hope  that  his  cattle  would  not 
object  to  them  when  winter  came  on. 
But  when  the  snow  fell,  they  would 
not  touch  his  raspberry  hay.  He  then 
pretended  that  he  was  not  going  to  let 
them  have  it ;  and  put  a  few  rails 
round  the  little  stack,  and  set  the  dog 
on  them  and  drove  them  off  every  time 
they  broke  over.  The  ruse  succeeded. 
'  Stolen  watei's  are  sweet,'  and  the  once 
rejected  raspberry  hay  was  stealthily, 
but  recurringly,  made  the  material  of 
an  ample  meal. 

Land-hunger  is  a  natural  and  univer- 
sal feeling.  Many  a  man  is  an  agitator 
in  politics,  and  a  shiftless  'nobody'  in 
his  social  position,  until  he  gets  a  piece 
of  land  of  his  own.  Then,  having  put 
down  a  stake  in  the  ground,  he  is  an- 
chored in  moi'e  ways  than  one.  All 
immigrants  aim  at  '  land-owning '  at 
once  on  their  arrival.  '  John,'  said  an 
Englishwoman  to  her  husband,  '  when 
we  gets  to  America,  we  shall  "be  farm- 
ers, shan't  us  ?'  'Yes,'  replied  the  good 
man.  '  Well,  John,  when  you  gets  a 
farm,  be  sure  and  get  one  with  a  sugar- 
tree  on  it.'  '  La  !  me,'  said  the  woman, 
in  her  old  age,  as  she  subsequently  re- 
lated her  experience  to  a  neighbour 
who  had  long  known  her  ;  '  I  thought 
we  could  just  scrape  the  sugar  out  I ' 
When  immigrants  first  try  this  coun- 
try, they  are  often  greatly  disap- 
pointed. Their  expectations  have  been 
visionary  ;  and  their  disappointment 
so  much  the  greater.  Many  would  go 
back,  after  the  first  few  months  :  for- 
tunately, most  of  them  have  not  the 
money  to  do  so.  In  a  year  or  two, 
they  form  an  acquaintance  with  their 
neighbours,  and  become  reconciled  to 


232 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


— and  after  a  time  enthusiastic  in 
praise  of —their  newhome.  It  is  strange, 
but  quite  true,  that  one  who  has  lived 
a  few  years  in  Canada,  cannot  again 
content  himself  in  England.  It  has 
frequently  been  tried;  but  generally 
with  the  same  result — a  returning  to 
Canada.  The  Rev.  Robert  Robinson, 
once  told  nie  of  an  English  agricul- 
turist, who  settled  between  London 
and  Chatham,  Ontario,  and  bought  a 
fine  tract  of  improved  land.  He  de- 
termined to  '  farm  it '  in  the  English 
style  ;  with  farm  and  house-servants, 
•  etc.  After  some  two  years  he  became 
disgusted  with  the  free-and-easy  style 
of  Canadian  '  servants.'  When  he  got 
a  man  who  had  sonie  *  push '  in  him, 
and  knew  how  to  work,  he  found  the 
man  did  not  like  the  exclusiveness  of 
his  house-arrangements  ;  and  when  he 
got  a  man  who  would  lift  his  ca}>,  and 
'  know  his  place,'  about  the  house,  he 
was  of  no  use  in  the  field.  So  he  sold 
out,  and  went  back  to  England,  deter- 
mined to  live  and  die  there.  But  he 
did  not  know  how  much  a  Canadian 
he  had  become  1  He  found  in  England 
plenty  of  men  who  would  take  their 
places  under  him  ;  but  he  also  found 
plenty  who  would  not  allow  him  to  be 
on  an  equality  with  them  !  And  remem- 
bering that  members  of  Parliament, 
sheriffs,  and  judges,  had  met  him  on  a 
footing  of  friendly  equality  Avhile  in 
Canada,  he  came  back  and  bought  land 
once  more  in  the  region  of  his  former 
Canadian  experience. 

The  new  townships  often  produce 
men  who  get  their  knowledge  of  the 
great  world  beyond  their  own  clear- 
ings, not  from  men,  or  from  mingling 
with  men,  but  from  books.  They  are 
full  of  odd  fancies,  and  strange  uses 
and  pronunciations  of  words.  Thus,  a 
man  I  knew  in  the  county  of  Huron, 
would  say  centrical,  fmancical,  etc.  : 
and  once  astonished  a  rather  well-in- 
formed man,  to  whom  he  was  speaking 
of  religious  matters,  by  saying,  '  Now, 
I  don't  want  to  apostatize  you  to  my 
Church  !  '  One  of  these  would-be  pe- 
dants was,  before  my  time,  once  com- 


missioned to  expend  a  few  dollars  in 
books  for  a  Sunday  school  with  which 
I  was  afterwards  connected.  Among 
other  books  })rocured  for  the  purpose 
was  one — '  The  Diverting  History  of 
Punch  and  Judy.'  This  bit  of  literature 
some  oneobjected  to  as  a  Sunday-school 
library  book,  but  was  met  by  the  assur- 
ance that  he  had  bought  it  '  because 
he  thought  it  was  suited  to  the  capa- 
cities of  the  children.'  Whatevei-  the 
capacities  of  the  pioneers  or  their  chil- 
dren were,  they  enjoyed  plain  speak- 
ing ;  and  the  pioneer  preachers  were 
always  ready  to  give  it.  A  Methodist 
minister,  now  deceased,  while  warning 
the  young  men  on  one  occasion  against 
prevalent  sins,  took  hold  of  his  coat- 
tail,  and  shook  it  over  the  side  of  the 
pulpit,  b)'^  way  of  enforcing  the  re- 
mark that  '  his  skirts  were  clear  of 
their  blood,'  if  they  refused  to  be 
warned  by  him  ! 

The  old-fashioned  sawmill  was,  in 
those  primitive  times,  an  indispensable 
institution.  Usually  it  was  erected 
upon  some  backwoods  '  creek,'  where 
the  men  and  boys  speared  suckers  be- 
low in  the  spring.  The  saw  went  at  a 
leisurely  rate,  through  finer  pine  logs 
than  are  now  generally  seen  at  saw- 
mills ;  and  left  a  '  stub  shot'  of  two  to 
four  inches  on  the  boards,  which  had 
to  Ije  dressed  off  with  an  axe  before 
they  were  marketable  at  Dundas, 
or  elsewhere.  In  Dumfries,  we  used 
to  pity  the  Beverley  men,  because 
they  had  such  a  fight  with  the  pine 
trees  and  stumps.  About  the  time  the 
first  settlers  there  had  wrestled  with 
the  worst  of  their  difficulties,  and  had 
got  their  really  good  and  strong  soil 
imder  fair  cultivation,  despite  the 
many,  and  large,  and  long-enduring 
pine  stumps,  lumber  began  to  be  a 
casli  article  at  the  lake  ports.  Then  it 
was  that  many  of  them  wished  they 
had  their  pine  back  again.  In  my 
boyhood,  nothing  was  'cash'  but  wheat 
and  pork.  Wheat  used  then  to  be  sold 
at  an  avei-age  of  five  York  shillings 
(62|^  cents),  per  bushel,  and  pork  at 
about  three  dollars  and  a  half  per  hun- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


233 


dretl.  Lumber  and  tan-bark,  shingles 
and  staves,  and  the  jike,  were  all  sold 
on  the  '  truck' principle,  as  something 
to  be  *  traded  oil",'  or  parted  with  on 
the  longest  possible  credit.  Whenever 
a  farmer  wanted  a  load  of  lumber,  he 
would  take  in  some  sawlogs  to  the 
mill,  and  the  mill-man  would  cut  them 
'  for  the  half.'  Of  all  men  in  the  world, 
1  used  to  think  that  a  sawmill-man, 
with  a  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek, 
was  the  readiest  for  a  practical  joke. 
My  brother  and  I  once  went  for  a  load 
of  lumber  to  one  of  these  old  mills — 
which,  at  that  time,  had  almost  out- 
livedits  use.  The  sawmill-man  fancied 
he  noticed  something  odd  about  my 
brother's  trousers.  The  fact  was,  they 
were  made  of  blue  striped  '  bed -tick- 
ing,' a  fancy  of  his  own  for  working 
nether-garments.  '  What  "ll  yon  take 
for  youv  pants,  Jack  V  'A  dollar,'  was 
the  prompt  reply.  '  Here's  your 
money  ;  off  with  them  ! '  said  the  man 
of  boards.  No  sooner  said  than  done. 
But  a  dispute  arising  as  to  whether  a 
key  in  the  pocket  was  to  be  reserved 
or  not,  finally  upset  the  bargain.  I 
afterwards  told  the  man  that  Jack  had 
resolved,  if  the  'trade'  had  taken  place, 
to  make  a  cut  across  the  woods  and 
fields  for  home — for  it  was  not  much 
more  than  a  mile  distant.  'And  I 
should  have  had  some  fun  out  of  it, 
too  ! '  cried  he,  '  for  I  would  have  sot 
the  dogs  on  him  ! ' 

Friend  Dayton,  well  remembered  by 
all  the  old  inhabitants  of  South  Dum- 
fries, was  a  perfect  model  of  a  pioneer. 
He  liked  to  begin  things  ;  and  after 
improving  everything  about  him  for  a 
while,  was  always  anxious  to  '  begin' 
again,  somewhere  eke.  'Friend'  was 
not  a  neighbourly  appellation,  as  we 
first  thought  when  we  got  acquainted 
with  him,  but  his  '  Christen-name.' 
Friend  was  a  farmer,  but  for  some  six- 
teen or  eighteen  years,  so  I  heard  him 
say,  he  had  never  staid  more  than  two 
years  on  one  farm.  He  was  always 
'  trading  '  farms,  and  always  building 
something  or  other.  He  was  extremely 
'handy,' — could  put  up  a  wing  to  a 


house,  or  build  a  cellar-wall  or  chim- 
ney, or  make  the  major  pait  of  a  set  of 
harness.  At  last  he  settled  in  St. 
George  as  a  blacks-mith,  hiring  a 
journeyman  for  a  year  ;  and  then  he 
and  his  two  boys  carried  on  the  work 
without  further  instruction.  His  mo- 
ther, an  old  herb-doctoring  lady  of 
eighty,  didn't  like  these  frequent 
changes.  No  sooner  did  she  get  her 
separate  room  all  arranged  to  her  mind, 
than  she  would  have  to  pack  up  and 
move  again.  She  used  to  account 
for  Friend's  restlessness  on  the  score 
of  her  having  rocked  him  lehgthwise  in 
the  cradle  when  he  was  a  baby  ;  and 
she  solemnly  averred  to  some  neigh- 
bour gossip,  that  '  she  would  never 
rock  another  child  eend-ways  T  This 
'  rolling  stone,'  the  last  time  I  heard  of 
him,  was  in  Iowa,  wheie  he  had  ' taken 
up '  a  quantity  of  prairie  land,  which 
included  the  '  centre  stake'  of  a  county, 
and  doubtless  had  laid  off  a  '  city  '  on 
his  land  for  the  county-town.  If  in  life, 
he  is  probably  a  thousand  miles  farther 
west  by  this  time  ! 

It  depends  a  good  deal  how  we  look 
at  the  days  of  the  pioneers  from  the 
point  of  our  present  '  institutions.'  I 
remember,  forty  years  ago,  seeing  a 
young  man  bringing  home  his  bride. 
They  were  on  foot ;  walking  up  a  con- 
cession-road hand  in  hand,  swinging 
their  hands  a  little  as  they  went — two 
Babes  in  tlie  Wood — as  happy  as  that 
summer-day  was  long  !  It  w-as  a  little 
bit  of  Arcadia.  Now,  who  laughs  1  for 
it  seemed  then  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  w^orld  to  do.  In  these  days,  this 
most  natural  proceeding, in  the  slang  of 
the  times,  would  be  called  '  spooney.' 
Over-politeness  sometimes  assumed  in 
the  backwoods  a  comical  aspect.  Once 
a  young  fellow,  at  a  party,  in  my  hear- 
ing, invited  a  young  girl  who  could  not 
conveniently  find  a  seat,  to  '  come  and 
sit  on  his  traousers!'  He  would  not  say 

*  knee  ! '     One  of  our  neighbours  met 

*  Old  Hudson,' — one  of  those  shiftless 
pioneers  found  in  every  settlement — 
who  lived  in  a  log  shanty  near  the 
Governor's  Road,  and  who  was  one  day 


23-i 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


coming  home  witli  a  bag  of  flour  on  his 
back.  '  Old  Hudson,'  as  he  was  called, 
tried  to  take  off  his  hat,  and  make  a 
bow.  The  bag  of  flour  on  his  back,  in 
the  act,  came  pretty  near  toppling  ovpr! 
He  had  more  politeness  than  under  the 
circumstances  there  was  occasion  for. 
John  Bonham,  whom  I  knew  as  a 
Methodist  local  preacher,  had  been  ac- 
customed in  his  yo\ing  days  to  help  his 
father  in  a  backwoods  distillei-y,  the 
ruins  of  which  I  have  often  passed.  A 
man  had  got  a  fi%-e-gallon  keg  fllled  ; 
and  was  so  quickly  back  again,  that 
• '  the  boys  '  expressed  some  surprise  at 
his  so  soon  getting  through  with  it. 
'  Oh,'  said  the  man,  '  what  is  five  gal- 
lons of  whiskey  in  a  family,  when 
there's  no  milk  ! '  In  these  days  we  are 
inclined  to  think  that  water,  and  not 
whiskey,  is  the  best  substitute  for 
milk,  especially  when  the  latter  is 
scarce  in  the  winter.  I  have  often 
seen  this  witticism  in  print,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  it  was  made  by  more  men, 
and  on  more  occasions,  than  one.  What 
with  '  Hungarian  processes '  of  mil- 
ling and  all  that,  the  backwoods  grist- 
mill is  first  disappearing.  But  1  had 
the  privilege  of  once  seeing  a  genuine 
specimen  of  the  ])ioneer  mill,  on  the 
shores  of  Georgian  Bay,  between  Mea- 
ford  and  Owen  Sound.  '  Lake  Mani- 
tou,'  the  '  Lake  of  the  Great  Spirit,' 
is,  I  may  here  say,  the  old  Indian  name 
for  that  beautiful  inland  sea.  When 
Canada  was  in  1763  ceded  to  Britain, 
George  III.,  then  a  handsome  and  po- 
pular young  king,  was  complimented 
by  having  this  lake  called  after  him. 
It  is,  however,  a  pity  and  a  mistake, 
though  one  not  too  late  to  remedy,  to 
retain  the  English  name.  If  the  old 
one  were  used  as  an  alternative  name, 
the  newer  one  would  soon  go  out — 
just  as  '  Ontario '  has  now  entirely 
superseded  '  f  rontenac'  The  mill  I 
speak  of  was  owned  by  a  man  named 
Carson,  and  consisted  of  a  saw-mill 
and  grist-mill,  under  one  roof.  The 
millstones  were  granite,  not  *  burr ;' 
and  therefore  liable  to  get  gummed 
over   when    the    wheat  was  not  dry. 


Spring-wheat,  in  those  days,  and  in 
that  region,  stored  in  poor  log  barns, 
was  very  likely  to  have  snow  sifted 
over  it  by  the  wintry  winds  whistling 
between  the  logs,  to  make  it  often  very 
damp  when  it  came  to  be  threshed. 
Carson  always  asked  'if  the  wheat  was 
dry?'  when  it  was  brought  to  him,  and 
the  reply  was  invariably  '  yes.'  But  he 
was  sometimes  deceived  ;  and  then  he 
has  been  known  to  be  so  exasperated  as 
to  throw  '  a  wet  grist '  out  to  the  pigs  ! 
He  used  to  have  chalked  up  in  large 
Roman  characters,  over  his  '  bolt,'  the 
following  warning : — 

'  Wet  wheat  makes  men  to  lie  ; 
Avoid  that  sin,  and  bring  it  dry  ! ' 

I  once,  in  the  Township  of  Wallace, 
sat  down  well  pleased  to  hear  an  old 
lady's  narration  of  her  family's  expe- 
rience as  pioneers,  in  that  region. 
They  had  turnips  and  potatoes  (though 
as  1  have  already  observed,  they  had 
not  the  '  Early  Rose,'  and  it  was  late 
before  potatoes  were  fit  for  use)  ;  but 
they  had  no  bread,  except  such  as  was 
made  out  of  flour,  carried  thirty  miles 
on  men's  backs.  Bread,  therefore,  was 
very  precious.  The  old  lady  (she  was 
young  then)  made  the  boys  eat  pota- 
toes and  turnips  ;  and  gave  them  the 
smallest  morsel  of  bread  to  finish  with. 
The  boys  compared  it  to  corking  a 
bottle.  '  Come,  mother,'  they  would 
say,  '  give  us  the  cork  ! '  The  young- 
est was  the  pet  of  the  house — a  dar- 
ling boy,  five  years  old.  Once  the 
older  brothers  had  run  down  a  fawn 
of  the  fallow-deer  in  the  deep  snows 
of  spring,  and  had  brought  it  home 
and  given  it  to  Willie.  It  soon,  grew 
very  tame,  and  evinced  a  great  affec- 
tion for  its  young  master.  He  would, 
with  a  little  rod  gee  and  liaw  it  round 
the  house,  as  the  other  boys  did  out- 
side with  their  steers.  And  when 
Willie  lay  down  at  noon  for  his  mid- 
day sleep,  on  a  sheepskin  on  the  floor, 
the  deer  would  come  and  lie  down  be- 
side him,  perfectly  content  if  it  could 
only  have  the  smallest  patch  of  the 
soft  sheepskin  to  rest  its  knees  on — 


and  the  two  would  sleep  together. 
As  the  deer  got  bigger,  it  had  to  sleep 
in  the  shed  ;  and  when  winter  came 
on,  it  got  frightened  one  night  at  the 
near  howling  of  the  wolves,  and  fled 
to  the  woods ;  where  no  doubt  in  a 
few  minutes  it  became  a  prey  to  the 
hungry  prowlers.  Willie  wept  for 
his  fawn  ;  but  before  another  year  he 
himself  lay  down  his  beautiful  head 
and  died  ;  and  after  his  death  the 
mother  never  seemed  to  smile  again. 
There  were  no  churches  or  burying- 
grounds  then  ;  and  Willie's  grave  was 
in  their  own  little  clearing,  in  sight  of 
the  windows,  and  surrounded  by  a 
small,  rude  fence.  At  that  window 
the  mother  often  sat,  and  nursed  her 
inconsolable  grief.  The  husband  told 
me  that  '  she  had  never  been  like  her- 
self since  the  boy  died.' 

The  pioneers  all  loved  whiskey  ;  but 
sometimes  they  could  be  induced  to 
do  without  it.  My  friend  Robert 
McLean,  of  Toronto,  long  and  well 
known  in  Gait,  was,  in  the  year  1841, 
teaching  school  in  Blenheim.  Blen- 
heim was  full  of  pines  then ;  and  little 
of  anything  else.  Shingles  were  often 
spoken  of  as  a  '  Blenheim  wheat.'  He 
used  to  be  paid  by. fees;  and  found 


23/ 


dilficulty  in  getting  them  in  — for  the 
people  had  no  money.  *  Now,'  said 
one  of  his  patrons,  '  if  you  could  do 
anything  with  shingles  or  lumVjer,  we 
could  easily  pay  you.'  So,  to  make 
things  come  round  right,  he  became 
contractor  for  building  a  barn ;  and 
hired  a  carpenter.  He  fixed  the  '  rais- 
ing '  for  a  Saturday,  and  invited  his 
'  hands.'  Schools  were  only  out  every 
alternate  Saturday  then.  During  the 
forenoon,  a  few  men  came,  sufficient 
for  what  was  needed — and  got  the 
'  bents  '  together.  But  in  the  after- 
noon, when  the  lai'ger  number  arrived 
and  the  heavy  lifts  were  to  come,  the 
men,  as  he  .said,  '  grew  Vjaulky,'  for 
there  was  no  whiskey  !  He  was  him- 
self an  out-and-out  teetotaller,  and 
had  never  thought  of  this  difficulty. 
So  he  mounted  the  prostrate  frame, 
and  made  them  a  speech,  asking  them 
'  if  they  were  going  to  see  him  come 
to  a  severe  loss,  just  because  he  was 
an  honest  teetotaller  and  kept  his 
pledge.'  To  their  honour  be  it  said  : 
the  men  threw  off  their  coats,  and 
the  barn  was  soon  raised  !  This,  as 
Mr.  McLean  believed,  was  the  first 
one  in  the  County  of  Oxford  which 
was  raised  without  whiskey  ! 


'What  can  I  do  that  others  have  not  done  ? 
What  can  I  think  that  others  have  not  thought  1 
What  can  I  teach  that  others  have  not  taught  ? 
What  can  I  win  that  others  have  not  won  1 
What  is  there  left  for  me  beneath  the  sun  ? 
My  labour  seems  so  useless,  all  I  try 
I  weary  of,  before  'tis  well  begun ; 
I  scorn  to  grovel  and  I  cannot  fly,* 

'  Hush  !  hush  !  repining  heart !  there's  One  whose  eye 
Esteems  each  honest  thought  and  act  and  word 
Noble  as  poet's  songs  or  patriot's  sword. 
Be  true  to  Him  :  He  will  not  pass  thee  by. 
He  may  not  ask  thee  'mid  his  stars  to  shine. 
And  yet  He  needeth  thee;  His  work  is  thine.' 
Montreal.  John  Reade. 


236 


THE  RELIGION  OF  GOETHE. 


THE  KELIGION  OF  GOETHE. 


BY    THOMAS    CROSS,   OTTAWA. 


'  I  have  thought  to  serve  religion  in  endeavouring  to  transport  her  into  the  region  of  the  un- 
assailable, awaj'  from  special  dogmas  and  supernatural  beliefs.  Should  these  crumble  away, 
religion  must  not  crumble  away  ;  and  the  time  maj'  come  v.'hen  those  who  reproach  me,  as 
with  a  crime,  with  this  distinction  between  the  imperishable  substance  of  religion  and  her 
l)assing  forms,  will  be  happy  to  seek  a-refuge  from  brutal  assaults  behind  the  shelter  they  have 
despised.' 

—Ernest  Renan. 


THE  wai-ning  conveyed  in  these 
proplietic  words  has  of  hite  years 
suggested  itself  in  many  quarters,  and 
in  some  where  the  name  of  Ernest 
Renan  is  associated  with  anything 
rather  than  with  the  service  of  reli- 
gion. Far  and  wide,  among  clergy- 
men and  laymen  alike,  it  is  perceived 
that  if  religion  is  to  be  preserved,  for 
the  healing  of  the  nations,  she  must  be 
'  transported  into  the  region  of  the  un- 
assailable,' and  separated  from  the 
mass  of  untenable  and  contradictory 
propositionswhich  afford  such  effectual 
weapons  to  her  foes,  and  drive  from 
her  temples  her  best  friends.  There 
are  men  who  cannot  play  tricks  with 
their  souls  by  making  shift  with  con- 
flicting and  illogical  formularies,  and 
with  statements  of  beliefs  to  which  so 
little  meaning  attaches,  that  belief  is, 
in  reality,  wholly  left  out.  Some  of 
these  men  have  discovered  that  unbe- 
lief and  denial  have  a  bigotry  of  their 
own  as  impervious  to  truth  and  reason 
as  any  church  bigotry,  and  a  cant  of 
their  own  as  nauseous  and  delusive 
as  any  church  cant ;  and  these  are 
looking  about  for  a  greater  measure 
of  that  truth  which  shall  make  them 
free.  They  cannot  become  mere  dry 
and  godless  compounds  of  logic  and 
morals. 

I   have,   therefore,    undertaken  to 
submit,  to  those  who  care  to  consider 


them,  some  of  the  religious  views  and 
thoughts  which  abound  so  richly  in 
the  '  forty  volumes  of  musical  wisdom' 
given  to  the  world  by  the  Master  of 
Germany. 

That  Goethe  troubled  himself  much 
about  religion  may  be  news  to  many, 
for  few  men  ever  lived  who  have  been 
so  generally  misunderstood  and  mis- 
represented. In  the  periodical  litera- 
ture of  England,  especially,  nonsense 
about  him  of  the  canting  sort  has  ever 
been  welcome.  But  his  works  show 
that,  from  the  age  of  seven  years,  when 
he  first  built  his  little  altar  and  offered 
his  infant  sacrifice,  to  the  moment  of 
his  dying  cry — more  light,  more  light  ! 
— religion  occupied  its  full  share  of 
his  thoughts ;  and  the  recorded  con- 
versation of  the  last  nine  years  of  his 
life  proves  that  he  had  all  along  de- 
voted to  this  great  theme  the  best 
energies  of  an  intellect  such  as,  says 
Carlyle,  we  have  not  known  since 
Shakespeare  left  us.  I  shall,  so  far  as 
I  can,  let  Goethe  speak  for  himself  ; 
this  will  be  fairest  to  him  and  best  for 
my  readers,  and  no  violence  will  be 
done  to  the  tolerance  and  forbearance 
which  marked  his  utterances,  and 
which  lesser  minds  find  it  hard  to 
keep  to. 

I  shall  in  the  first  place  give  an  ex- 
tract from  one  of  tJiose  remarkable 
chapters,  describing  the  visit  of  Wil- 


THE  RELIGION  OF  GOETBE. 


helm  Meister,  to  the  ideal  Educationiil 
Province,  in  the  course  of  which  visit 
Wilhelm  questions  the  elders  concern- 
ing their  religious  teaching.  *  No  reli- 
gion bused  upon  fear,'  they  reply,  *  is 
regarded  among  us.  That  reverence  to 
which  a  man  resigns  the  dominion  of 
liis  own  mind,  enables  him,  while  he 
pays  honour,  to  keep  his  own  honoui-. 
He  is  not  disunited  with  himself  as  in 
the  former  case.  The  religion  based  on 
reverence  for  that  which  is  above  us, 
we  call  the  Ethnic.  It  is  the  religion 
of  the  nations,  and  the  first  ha])py 
deliverance  from  a  slavish  fear.  All 
so-called  heathen  religions  are  of  this 
sort,  whatever  names  they  bear.  This 
second  religion,  which  founds  itself  on 
reverence  for  what  is  around  us,  we 
call  the  philosophic ;  for  the  philoso- 
pher stations  himself  in  the  middle, 
and  must  draw  down  to  himself  all 
that  is  higher,  and  up  to  himself  all 
that  is  lower  ;  and  only  in  this  medium 
condition  does  he  merit  the  title  of 
wise.  Here,  as  he  surveys  with  clear 
sight  his  relations  to  his  equals,  and 
therefore  to  the  whole  human  race,  his 
I'elations,  likewise,  to  all  other  earthly 
surroundings,  necessary  or  accidental, 
he  alone  in  a  cosmic  sense,  lives  in 
truth.  Now  we  have  to  speak  of  the 
third  religion,  founded  on  reverence 
for  that  which  is  beneath  us  ;  this  we  | 
call  the  Christian,  because  it  is  in  the 
Christian  religion  that  such  a  temper 
of  mind  is  manifested  mo.st  distinctly. 
It  is  the  last  step  to  which  mankind 
were  fitted  and  destined  to  attain.  But 
what  a  task  was  it,  not  only  to  let  the 
earth  lie  beneath  our  feet,  while  claim- 
ing a  higher  birth-place,  but  also  to 
recognise  humiliation  and  poverty, 
mockery  and  contempt,  wretchedness 
and  disgrace,  suffering  and  death,  to 
recognize  these  things  as  divine,  nay, 
even  to  regard  sin  and  crime,  not  as 
iiindranccs,  but  to  honour  and  love 
them  as  furthering  what  is  holy.  Of 
this  indeed  we  find  some  traces  in  all 
aiies,  but  trace  is  not  goal ;  and  this 
being  now  attained,  the  human  race 
cannot  retrograde ;  and  the  Christian 


237 

religion  having  once  appeared,  cannot 
vanish  again;  having  once  assumed  its 
divine  shape,  it  cannot  be  subject  to 
dissolution.' 

'To  which  of  these  religions  do  you 
specially  adhere,'  enquired  Wilhelm. 

'  To  all  three,'  they  replied.  'For  in 
their  union  they  produce  what  may 
properly  be  called  the  true  religion. 
Out  of  those  three  reverences  springs 
the  highest  reverence — reverence  for 
ourselves,  and  those  again  unfold  them- 
selves from  this  ;  so  that  man  attains 
the  highe.st  elevation  of  which  he  is 
capable,  that  of  being  justified  in  reck- 
oning himself  the  best  that  God  and 
nature  have  produced  ;  nay,  of  being 
able  to  remain  in  this  height,  without 
being  again  by  blindness  or  presump- 
tion brought  down  from  it  to  the  com- 
mon level.' 

'  Such  a  confession  of  faith,  deve- 
loped in  this  manner,  does  not  repel 
me,'  said  Wilhelm,  '  but  agrees  with 
much  that  I  hear  now  and  then  ;  only 
you  unite  what  others  separate.' 

To  this  they  replied,  '  Our  confes- 
sion has  already  been  adopted,  though 
unconsciously,  by  a  great  part  of  the 
world.' 

'  How,  then,  and  where  1  '  said 
Wilhelm. 

'  In  the  creed,'  exclaimed  they. 
'  For  the  first  ai^ticle  is  ethnic,  and 
belongs  to  all  nations  ;  the  second 
Christian,  for  those  struggling  with 
affliction  and  glorified  in  affliction ; 
the  third  teaches  an  inspired  commu- 
nion of  saints,  that  is,  of  men  ia  the 
highest  degree  good  and  wise.  Shall 
not  therefore,  the  Three  Divine  Per- 
sons, under  whose  name  and  simili- 
tude such  convictions  and  promises 
are  expressed,  be  accepted  as  the 
Highest  Unity  1 ' 

Passing  from  this  general  survey 
to  the  details  of  his  beliefs,  we  find, 
in  his  conversations  with  Eckermann, 
that  to  Goethe,  as  to  Israel  of  old,  the 
Supreme  Being  was  the  '  High  and 
Lofty  One  which  inhabited  eternity, 
whose  name  is  holy  ; '  whom  man  can- 
not by  searching,    find   out.      In   the 


!38 


THE  RELIGION  OF  GOETHE. 


Confessions  of  a  Beautiful  Soul  He  is 
the  Invisible  Friend,  the  '  power  that 
makes  for  righteousness,'  to  Whom  the 
prayer  of  the  119th  Psalm,  Oh,  teach 
ine  Thi/  Statutes,  is  never  addressed  iu 
vain.  In  Fnusf  He  is  '  the  wholesome 
working  Force,  against  wh^ch  the  cold 
devil's  hand  is  clenched  in  vain.'  Per- 
ceiving the  Eternal  in  those  ways 
alone,  Goethe  found  himself  obliged 
to  confess,  with  the  unknown  mighty 
poet  of  the  Book  of  Job,  '  Lo,  these 
are  parts  of  His  ways,  but  how  little 
a  portion  is  heai'd  of  Him.'  Through- 
out his  long  and  eventful  life  this  con- 
ception of  the  Deity  remained  by  him, 
through  his  youth  and  manhood,  as  a 
courtier  and  minister  of  state,  through 
all  his  fearless  criticism,  through  a 
life  of  thought  and  scientific  research. 
And,  seeing  clearly  the  limits  of  our 
apprehension  of  the  Eternal,  he  con- 
demned, as  alike  foolish,  irreverent 
and  mischievous,  the  practice  of  cler- 
gymen and  others  who,  in  one  breath 
speaking  of  God  as  incomprehensible, 
in  the  next  undertake  to  define  Him 
as  though  He  were  as  comprehensible 
as  a  right-angled  triangle.  '  People,' 
he  says,  '  speak  of  God  as  though  the 
supreme,  incomprehensible,  indefin- 
able Being  were  hardly  other  than 
themselves.  He  becomes  for  them, 
especially  for  churchmen  who  always 
have  His  name  in  their  mouths,  a 
simple  name,  a  word  of  habit,  to  which 
they  attach  not  the  slightest  meaning. 
But  if  they  were  penetrated  with  the 
greatness  of  God,  they  would  be  silent, 
and  out  of  very  reverence  they  would 

abstain  from  naming  Him.' 

'  Even  should  the  Sovereign  Being 
reveal  His  mysteries  to  us,  we  could 
neither  comprehend  them  nor  profit 
by  them.  We  should  be  like  ignor- 
ant men  standing  before  a  picture,  to 
whom  the  connoisseur,  with  all  his 
efforts,  could  not  explain  the  premis- 
ses uj)on  which  he  based  his  judgment. 
It  is  therefore  an  excellent  thing  that 
religions  do  not  emanate  directly  from 
God,    Being  the  work  of  chosen  men^ 


they  are  better  adapted  to  the  needs 
and  the  faculties  of  the  many.' 

'  My  enemies  have  often  accused 
me  of  Atheism.  I  have  a  faith,  but 
it  is  not  theii\s,  which  I  deem  too 
mean.  Were  1  to  formulate  mine, 
tliey  would  be  astonished,  but  incap- 
able of  grasping  it.  At  the  same  time 
I  am  far  from  believing  that  I  have 
an  exact  notion  of  the  Supreme  Being. 
My  opinions,  as  I  have  spoken  and 
written  them,  are  all  included  in  this  : 
— God  is  incomprehensible,  and  man 
has  with  regard  to  Him,  nothing  but  It 
a  vague  feeling,  an  approximate  idea,'         M 

'  For  the  rest,  both  nature  and  we 
men  are  so  penetrated  with  the  Divin- 
ity that  it  sustains  us.  In  it  we 
live  and  move  and  have  our  being. 
We  suffer  and  rejoice  according  to 
eternal  laws,  in  reference  to  which  we 
play  a  part  at  once  active  and  pas- 
sive. 

'  Jesus  Christ  imagined  an  unique 
God,  to  whom  he  attributed,  as  so 
many  perfections,  all  the  qualities  he 
felt  in  himself.  This  being,  to  whom 
his  beautiful  soul  gave  birth,  was,  like 
himself,  full  of  goodness  and  love,  and 
justified  in  an  absolute  manner  that 
abandon  with  which  good  natures 
resign  themselves  to  him,  attaching 
themselves  to  lieaven  by  the  sweetest 
bonds. ' 

Containing  little  or  nothing  res- 
pecting the  origin  of  evil,  Goethe's 
writings  are  very  full  with  regard  to 
man's  attitude  toward  evil.  As  one 
of  the  fathers  of  modern  evolution, 
he  probably  regarded  evil  as  a  deve- 
lopment of  those  instincts  which  we 
inherit  from  our  brute  ancestry, which, 
as  unfolded  in  humanity,  are  inimical 
to  our  best  intei.-ests,  and  grow  in 
diversity  and  intensity  with  our  ex- 
panding knowledge  and  intelligence. 
'  3fa7t  ivonld  live  a  little  better,'  says 
the  Fiend  to  the  Almighty,  in  the 
prologue  to  Faust,  '■  hadst  thou  not 
given  him  iJiat  beam  of  heavens  light 
which  he  calls  "  reason,''  and  which  he 
only  uses  to  becoTne  more  beastly  than 


THE  RELiniON  OF  GOETHE. 


239 


the  beasts'  A  poor  outlook,  truly. 
But  it  -was  not  for  the  Fiend  to  admit 
that  man's  reason  also  leads  him  to 
develop  the  germs  of  nobility  and 
beauty  which  were  latent  in  his  pro- 
irenitors,  and  shows  him  that  his  cease- 
less endeavour  must  be  to — 

'  Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 
And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die.' 

Throughout  the  ages  this  upward 
movement  continues,  beneath  the  fos- 
tering shade  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge 
of  Good  and  Evil.  Kead  by  the  light 
of  evolution,  the  promise  of  the  ser- 
pent acquires  a  new  and  mighty  sig- 
nificance. It  lies  at  the  root  of  all 
human  jirogress  and  development ; 
for  man  could  not  exist  in  any  form 
worthy  of  the  name  until  he  stood 
erect  upon  the  earth  as  God,  knowing 
good  and  evil  By  this  knowledge  alone 
could  he  be  guided  in  his  choice,  as  his 
growing  intelligence  revealed  to  him 
new  objects  of  desire.  By  this  know- 
lege  alone  could  he  emerge  from  the 
humble  estate  in  which  it  fii'st  dawned 
upon  him.  Like  two  streams,  flowing 
side  by  side  from  the  same  source,  good 
and  evil  are  developed  from  common 
germs,  whei-ein  the  heights  and  depths 
to  which  man  soars  and  sinks  were, 
says  the  evolutionist,  hidden  from  the 
beginning  of  things. 

Of  man's  final  triumph  in  the  battle 
Avhich  opened  with  the  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil,  Goethe  never  doubted  ; 
but  man's  moral  and  spiritual  nature 
ruust  be  developed  by  ceaseless  watch- 
ing and  conflict.  '  Man's  activity,' 
says  the  Almighty  to  the  Fiend,  in  the 
prologue  to  Faust,  '  slackens  all  too 
easily.  He  soon  loves  unconditional 
repose.  Therefore  have  I  given  him 
the  companion  who  incites  him  and 
works  upon  him,  and  who  must,  in 
his  capacity  as  devil,  be  busy.' 

In  his  conflict  with  the  lower  part 
of  his  inherited  nature,  which  compre- 
hends all  that  is  known  as  the  world, 
the  flesh  and  the  devil,  man  is  not  left 
alone.  Teachers  come  from  God,  so 
Goethebelieved,andappearinall  ages  ; 


for  he  did  not  confine  this  lofty  title 
to  the  founders  of  the  great  religious 
systems,  but  extended  it  to  persons 
giving  evidence  of  high  and  abnormal 
gifts — to  Shakespeare,  to  Raphael,  to 
Mozart,  as  being  phenomena  of  which 
evolution  gives  no  account.  All  these 
gifted  persons  he  regarded  as  con- 
tributing to  man's  redemption,  which, 
he  believed,  must  be  brought  about  by 
the  slow  and  ceaseless  operation  of  all 
elevating  influences,  not  by  any  mys- 
terious efl^ects  of  vicarious  righteous- 
ness and  vicarious  suflering.  We  have 
seen  that  Goethe  did  not  accept  the 
orthodox  belief  respecting  Christ's  di- 
vinity, nor  could  he  take  the  orthodox 
view  of  Christ's  mission  on  earth.  In 
his  eyes  the  life  of  Christ  was,  to  no- 
ble natures,  of  greater  consequence 
than  His  death.  No  need  that  He 
be  lifted  up  to  draw  these  unto  Him. 
If  His  blood  cleanses  from  all  sin,  it 
is  only  because  the  great  tragedy  draws 
attention  to  the  victim's  character,  the 
beauty  of  which  awakens  our  highest 
desires  and  leads  us  in  His  footsteps. 
The  promise  concerning  Him  was — 
He  shall  save  His  people  froin  their 
sins — not  from  the  consequences  of 
their  sins.  To  follow  the  example  of 
a  sinless  being  is  to  cease  from  further 
sin,  not  to  get  rid  of  the  consequences 
of  past  sin.  Self-sacrifice  is  righteous- 
ness ;  but  the  sacrifice  of  something 
else  is  so  very  much  easier ;  and 
this  fact  is  at  the  root  of  all  belief  in 
the  efficacy  of  vicarious  suflering  for 
sin,  and  of  all  the  power  and  craft  of 
priesthood.  From  the  natural  results 
of  our  misdeeds,  Goethe  believed  no 
power  in  heaven  or  earth  could  de- 
liver us.  We  cannot  lay  upon  any 
other  beins 


One  hair's  weight  of  that  answer  all  must 

give 
For  all  things  done  amiss  or  wrongfully, 
Alone,    each   for  himself,    reckoning  with 

that, 
The  fixed  arithmie  of  the  universe. 
Which  meteth  good  for  good  and  ill  for  ill, 
Measure  for  measure  unto  deeds,  words, 

thoughts ; 
Watchful,  aware,  implacable,  unmoved, 
flaking  all  futures  fruits  of  all  the  pasts. 


2-tO 


THE  RELIGION  OF  GOETHE. 


But  though  unable  to  accept  what 
to  most  Christians  is  the  sum  of  the 
Gospel  message  to  man,  Goethe  said  of 
the  Gospels  :  '  We  tind  in  them  the 
influence  of  that  greatness  reflected 
from  the  person  of  Jesus  Christ,  as 
divine  as  anything  that  could  be  given 
to  the  contemplation  of  the  world,  [f 
I  am  asked  whether  I  pay  him  wor- 
ship and  adoration,  I  reply — yes,  the 
most  entire.  I  bow  before  him  as 
being  the  divine  manifestation  of  the 
most  sublime  moral  principle  .... 
When  the  time  comes,  when  the  pure 
doctrine  of  Christ  and  his  love,  such  as 
it  is  in  reality,  shall  be  understood  and 
put  in  practice,  man  will  thus  feel 
that  he  has  grown  great  and  free,  and 
he  will  cease  to  attach  exceptional  im- 
portance to  this  or  that  form  of  wor- 
ship.' 

'  Let  intellectual  culture  progress  to 
infinity ;  let  physical  science  gain  daily 
in  extent  and  depth  ;  let  the  human 
mind  unfold  itself  as  it  will,  it  will 
never  soar  beyond  the  loftiness  of  the 
moral  culture  of  Christianity,  which 
shines  so  resjilendently  in  theGospels.' 

With  the  importance  of  sacraments, 
in  the  sense  of  their  being  acts  with 
which  elevating  thoughts  and  feelings 
are  associated,  Goethe  was  profoundly 
impressed.  '  Protestant  worship,'  he 
says,  '  taken  altogether,  is  wanting 
in  fulness.  The  Protestant  has  not  sacra- 
ments enough.  Indeed,  he  has  but  one 
in  which  he  takes  active  part,  the  sup- 
per. The  sacraments  are  the  highest 
of  religious  tilings,  the  visible  symbols 
of  special  favour  and  divine  grace.  In 
the  supper,  earthly  lips  are  to  receive 
a  divine  essence  embodied,  and,  under 
the  form  of  earthly  food,  to  partake 
of  heavenly.  This  meaning  is  the  same 
in  all  churches,  whether  the  sacrament 
be  received  more  or  less  in  the  spirit 
of  mystery,  or  with  more  or  less  of 
restrictions  to  the  comprehensible.  It  is 
always  a  sacred,  a  weighty  act,  stand- 
ing in  the  place  of  that  which  man  can 
neither  attain  nor  do  without.  But 
such  a  sacrament  should  not  stand 
alone.   No  Christian  can  find  in  it  the 


true  delight  it  is  intended  to  afford,  if 
the  si/mbolic  or  sacramental  tidtid  is  not 
nourished  in  him.  He  must  be  accus- 
tomed to  regard  the  inner  religion  of- 
his  heart  and  the  outward  religion  of 
the  church  as  wholly  one,  as  the  one 
great  general  sacrament  which  divides 
itself  into  so  many,  and  bestows  upon 
those  parts  its  own  sacredness,  inde- 
structibility and  eternity.' 

'  The  higher  sensibility  in  us,  ivhidi, 
does  not  always  find  itself  truly  at  home, 
is,  besides,  so  harassed  by  outward 
things  that  our  own  powers  hardly 
suffice  for  our  needs  of  counsel,  com- 
fort and  help.' 

Of  the  necessity  of  belief  in  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  Goethe  said  to 
Eckei-mann — '  I  am  tempted  to  say, 
with  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  that  they  are 
dead,  even  for  this  life,  who  do  not 
hope  for  another.  But  these  incom- 
prehensible things  are  placed  too  far 
above  us  to  be  objects  of  daily  con- 
templation, and  give  rise  to  specula- 
tions whose  only  effect  is  to  confuse 
our  ideas.  Be  happy  in  silence  if  you 
believe  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
but  do  not  see  therein  a -reason  for 
pride. ' 

'  The  idea  of  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  is  good  for  the  upper  classes,  es- 
pecially for  ladies  who  have  nothing 
to  do  ;  but  a  man  of  some  worth,  M'ho 
resolves  to  play  a  fitting  part  here  be- 
low, and  who  must  therefore  work  and 
strive,  and  act,  leaves  the  future  world 
to  its  fate,  and  labours  to  be  useful  in 
this.  Again,  the  idea  is  good  for  those 
who  who  have  not  met  with  much 
happiness  in  our  planet.' 

'  The  nature  of  God,  immortality, 
the  constitution  of  the  soul,  and  its 
union  with  the  body,  are  eternal  pro- 
blems which  philosophers  cannot  help 
us  to  solve.  A  recent  French  philoso- 
pher bravely  commences  a  chapter  in 
these  words  :  "  It  is  known  that  man  is 
a  union  of  two  parts,  body  and  soul. 
Let  us  therefoi'e  begin  with  the  body; 
we  will  treat  of  the  soul  afterwards." 
Fichte  was  a  little  more  clever  when 
he  said, — let  vis  speak  of  man  with  re- 


THE  RELIGION  OF  GOETHE. 


241 


ference  to  tlift  body,  uiid  of  man  with 
reference  to  the  soul.  He  felt  that  a 
whole  so  closely  united  could  not  be 
separated.  Kitnt  has  incontestably 
been  the  most  useful  to  us  in  tracing 
the  boundaries  to  which  the  human 
intellect  is  capable  of  penetrating,  and 
in  abandoning  insoluble  problems. 
What  a  hubbub  has  been  made  in  phi- 
losophy on  the  question  of  our  immor- 
tality !  And  what  have  we  gained  1  I 
have  no  doubt  of  the  continuity  of  our 
existence,  because  nature  could  not  do 
withoiit  the  entelechy.  But  we  are 
not  all  immortal  in  the  same  degree, 
and  to  manifest  oneself  in  the  future 
life  as  a  great  entelechy,  one  must 
have  been  such  in  this. ' 

Writing  to  Countess  Stolberg  in  his 
old  age,  he  thus  expresses  himself  con- 
cerning the  life  to  come.  '  I  have 
meant  honestly  all  my  life,  both  to 
myself  and  others,  and  in  all  my 
earthly  strivings  have  ever  looked  up- 
ward to  the  highest.  Let  lis  continue 
to  work  thus  while  there  is  daylight 
for  us.  For  others,  another  sun  will 
shine  by  which  they  will  work,  for  us 
a  brighter  light.  And  so  let  us  re- 
main untroubled  about  the  future.  In 
our  Father's  kingdom  are  many  pro- 
vinces, and  as  He  has  given  us  here 
so  happy  a  resting-place,  so  will  He 
certainly  care  for  us  above.  Perhaps 
we  shall  be  blessed  with  what  is  de- 
nied us  here  on  earth,  to  know  one 
another  by  seeing  one  another,  and 
thence  more  thoroughly  to  love  one 
another.' 

I  shall  conclude  this  brief  survey  by 
laying  before  my  readers  the  last  of 
the  Master's  words  recorded  by  Ecker- 
raann.  They  were  spoken  a  few  days 
before  his  death,  and  we  may  receive 
them  as  his  philosophical  testament. 

'The  conversation, 'says  Eckermann, 
'  turned  upon  the  gi-eat  men  before 
Jesus  Christ,  Chinese,  Indians,  Per- 
sians and  Greeks,  and  we  acknow- 
ledged that  the  power  of  God  had 
been  as  active  in  them  as  in  certain 


1    of   the   Jews  of   the  Old    Testament. 

\  We  were  thus  led  to  ask  ourselves  in 
what  manner  God  manifests  himself 
in  the  great  men  of  the  time  in  which 
we  live. 

j  '"To  li  ear  people  talk,"  said  Goethe, 
"we  should  be  tempted  to  believe  they 
thought  that  God,  since  ancient  times, 
had  put  himself  altogether  aside,  and 
that  man   is  now  entirely  left  to  him- 

;  self  te  get  along  by  such  means  as  he 
can  devise,  without  help  from  the 
Lord,  without  His  invisible  and  daily 
intervention.     In  things  religious  and 

I    mora',   people  admit,  it  is  true,  a  di- 

:  vine  influence ;  but  art  and  science 
ai'e    regarded    as    being  purely  mun- 

I    dane,  products  of  an  activity  exclus- 

i    ively  human. 

'  "  But  let  anyone  try  to  accomplish, 
by  human  strength  and  volition,  a 
work  to  compare  with  the  creations  of 
a  Mozart,  a  Raphael,  or  a  Shakes- 
peare. I  know  these  three  noble 
forms  are  not  the  only  ones  to  point 
to,  and  that  in  every  branch  of  art  a 
multitude  of  superior  minds  have  pro- 
duced works  as  perfect  as  their's.  But 
if  they  were  as  great  as  these,  they 
overtopped  the  ordinary  level  of  na- 
ture in  the  same  proportion. 

'  "  And,  taking  it  altogether,  what  is 
this  world  1  After  those  famous  six 
days  within  which  people  have  con- 
trived to  circumscribe  creation,  God 
by  no  means  entered  again  into  rest. 
On  the  contrary.  He  is  ever  at  work 
as  on  the  first  day.  Surely  it  would 
have  been  a  poor  amusement  for  Him 
to  compose  of  simple  elements  the  mass 
of  this  globe,  and  set  it  gravitating 
round  the  solar  disc,  had  He  not  had 
the  project  of  establishing,  on  this 
material  surface,  the  nursery  of  a 
world  of  spirits.  No  ;  He  is  to  day 
working  unceasingly,  through  chosen 
natures,  that  He  may  draw  to  Him- 
self those  which  are  less  noble." 

'  Goethe  was  silent.  As  for  me,  I 
treasured  in  my  heart  his  grand  and 
beautiful  words.' 


24: 


'  SORROW  ENDVRETH  FOR  A  HIGHT: 

SORROW  ENDURETH  FOR  A  NIGHT,  BUT  JOY  COMETH 
WITH  THE  MORNING' 

BY    '  ESPERANCK.' 


MY  heart  went  out  in  yearning, 
I  clasped  my  hands  before  nie, 
Whilst,  like  the  shadows  of  my  life, 
The  shades  of  eve  fell  o'er  nie. 

In  fold  on  fold  of  grayness 
They  fell  and  deei)pned  round  me, 
1  almost  thought  I  felt  their  weight 
As  like  a  cloak  they  wound  me. 

From  head  to  foot  they  wrapped  me. 
The  outside  world  was  hidden, 
And — not  for  this,  but  what  it  typed, — 
The  quick  tears  came  unbidden. 

The  clouds  whose  shadows  reached  me 
Had  each  a  silver  lining. 
And  by-and-bye  would  I'oll  away, 
And  shade  be  turned  to  shining. 

But  now  my  faithless  vision 
Saw  but  the  shades  which  bound  me, 
Nor  would  believe  there  could  be  light 
Above,  before,  around  me  ! 

Ah,  hoio  God's  love  rebuked  me ! 

'Tis  but  an  old,  old  story. 

How  moon  and  stars  their  kingdom  claim, 

And  gloom  is  turned  to  glory. 

But  to  my  heart  that  evening 
It  came  with  new  revealing 
Of  mortal  lack  of  sight,  and  faith 
In  God's  all-loving  dealing. 

Or  soon  or  late,  the  shadows 
Which  cloud  our  life's  short  story 
His  loving  hand  will  brush  aside. 
And  gloom  he  turned  to  glory. 

If  not  before,  most  sv;rely 
When,  through  death's  friendly  portal, 
Our  fa  It' ring  mortal  steps  have  passed 
To  life  and  light  iHimortal. 


POETRY,  AH  A  FINE  ART. 


243 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINP]  ART.'' 


HY    PROF.    CHARLES    E.    MOYSE,    B.A,     (lON'D.),   MONTREAL. 


rp JIE  oft-quoted  lines  of  Horace, 

Tractas  et  incedis  per  ignes 
Suppositos  cineri  dolodo, 

empbatically  warn  the  adventurer 
who  essays  the  theme,  '  Poetry  as  a 
Fine  Art,'  It  would  be  mere  arro- 
gance in  him  to  imagine  that  he  might 
found  a  new  doctrine  ;  it  would  savour 
of  conceit  if  he  affirmed  that  his 
thoughts  on  such  a  topic  were  always 
clear  and  logical.  Minds  richly  gifted 
with  analytical  power  have  attempted 
to  lay  bare  the  exact  nature  of  poetry 
itself  and  of  its  artistic  expression,  but, 
although  a  large  measure  of  truth  has 
attended  their  enquiries,  the  results  are 
incomplete  and,  in  some  essential  par- 
ticulars, conflicting.  If,  then,  men 
whom  the  world  everywhere  honours 
have  felt  the  instability  of  the  ground 
they  have  tried  to  explore,  ordinary 
people  will  act  wisely  in  following 
beaten  tracks. 

One  often  hears  many  objections 
urged  against  the  stud)'-  of  poetry  on 
account  of  its  unpractical  chai'acter, 
as  if  every  mental  effort,  unless  it 
brought  direct  mercenary  gain  to  the 
educator  or  to  the  man  of  business, 
were  without  any  real  value.  But  if 
this  mean,  though  not  uncommon,  as- 
pect of  the  matter  be  disregarded, 
and  the  noblest  aim  of  life,  the  cul- 
ture of  the  intellect,  considered,  it 
must  be  owned  that  while  many  sub- 
jects are  more  conclusive  than  poetry, 

*  This  paper  formed  the  subject  of  the  Uni- 
versity Lecture  of  McGill  College  for  the 
Session  1881-2,  delivered  by  its  author  as 
Molson  Professor  of  the  English  Language 
and  Literature,  and  Lecturer  on  History, 
McGill  University,  Montreal, —En.  C.  M. 


viewed  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts,  few 
are  more  profitable,  none  more  sug- 
gestive. Sometimes  the  argument 
takes  another  form.  It  is  maintained 
that  the  paths  of  investigation  are 
neither  far-reaching  nor  wgw  ;  still 
they  reach  far  enough  to  display  a 
novel  world  of  beauty  to  him  who 
will  ti-ead  them,  and  it  is  often  appa- 
rent that  they  are  unseen  by  the  cap- 
tious or  indolent ;  dimly  seen  by  the 
hasty  ;  clearly  seen,  if  clearness  there 
can  be,  only  by  the  trustful  and  stu- 
dious. The  foregoing  objections  hardly 
merit  sober  consideration,  but  the  su- 
perficial and  erroneous  idea  that  to 
dissect  poetry  and  poets  in  a  so-called 
chilly,  unemotional  way  is  to  degrade 
them,  asks  for  a  longer  word.  En- 
quixy  into  the  nature  of  the  truly 
gi-eat  or  truly  beautiful  does  not  di- 
minish respect  but  heightens  it,  and 
in  course  of  time  respect  becomes  de- 
votion, of  which  knowledge,  not  igno- 
rance, is  the  mother.  In  the  New 
Testament,  comparison  is  made  be- 
tween the  lilies  of  the  field  and  Solo- 
mon in  all  his  glory,  and  the  Psalmist 
on  one  occasion  breaks  out  into  tri- 
umphant song,  '  I  will  praise  Thee  for 
I  am  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.' 
To  whom  does  the  contrast  between 
the  gorgeous  king  and  the  meek  flower 
come  home  with  greater  force  ?  To 
the  ignorant  hind  who  regards  a  lily 
as  a  lily  and  nothing  more,  or  to  him 
whose  eye  has  marked  the  wonders 
that  lilies  reveal  1  Who  feels  the 
force  of  the  truth  that  he  is  fearfully 
and  wonderfully  made  ?  He  that 
vapours  platitude  about  the  human 
frame,  or  he  that  knows  of  the  exqui- 
site delicacy  and  beauty  of  the  nerve 


244 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


scales  in  the  internal  ear  1  What  men 
neither  see  nor  at  all  know  they  can- 
not venerate,  excei)t  in  worthless  name 
which  does  not  lead  to  act.  A  writer 
on  Constitutional  History  laments 
that  Magna  Charta  is  on  everybody's 
lips  but  in  nobody's  hands.  The  gene- 
ral sense  of  his  remark  is  true  in  re- 
gard to  poetry  and  poets.  That  know- 
ledge which  begets  reverence,  leading 
in  its  turn  to  a  higher  life,  is  not  the 
outcome  of  fitful  dalliance  with  frag- 
mentary thought.  People  in  this  criti- 
cal age  must  affect  the  critic  if  nothing 
else,  and  one  often  sees  and  hears 
things  that  cost  no  trouble  in  the  ac- 
quiring save  an  indifferent  scamper 
through  a  review,  perhaps  indifferent 
also,  or  a  desultory  perusal  of  literary 
odds  and  ends.  It  is  not  we  who  are 
kings  and  poets  who  are  vassals,  crav- 
ing an  earnest  audience  of  a  few 
minutes,  only  to  be  treated  with  apa- 
thy when  they  do  gain  it :  they  are 
monarchs,  we  subjects,  who  may  if  we 
please,  never  go  to  court  all  our  lives, 
never  know  anything  royal,  anything 
worthy  of  homage,  never  catch  any 
kingly  speech  as  we  wander  self-satis- 
tied  among  our  fellows,  unless  in  some 
crisis  it  thunders  past,  making  us  turn 
and  ask  whence  it  cometh  and  whither 
it  goeth.  When  we  say  we  love 
poetry  and  honour  poets,  we  ought  to 
mean  that  ours  is  the  reward  of  hum- 
ble, undivided  endeavour,  according  to 
such  light  as  each  possesses. 

Milton,  in  a  brief  play  of  emotion, 
one  of  the  few  which  lend  rhetorical 
dignity  to  a  finished  specimen  of  dia- 
lectic fine  art,  the  Areopagitica,  might 
have  been  thinking  of  the  broad  as- 
pect of  the  question  before  us  when 
he  writes  :  '  And  yet  on  the  other 
hand,  unless  wariness  be  used,  as 
good  almost  kill  a  man  as  kill  a 
good  book  ;  who  kills  a  man  kills  a 
reasonable  creature,  God's  Image  ; 
but  he  who  destroys  a  good  book,  kills 
reason  itself,  kills  the  Image  of  God, 
as  it  were  in  the  eye.  Many  a  man 
lives  a  burden  to  the  earth,  but  a  good 
book  is  the   precious  life-blood  of  a 


master  spirit,  imbalraed  and  treasured 
up  on  purpose  to  a  life  beyond  life.' 
His  language,  eloquent  in  its  simpli- 
city, seems  to  refer  to  poetry  in  espe- 
cial ;  for  poetry,  of  all  things,  repi-e- 
sents  the  vital  part  of  the  poet.  It 
lays  bare  the  inmost  workings  of  the 
poet's  mind,  and,  by  so  doing,  discloses 
the  universal  attributes  of  the  poet's 
nature.  Wanton  cavil  might  perhaps 
deny  that  such  attributes  exist,  but  a 
little  serious  thought  gives  tacit  con- 
sent to  the  belief,  nor  does  it  seem 
much  more  difficult  to  grant  this, — 
that  combined  with  what  is  common,, 
as  if  by  some  subtle  intellectual 
chemistry,  lie  the  peculiarities  of  the 
mental  growth,  maturity,  and  decay 
of  the  individual.  If,  therefore, 
merely  partial  truth  about  the  essen- 
tials of  all  poetry  can  be  learned,  some- 
thing of  the  apjjarent  mystery  which 
separates  the  poet  from  his  fellow  men 
may  be  known ;  or  if,  to  use  equiva- 
lent words,  some  only  of  the  distinc- 
tive depths  of  every  poet's  mind  can 
be  fathomed,  then  may  its  work  be 
partly  explained. 

From  the  treatment  of  generalities 
such  as  these,  one  would  naturally  be 
led  to  talk  about  the  characteristics 
marking  the  individual,  and  it  might 
seem  that  in  the  discussion  of  this- 
part  of  the  subject  the  claim  of  Poetry 
to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts 
should  be  vindicated.  Undoubtedly; 
but  thus  to  limit  the  domain  of  the 
poet,  or  artist,  would  be  at  variance 
with  the  general  tone  of  this  lecture, 
which  does  not  seek  to  draw  a  hard 
and  fast  line  between  the  universal 
and  the  particular.  The  poet's  artistic 
skill  is  often  spoken  of  as  if  it  were 
confined  to  the  prettinesses  or  the  fila- 
gree-work of  rhythm  and  rhyme.  The 
vague  language  which  tells  of  inspira- 
tion, of  genius,  and  is  therewith  satis- 
fied, lends  itself  to  such  an  idea,  but 
it  cribs  and  confines  what  appears  to 
be  truth.  Are  not  poets  men  of  genius 
and  inspired  1  Of  course,  when  one 
is  told  what  genius  and  inspiration 
are,  or  are  not.     To  utter  words  for 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


245 


words'  sake  is  not  acting  altogethei- 
righteously.  Point  out  clearly  the  es- 
sentials of  genius  ;  say,  if  you  will, 
that  genius  is  the  power  of  using  the 
materials  common  to  all,  as  but  very 
few  can  use  them  and  show  how  they 
are  used  ;  or  say  that  the  genius  of  a 
poet  is  the  faculty  which  avoids  the 
commonplace,  the  ridiculo  is,  the  un- 
retined,  and  thereu])on  indicate  the 
rare,  the  sublime,  the  polished,  and 
discuss  their  character,  but  do  not 
take  refuge  in  unmeaning  sound.  No 
mind  can  entirely  explain  any  other 
ordinary  mind,  still  less  the  mind  of 
a  poet,  but  'inspiration  and  genius,' 
half  bid  men  fold  their  hands  and 
■cease  from  attempting  to  solve  a 
psychological  problem,  because  psych- 
ology can  never  yield  a  complete  an- 
swer. Poets  are  men  of  a  larger 
mental  gi'owth  than  the  multitude, 
but  they  suffer  experiences  which  fall 
to  the  lot  of  people  generally.  The 
best  of  them  display  an  immense 
quantity  of  sober  knowledge  ;  the 
majority  of  them  do  not  rave  at  mid- 
night, or  speak  in  unknown  tongues 
of  unknowable  things,  or  madly  in- 
dulge in  dangerous  stimulants  to 
quicken  their  flagging  pulses.  They 
write  with  a  calm  consciousness  of 
strength — often  patiently,  carefully, 
even  toilf ully,  and  their  work  rewards 
them  by  winning  perpetual  admiration. 
Nothing  has  been  said  in  the  way 
of  definition  of  Fine  Art,  nor  need 
this  preliminary  matter  detain  us 
long.  The  poet  works  with  certain 
materials,  and  is  therefore  an  artificer. 
The  result  of  his  work  is  not  the 
purely  useful,  which  serves  momen- 
tary convenience  or  brings  direct 
practical  advantage  to  those  who  avail 
themselves  of  it :  the  poet  creates  the 
ornamental,  and  appeals  to  our  emo- 
tions, as  an  artist.  I^astly,  he  seeks 
to  move  the  deepest  and  noblest  parts 
of  our  being  ;  his  Art  is  one  of  tJte 
Arts,  is  a  Fine  Art,  and  ranks  with 
sculpture  and  painting.  We  are  con- 
cerned to-day  with  its  nature  and 
method. 


One  of  the  first  systematic  attempts 
to  determine  the  nature  and  define 
the  scope  of  Poetry  was  made  by  Aris- 
totle, whose  theory  some  still  regard 
as  essentially  true.  Lessing  assumes 
it  to  be  trustworthy  in  his  '  Laocoon,' 
a  work  which,  although  fragmentary 
and  limited  by  individual  prejudice, 
is  the  most  valuable  contribution  of 
modern  thought  to  the  settlement  of 
the  legitimate  domain  of  the  sculptor 
and  the  poet.  Aristotle  wishes  to  es- 
tablish that  Poetry  is  a  Mimetic  or 
j  Imitative  Art,  and  the  outlines  of  his 
argument  run  in  this  wise  :  Poetry,  in 
general,  seems  to  have  derived  its 
origin  from  two  causes,  each  natural. 
The  first  cause  is  imitation,  which  is 
instinctive  in  man.  Man  is  distin- 
guished from  other  animals  in  being 
the  most  imitative  of  them  all.  Man 
naturally  derives  pleasure  from  imita- 
tion, and  the  more  exact  the  imita- 
tion the  greater  is  that  pleasure.  The 
second  cause,  likewise  natural,  is  Har- 
mony and  Rhythm.  Harmony  and 
Rhythm  are  the  means  by  which  in 
the  case  of  poetry  the  imitation  is  pre- 
sented to  others  ;  just  as  in  Sculpture 
imitation  is  presented  by  means  of 
figure,  in  Painting  by  means  of  colour 
and  form,  in  Music  b}'  means  of  me- 
lody and  rhythm,  in  Dancing  by 
means  of  rhythm  only.  From  state- 
ments of  this  character,  Aristotle 
proceeds  to  enquire  into  the  objects  of 
poetic  imitation.  These,  he  says,  are 
the  actions  of  men. 

Before  bringing  Aristotle's  theory 
to  the  test,  let  me  ask  you  to  listen  to 
a  modern  thinker  in  low  life.  It  is 
true  he  dismisses  the  matter  briefly, 
although  he  speaks  with  much  assur- 
ance. He  does  not  pretend  to  argu- 
ment or  to  exactitude.  His  ruling 
idea  is  physical  comfort  ;  his  mental 
gifts  he  thinks  superior  to  those  of 
his  fellows,  and  if  his  powers  of  ex- 
tempore versifying  be  challenged,  he 
can  let  loose  a  flood  of  rhyme  '  for 
eight  years  together,  dinners,  suppers 
and  sleeping  time  excepted.'  These 
words  betray  him — Touchstone,   the 


246 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


wisest  of  Slmkespeare's  clowns,  an  in- 
tensely self  conscious  philosopher  of 
the  common-sense  school,  in  the  dis- 
guise of  motley  : — 

Touchstone— ('(?/a>?i-i«.7  doim  halfpitijulhi, 
half  cot)leinpt uousli/ J,  Truly,  I  would  the  goils 
had  ui.iile  thee  poetical. 

A\:\niK\— (Looking  up  wilh  rustic  innocence 
and  amaze),  IMo  not  know  what  'poetical' 
is  :  is  it  honest  in  deed  and  word  ?  is  it  a  true 
thing? 

Touch. — No,  truly  ;  for  the  tniest  poetry 
is  the  most  feifjuiuLC  ;  and  lovers  are  given  to 
poetry,  aud  what  they  swear  in  poetry  may 
be  said  .IS  lovers  thej-  do  feign. 

Aid.-  Do  you  wish  then  that  the  gods  had 
made  me  poetical. 

Touch. —I  do,  truly  :  for  thou  swcarest  to 
me  thou  .art  honest :  now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet, 
I  might  have  some  hope  thou  didst  feign. 

Touchstone  and  Aristotle  represent 
extremes.  Touchstone  stands  at  the 
negative  pole  of  thought ;  Aristotle  at 
the  positive.  Aristotle  declares  that 
poetry  is  based  ui)on  imitation  and  the 
more  exact  the  imitation  the  better 
the  poetry ;  Touchstone,  that  poetry 
is  based  upon  feigning,  and  the  more 
pronounced  the  feigning  the  truer  the 
poet.  Is  either  of  these  views  com- 
plete and  correct,  or  is  each  only  reli- 
able in  part  ? 

The  more  exact  the  imitation  the 
greater  the  pleasure.  Why,  then,  do 
poets  sometimes  suggest  so  much  and 
describe  so  little  %  When  they  affect 
the  emotions  strongly,  they  often  do 
so  in  a  brief  way.  If  they  desire  to 
bring  their  ideal  of  beauty  before  the 
reader,  the  greatest  of  them  seem  con- 
scious of  the  limits  of  their  power  and 
shrink  from  crossing  into  the  domain  of 
the  minutely  exact.  They  know  th.-^t 
types  of  perfection  are  never  idenl-i- 
cal ;  that  two  men  of  the  same  nation, 
perchance  of  similar  mental  tone  and 
acquirements,  are  at  variance  concei-n- 
ing  what  they  believe  to  be  most 
beautiful  or  admirable,  and  again, 
that  in  the  case  of  various  nations 
the  difference  is  even  more  strongly 
marked.  Consciously  or  unconsciously 
poets  obey  the  law  that  extension  is 
narrowed  as  intension  is  deepened,  al- 
though Lessing's  reason  for  this  poet- 
ical moderation  lays  stress  on  rapidity 


of  execution,  lest  the  mind  be  hope- 
lessly confused  by  a  mass  of  detail.  It 
may  be  argued  that  the  same  poet 
does  not  write  for  Teuton  and  Ethiop 
alike,  yet  he  appeals  to  wide  discre- 
l)ancies  of  thought.  Aphrodite,  with 
her  hair  'golden  round  her  lucid  throat 
and  shoulder,'  has  one  set  of  worship- 
pers ;  Cleopatra,  *  with  swarthy  cheeks 
and  bold  black  eyes,'  another.  The 
poet,  however,  may,  if  he  wishes,  neg- 
lect likes  and  dislikes.     He  has  only 

{    to  set  men  a- thinking;  by  suggestion 
he  can  cause  special  embodiments  of 

I    beavity  to  llash    before  minds  which 
have  very  little  in  common. 

Lessing  selects  Greek  literature  as 
lich  in  this  peculiarity,  but  our  own 
readily  answers  to  appeal.  One  of  the 
most  forcible  examples  is  to  be  found 
in  Christopher  Marlowe's  Faustus. 
Faustus  gives  both  body  and  soul  to 
Lucifer,  in  return  for  twenty-four 
years  of  pleasure.  A  part  of  his  de- 
light is  to  have  the  famous  persons  of 
antiquity  brought  before  him.  He 
asks  to  see  Helen  of  Greece  a  second 
time.  She  appears  and  Faustus  utters 
the  well-known  lines  : — 

Was  this  the  face  that  launched  a  thousand 

ships. 
And  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  Tlium  ! 

That  is  all  !  An  effect  not  a  descrip- 
tion ;  and  yet  its  suggestive  force  is 
hard  to  match.  Had  Marlowe  made 
the  eye  of  Faustus  play  the  painter, 
hf)w  would  he  have  failed  !  Now  here 
does  he  attempt  to  depict  Helen  accu- 
rately :  she  is  'fairer  than  the  evening 
air,'  '  brighter  than  flaming  Jupiter  ;' 
the  rest  is  untold.  Again,  Milton  de- 
scribes, or  rather  does  not  describe,  a 
very  different  being  — Death  : — 

The  other  Shape— 
If  shape  it  might  be  called  that  shape  had 

none 
Distinguishable  in  member,  joint,  or  limb  ; 
Or  substance  might   be   called  that  shadow 

seemed, 
For  each    seemed   either- -black   it  stood  a.s 

Night, 
Fierce  as  ten  Furies,  terrible  as  Hell, 
And  shook  a  dreadful  dart  :  what  seemed  his 

head 
The  likeness  of  a  kingly  crown  had  on. 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


247 


Some  ])oets,  then,  do  not  imitate  care- 
fully ;  and  vogardiug  those  who  make 
the  attempt,  necessaiily  imperfect, 
Lessing  ventures  a  very  suggestive  re- 
mark, for  which  he  has  won  much 
ci'edit.  The  force  of  description,  he 
says,  lies  where  poetry  shows  its  dis- 
tinctive character  as  contrasted  with 
sculpture.  Sculpture  represents  still 
life ;  it  chooses  one  moment  of  im- 
])ulse — the  moment  best  adapted  to 
the  end  in  view.  Poetry  represents  a 
number  of  acts  in  successive  moments, 
and  motion  is  of  its  essence.  When 
beauty  passes  into  motion — Lessing's 
definition  of  charm — the  poet  can  be 
felt.  The  mouth  of  Ariosto's  Alcina, 
in  Orlando  Furioso,  enraptures  not 
because  it  takes  six  lines  to  describe 
it,  but  because  in  the  final  couplet  we 
are  told  that  there  is  formed  that 
lovely  smile  which  in  itself  already 
opens  a  paradise  upon  earth.  We  may 
hesitate  to  accept  Aristotle's  theory, 
then,  although  it  may  have  some  truth 
in  it :  let  ns  bring  into  contrast  the 
opinions  of  Francis,  Lord  Bacon,  in 
the  '  Advancement  of   Learning.' 

'  The  parts  of  human  learning  have 
reference  to  the  three  parts  of  Man's 
understanding,  which  is  the  seat  of 
learning :  History  to  his  Memory, 
Poesy  to  his  Imagination,  and  Philo- 
sophy to  his  Pv,eason.'  '  Poesy  is  a  part 
of  learning  in  measure  of  words  for 
the  most  part  restrained,  but  in  all 
other  points  extremely  licensed,  and 
doth  truly  refer  to  the  Imagination; 
tchich,  being  not  tied  to  the  laws  of 
matter,  may  at  jileasure  join  that  which 
nature  hath  severed,  and  sever  that  which 
nature  hath  joined  ;  and  so  make  un- 
lawful matches  and  divorces  of  things,' 

In  Shakespeare's  rich  language  : — 

The  lunatic,  the  lover  and  the  p»et 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact  : 

The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth 

to  heaven  ; 
And  as  imagination  bodies    forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  no- 
thing 
A  \ocal  habitation  and  a  name. 


Let  us  again  take  a  specimen  of 
English  verse,  and,  with  Bacon's  theory 
fresh  in  the  memory,  see  what  it  may 
be  made  to  yield.  Wordsworth  says 
of  Lucy  : — 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 
Half  hidden  from  the  eye ; 

Fair  as  a  star  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

We  note  that  Wordsworth  selects 
just  as  3Iarlowe  and  Milton  did,  for 
there  is  no  attempt  to  describe,  to 
imitate,  to  set  forth  exactly  by  means 
of  harmony  and  rhythm,  the  sum  of 
Lucy's  physical  excellence,  A  thous- 
and things  might  have  caused  Lucy  to 
seem  divine  to  the  poet,  but  of  the 
thousand,  only  three  are  visible — at 
least  to  me — modesty  and  conspicuous 
beauty  2)lus  purity  : — 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye  ! — (Modesty.) 
Fair  as  a  star  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  aky. -(Beaxtty  +  Purity.) 

The  woi'ds  modesty,  beauty,  purity, 
do  not  occur,  it  is  true,  but  their  poet- 
ical equivalents  stand  in  the  verse  with 
quiet  strength — a  violet  and  a  star. 
The  violet  and  the  star  are  images — 
metaphors,  as  the  grammarian  would 
call  them.  It  may  be  repeated,  then, 
that  the  poet  does  not  imitate  exactly  ; 
he  selects:  it  may  now  be  added  that 
the  objects  of  his  selection  are  images  ; 
and  that  such  images  as  he  selects  are 
those  he  deems  most  strong  or  most 
beautiful.  The  poet  is  a  thinker  in 
images  :  the  historian,  the  philosopher, 
the  ordinary  man  are  thinkers  in  pro- 
positions. In  Job  xiv.  10,  we  read  : 
'  But  man  dieth  and  wasteth  away.' 
No  elocution  can  raise  that  into  poe- 
try. It  is  a  terribly  earnest  state- 
ment, and  its  force  lies  in  its  over- 
whelming truth.  The  idea,  or  an  idea 
akin  to  it,  crosses  the  mind  of  the 
poet  and  the  proposition — universal 
and  categorical  in  terms  of  logic — is 
converted  into  a  series  of  images  : — ■ 

Fair  daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon  ; 
As  yet  the  early  rising  sun 

Has  notattain'd  his  noon. 


248 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


Stay,  stay, 
Until  the  hasting  day 
Has  run 
But  to  the  even  song  ; 
And,  having  pray'd  together,  we 
Will  go  with  you  along. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay  as  you 

We  have  as  short  a  spring ; 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay, 
As  you  or  any  thing. 
We  die 
As  your  hours  do,  and  dry 
Away, 
Like  to  the  summer's  rain  ; 
Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning's  dew. 
Ne'er  to  be  found  again. 

— Robert  Hcrrick. 

The  poet's  images  may  be  divided 
into  two  great  classes  ;  those  which 
are  existent  and  are  not  altered 
when  poetically  treated,  but  are  used 
in  their  entirety  and  separately  :  Se- 
condly, those  which  are  existent  only 
in  part,  and  are  modified  and  com- 
pounded to  suit  the  poet's  aim.  The 
first  class  may  be  subdivided  into 
images  which  are  natural  and  apt — 
which  do  not  provoke  question  or 
smile  ;  and  into  images  which  are  un- 
natural and  inapt — images  which  puz- 
zle or  suggest  the  ludicrous.  The  stanza 
from  Woi'dsworth  will  exemplify  the 
natural  and  true,  used  in  entirety  : — 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 
Half  hidden  from  the  eye  ! 

Fair  as  a  star  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

Any  gatherer  of  wayside  flowers 
will  bear  witness  to  the  faithfulness 
of  the  first  two  lines  :  to  the  faithful- 
ness of  the  second,  any  man  who  has 
gazed  at  Hesperus,  the  leader  of  the 
midnighthost,  beaming  clear  and  alone 
in  the  evening  heavens.  The  transla- 
tion of  modesty  and  beauty  ^jZ«s  purity 
into  image  is  so  well  done  that  the  goal 
of  poetry,  the  heart,  is  reached  with- 
out conscious  effort,  and  -we  exclaim, 
*  That  is  poetry  ' — we  hardly  know 
why,  until  we  begin  to  cast  about  for 
a  reason. 

The  next  sub-class,  the  unnatural 
and  inapt,  or  at  least  grotesque, 
runs  riot  in  a  large  portion  of  our 
literature,  most  of  which  is*  unknown 
save  to  the  curious.  Writers  termed 
Later  Euphuists,  that  is,  Euphuists 


who  lived  after  all  that  was  noble  in 
Euphuism  had  died  away,  did  their 
best,  or  rather  their  worst,  to  find  in- 
genuities of  thought — conceits,  as  they 
are  technically  called.  And  these  con- 
ceits connected  objects  or  images  that 
have  no  natural  link.  Earlier  Euphu- 
ism could  boast  of  sterling  thought, 
even  if  '  conceited.'  Later  Euphuism 
is  scarcely  anything  else  except  absurd 
pedantry.  And  yet  we  must  believe 
that  these  men  honestly  thought  they 
were  writing  durable  verse  ;  they  had 
the  faculty  of  making  others  think  so, 
for  Dryden  wi-ites, — '  1  remember 
when  I  was  a  boy,  I  thought  inimit- 
able Spencer  a  mean  poet  in  compari- 
son of  Sylvester's  Du  Bartas,  and  was 
wrapt  into  an  ecstasy  when  I  read  these 
lines ; — 

Now,  when  the  winter's  keener  breath  began 
To  crystalize  the  Baltic  Ocean, 
To  glaze  the  lakes,  to  bridle  up  the  floods, 
And  periwig  with  snow  the  bald-pate  woods. 

*  I  am  much  deceived  if  this  be  not 
abominable  fustian,  that  is,  thoughts 
and  words  ill-sorted,  and  without  the 
least  relation  to  each  othei'.'  The  fol- 
lowing are  fair  examples  of  Euphuis- 
tic  genius.  A  lady's  heart  is  a  powder 
magazine — a  stubborn  powder  maga- 
zine— her  lover's  a  hand-grenade.  The 
dealer  in  '  conceit,'  belabours  his 
brains  until  he  has  gathered  up  the 
fragments  of  an  explosion,  and  from 
them  created  a  new  heart,  which  the 
charitable  will  hope  may  remain  en- 
tire for  ever.  A  traveller  and  his  wife 
suggest  a  pair  of  compasses.  The  tra- 
veller is  the  moving,  the  wife  the 
fixed  foot.  The  Euphuistic  puzzle  is 
worked  out  in  this  fashion  by  John 
Donne  : — 

Our  two  souls,  therefore,  which  are  one. 

Though  I  must  go,  endure  not  yet 
A  breach,  but  an  exjiansion, 

Like  gold  to  airy  thinness  beat. 
If  they  be  two,  they  are  two  so, 

As  stiff  twin  compasses  are  two  ; 
The  soul,  the  tix'd  foot,  makes  no  show 

To  move,  but  doth  if  th'  other  do. 
And,  though  it  in  the  centre  sit ; 

Yet,  •w\\^'.l\  the  other  far  doth  roam, 
It  leans  and  barkens  after  it, 

And  grows  erect  as  that  comes  home. 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


249 


Such  wilt  thou  be  to  me,  who  must 
Like  th'  other  foot  obliquely  run. 

Thy  firmness  makes  my  circle  just, 
And  makes  me  end  where  I  begun. 

Euphuistic  poets  were  numerous ; 
but  there  were  also  Euphuistic  fencers. 
Sir  Thomas  Urquhart  speaks  approv- 
ingly of  the  Admirable  Crichton,  be- 
cause, when  fighting  a  duel  with  a 
gentleman  who  had  previously  killed 
three  opponents,  the  famous  Scot 
wounded  his  adversary  in  three  points, 
which,  if  joined,  would  be  found  to  lie 
at  the  angles  of  a  perfect  isosceles  tri- 
angle. 

The  second  class  of  images  com- 
prises those  which  are  modified,  blend- 
ed, or  compounded  to  suit  the  poet's 
aim.  The  complex  result  never  had 
any  existence,  save  in  thought.  Such 
images  abound  in  the  realm  of  the 
supernatural,  where  dwelt  a  thousand 
creations  : — 

All  monstrous,  all  prodigious  things, 
Abominable,  inutterable  and  worse 
Than  fables  yet  have  feigned  or  fear  con- 
ceived, 
Gorgons,  and  Hydras,  and  Chimacras  dire. 

Here,  says  the  critic,  is  the  well- 
head of  inspiration,  that  sacred  dower 
into  the  nature  of  which  it  were  pro- 
fane to  inquire;  here  the  me7is  divinior, 
the  divine  fire.  Granted  :  it  is  almost 
divine,  for  very  few  mortals  possess  it, 
but  it  is  not  all  a  mystery.  Addison 
strikes  a  true  note  in  his  papers  on 
the  Imagination.  (  'Spectators,'  411- 
421.)  '  We  cannot  indeed,'  he  writes, 
'  have  a  single  image  in  the  Fancy  that 
did  not  make  its  first  enti-ance  through 
the  sight;  but  we  have  the  power  of 
retaining,  altering,  and  compounding 
those  images,  which  we  have  once  re- 
ceived, into  all  the  varieties  of  pic- 
ture and  vision  that  are  most  agree- 
able to  the  Imagination.'  If  we  raise 
these  statements  to  the  level  of  modern 
psychology,  and,  instead  of  sighf,  read 
all  the  senses  by  which  men  gain  ex- 
perience, adding  to  them  hereditary 
endowment,  we  shall  gain  a  further 
insight  into  the  matter.  Dissect  or 
analyse  a  Gorgon,  a  Hydra,  a  Chi- 
ma^ra  dire,  and  in  so  far  as  they  are 


concrete  they  can  be  dissected  or  ana- 
lysed, and  it  will  be  found  that  each 
part,  each  element  of  the  compound, 
is  a  fact  or  an  image  known  to  many. 
The  experiences  of  men  and  of 
poets  have  much  in  common.  Birth, 
growth,  decay,  death — opinions  or  no- 
tions about  these  are  very  much  alike 
in  all  cases.  The  success  to  which  we 
aspire,  the  mischances  that  cross  our 
path,  are  things  of  the  multitude,  and 
the  trains  of  thought  to  which  they 
give  rise  in  different  persons  travel  in 
parallel  lines  for  a  long  distance  often, 
because  they  are  governed  by  a  uni- 
versal law,  the  Association  of  Ideas. 
Now  this  law  governs  not  only  the 
notions  of  poets,  but  also  their  trans- 
lation of  those  notions  into  images. 
Let  us  view  the  question  from  the 
notional  side  first,  for  this  notional 
side  will  display  what  may  be  called 
the  artistic  setting  or  moulding  of 
poems  as  a  whole. 

Milton,  Shelley,  and  Tennyson  write 
on  the  death  of  friends,  Milton  in  '  Ly- 
cidas,'  Shelley  in  'Adonais,'  Tennyson 
in  '  In  Memoriam.'  The  great  outlines 
of   each  work  are  such  as  would  pass 
through  the  minds  of  ordinary   men 
similarly  aftiicted.      All  the  mourners 
introduce   themselves  ;  all   look  back 
to  the  happy  days  of  intimacy  before 
death ;    all,    when    wild   grief    sways 
them  in  the  early  hours  of  bereave- 
ment, view  death  as  an  end  ;  all  think 
of  the  fame  the  departed  might  have 
won,  had  they  lived  ;  all  rise  to  a  be- 
lief in  Immortality  ;  all    picture  the 
I    beloved  spirits  in  the  world  of  bliss. 
I        So  with  the  imagery.     Milton  and 
I    Shelley  make  conventional  appeal  to 
I    those    who    might   have  averted  the 
j    blow,  and  it  will  be  noticed  that  each 
I    appeal  is  in  harmony  with  particular 
I    fate.     Edward  King    was    drowned ; 
I    John    Keats     died    of    consumption. 
;    Milton  writes  : — 


Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  when  the  remorse- 
less deep 
Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas  ? 


and  Shelley  : — 


250 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


Where  wort  tin >n.  mij^ht y^fother  \\\\cn  he  hvy. 
When  thy  sou  hay,  pierced  bv  the  shaft  whith 

flies 
In  darkness?  where  was  lorn  Urania 
When  Adonais  died  V 

Again,  Milton  tolls  the  poet's  bell. 
Three  times  it  rings  out  solemn  and 
clear  at  the  beginning  of  his  poera — 

For  Lycidasi  is  dead,  dead  e'er  his  i>rime, 
Voun^  Li/cidaA,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer. 
Who  would  not  sing  for  Li/cidas  I 

Shelley  does  the  same  with  more  sub- 
tlety and  more  frequently  : 

1  weep  for  Adonais—\\Q  is  dead  ! 

( >h,  weep  for  Adonais  I  though  our  tears 

Thaw  not  the  frost  which  binds  so   dear  a 

head  ! 
And  thou,  sad  Hour,  selected  from  all  j'ears 
To  mourn  our  loss,  rouse  thy  obscure  com- 

l>eers, 
.Vnd  teach  them  their  own  sorrow ;  say  :  With 

me. 
Died  Adonais.— 

The  images  of  the  poet  are  often 
coloured  with  the  fashion  of  the  age, 
and  this  is  the  last  point  I  can  now 
notice  of  many  to  which  both  Milton 
and  Shelley  bear  witness.  The  two 
men  write  in  pastoral  foi-m  ;  before 
they  become  poets  they  don  shepherd's 
garb  and  roam  in  an  ideal  Arcadia, 
which  hundreds  have  entered  from 
mere  conventionality.  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson,  whose  wayward  robustness 
blinded  him  to  the  finer  lights  and 
shades  both  of  poetry  and  philosophy, 
blames  Milton  for  speaking  of  mourner 
and  mourned  as  driving  their  flocks 
a-field.  Milton  obeyed  an  artistic 
dictum  already  losing  force  in  his 
day,  and  Shelley  was  induced  by  natu- 
ral bent  and  by  imagery,  in  which 
even  his  generation  indulged,  to  pic- 
ture himself  as  one  of  a  band  of  idyl- 
lic mourners,  to  Vjind  his  head  with 
pansies  and  violets,  and  to  carry  a  spear 
tipped  with  cypress  and  garlanded  with 
ivy.  Tennyson,  for  reasons  we  may 
not  now  discuss,  shrinks  from  making 
prominent  Corydon  and  Thyrais  and 
their  rustic  belongings — herds,  sheep- 
hooks,  posies,  and  oaten  pipes. 

But  not  only  will  the  law  of  Asso- 
ciation of  Ideas  explain  similarity  of 
notional  framing  in  diflferent  poets  ;  it 


will  also  throw  light  on  the  trains  of 
thought,  and  consequently  of  imagery, 
in  the  complete  poems  of  the  individ- 
ual. If  justification  of  the  foregoing 
remark  be  demanded,  it  will  be  found, 
time  and  again,  in  the  Sonnet.  Here 
we  are  jiresented  with  matter,  rich, 
varied  and  beautiful  ;  moreover,  the 
sonnet  possesses  one  inestimable  ad- 
vantage, brevity, — it  can  be  kept  be- 
fore the  mind  as  a  whole,  during  ana- 
lysis. The  objection  that  the  sonnet 
is  hyper-artificial  carries  but  little 
weight,  for  in  the  sonnet  is  embodied 
some  of  the  finest  and  strongest  poetiy 
in  our  language.  The  laws  which 
sonnetteers  must  obey  may  be  briefly 
phrased  thus  :  firstly,  the  sonnet  must 
not  exceed  fourteen  lines  in  length  ; 
secondly,  certain  restrictions  are  to  be 
observed  in  regard  to  measure  and 
rune  ;  thirdly,  the  sonnet  is  to  consist 
of  two  parts,  the  first  of  eight  lines, 
the  second  of  six  ;  these  must  be 
blended  in  thought ;  and  lastly,  if  the 
worker  copies  the  purest  model,  he 
must  avoid  a  final  couplet.  Now,  if 
we  leave  form  and  examine  matter, 
we  observe  the  art  of  the  poet  and  his 
exemplification  of  the  law  which  gov- 
erns ideas.  In  the  first  eight  lines  he 
brings  forward  and  expands  a  domi- 
nant image  or  a  series  of  images  ;  in 
the  succeeding  part  he  applies,  often 
with  a  deepening  moral  tone,  such 
image  or  images  to  the  idea  or  ideas 
that  gave  them  birth,  and  at  the  end 
swells  out  into  poetic  diapason. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  every 
sonnet  shows  this  arrangement  of  feel- 
ing, but  many,  and  among  them  the 
best,  are  regulated  by  it.  Longfellow 
has  written  a  series  of  four  sonnets 
on  Dante's  'Divine  Comedy.'  The  first 
serves  as  a  general  introduction  ;  the 
other  three  preface  the  sections  of  the 
poem.  We  will  briefly  analyse  the 
first.  Dominant /t/m — Dante's  'Divine 
Comedy '  and  the  '  Inferno  '  as  its  com- 
mencement ;  dominant  hnnge,  a  cathe- 
dral, preserved  in  all  the  poems  :  sub- 
dominant  image,  a  labourer  (Long- 
fellow himself).     The  first  eight  lines 


POETRY,  AS  A   FINE  ART. 


2.51 


are  ocoujiictl  in  the  adornment  of  tliese 
selected  images  with  selecteil  epithets 
and  environments  ;  theconchidingsix,  ! 
with  their  application  to  the  idea  in  , 
(piestion,  and  Itlended  with  the  appli-  ; 
ration  is  the  gradual  swell  of  the  ■ 
moral  tone. 


Oft  have  I  seen  at  some  catheth-al  door 

(1)  A  labourer,  [)ausiiig  in  the  dusb  and 

heat, 

(2)  Lay  down  liis  burden,  and  with  reve- 

rent feet 
^  Enter,  and  cross  himself,  and  on  the  floor 
Kneel  {'S)  to  repeat  his  paternoster  o'er  ; 
Far  off  the  noises  (4)  of  the  world  retreat ; 
I  The  lond  vociferat'ions  of  the  street 
^Become  an  undistiiignishable  roar. 


I  So,  as  I  (1)  enter  here  from  day  to  day, 
_.     And  leave  (2)  my  burden  at  this  minster 
i  gate, 

■-^  I  Kneeling  (3)  in  j^rayer,  and  not  ashamed 
.'i  i  to  pray, 

"z.    The  tumult  of  the  (4)  time  disconsolate 
^    To  inarticulate  murmurs  dies  away 
'  I  Wliile   Ihc    eternal  ayes  watvh  and  wait. 

I         [Diapason.] 

The  law  of  Association  of  Ideas  can 
be  traced  not  only  in  sonnets  but  also 
in  nearly  all  good  poetic  work.  Shel- 
ley and  Keats  are  a  mine  of  image- 
wealth,  and  a  small  portion  of  their 
richest  writing  could  be  enlarged  by 
true  commentary  to  an  almost  indefi- 
nite extent.  Shelley's  '  Ode  to  the 
West  Wind' — from  the  creative  point 
of  view,  the  finest  in  our  literature — 
is  one  grand  series  of  associated 
images.  A  man  gifted  with  artistic 
skill  of  an  inferior  kind  might  take 
many  a  line  thence  as  the  dominant 
image  of  a  Bonnet,  and  so,  by  elabora- 
tion, make  a  little  volume.  Let  me 
endeavour  to  find  the  main  idea-path 
through  Shelley's  '  Skylark.'  At  even- 
tide the  bird  begins  to  ascend  ;  it  is 
like  a  cloud  of  fire  in  the  blue  deep  ; 
then  it  flies  westward  to  the  golden 
lightning  of  the  sunken  sun,  then  on 
through  the  pale  jmrple  even  until  it 
is  as  a  star  in  the  daylight — invisible  : 
three  stanzas  with  motion  predomi- 
nant. Since  motion  can  no  longer  be 
dwelt  on,  its  consequence,  invisibility, 
forms  the  main  theme.  The  star  in- 
visible suggests  the  moon,  invisible  ; 
the  invisible  moon,  a  striking  effect  of 


cloudy  moonlight;  cloudy  moonlight, 
the  gorgeous  colourefiect  of  rainbow 
clouds — these  effects  being  set  to  the 
key-note  of  the  poem,  the  bird's  song. 
Then  succeed  four  consjjicuous  images, 
the  remains  of  perhaps  a  score,  with 
invisibility  or  deep  seclusion  running 
through  all  : — 

Like  a  poet  hidden 
In  the  light  of  thought. 

Like  a  hijfh  born  maiden 
In  a  palace  tower. 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 
In  a  dell  of  dew. 

Like  a  rose  embowered 
In  its  own  green  leaves. 

In  the  complete  stanzas  it  will  be 
found  that  these  images  of  seclusion 
are  blended  with  sound,  colour,  odour  ; 
sound  the  key-note,  again  becomes 
predominant;  the  nature  of  the  bird's 
song  is  considered,  its  object,  its  influ- 
ence. This  element  gets  more  pro- 
nounced towai-ds  the  close  until  the 
poem  ends  with  the  note  of  its  com- 
mencement : — 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit ! 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 


Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  ;dl  treasures 

That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the 

ground  ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 
That  thy  brain  must  know, 

Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  shouhl  listen  then,  as  I  am  listen- 
ing now. 

I  cannot  pass  from  this  interesting 
corner  of  my  subject  without  referring 
to  the  light  that  the  same  image  throws 
upon  the  poet's  consistency  of  mood, 
even  when  it  appears  in  disconnected 
])oems.  Wordsworth  likens  the  maid 
who  grew  beside  the  springs  of  Dove, 
to  a  star  : — 

Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 


252 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


When  writing  elsewliere  of  a  poet 
whose  death  he  regards  as  a  national 
loss,  and  with  whose  moral  nature  he 
had  profound  sympathy,  his  mind 
crosses  the  old  path.  One  line  of  the 
trumpet-tongued  sonnet  to  Milton 
reads  : — 

Thj'  soul  was  like  a  star  and  dwelt  apart. 

This  is  neither  accident  nor  wilful 
repetition.  Similar  experiences  give 
rise  to  similar  ti'ains  of  thought ;  simi- 
lar trains  of  thought,  to  similar  ima- 
gery. Wordsworth  is  rich  in  the  veri- 
fication of  what  might  be  termed  a 
law.  Poets  obey  it  in  varying  degree, 
and  Wordsworth,  perhaps,  more  than 
others,  owing  to  his  subjective  atti- 
tude and  method  of  composing  verse. 
The  second  part  of  one  of  his  best 
known  sonnets  aptly  concludes  the 
present  topic  : — 

Methinks  their  very  names   shine    still  and 

bright ; 
Apart — like  glow-worms  on  a  summer  night ; 
Or  lonely  tapers  when  from  far  they  fling 
A  guiding  ray  ;  or  seen— like  stars  on  high, 
Satellites  burning  in  a  lucid  ring 
Around  meek  Walton's  heavenly  memory. 

So  far  we  have  briefly  discussed 
selection  of  images,  themselves  linked 
in  thought.  The  dependence  of  these 
upon  experience  has  also  been  insisted 
on ;  but  there  goes  hand  in  hand 
with  experience,  which  may  be  re- 
garded as  in  a  great  degree  passive, 
the  active  search  for  knowledge,  in 
short,  education.  A  young  author's 
first  literary  loves  give  form  and  im- 
pulse to  his  growing  ideas ;  their  in- 
fluence never  loses  its  hold  upon  him, 
a  fact  of  which  he  is  sometimes  moi*- 
bidly  conscious.  It  was,  doubtless,  to 
prevent  an  imputation  of  plagiarism 
that  Cowper  avoided  reading  the  classi- 
cal English  poets  (an  occasional  peru- 
sal of  one  sufficed  him  during  twenty 
years),  and  that  Byron  did  not  pos- 
sess, according  to  Leigh  Hunt,  either 
a  Shakespeare  or  a  Milton  ;  yet  Cow- 
per imitated  Churchill,  Byron  read 
widely,  and  adored  Pope.  A  glance 
at  the  works  of  great  poets,  or  a  know- 
ledge  of  their   lives,    shows   that,  in 


more  than  one  instance,  their  great- 
ness is  in  part  due  to  arduous  study. 
Natural  propensity,  experience,  and 
education  lead  poets  to  choose  special 
departments  of  thought.  We  now 
approach  the  individuality  of  which  I 
have  already  spoken.  Since  Words- 
worth, Keats,  and  Scott  can  be  brought 
into  marked,  as  well  as  pleasing  con- 
trast, it  will  be  profitable  to  examine 
the  imaginative  bent  of  each. 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone, 
Half  hidden  from  the  eye  ! 

Fair  as  a  star,  wlieu  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

One  of  the  first  things  worthy  of 
note  in  regard  to  the  verse  is  its  quiet- 
ne.ss.  These  lines  of  Wordsworth  re- 
fuse to  lend  themselves  to  imposing 
sound.  They  cannot  be  mouthed 
into  anything  great  or  made  to  tickle 
the  ear,  as  do  classic  rhythms  quite 
familiar  to  many  of  my  hearers.  The 
short  poem  on  Lucy—  only  three  ver- 
ses in  all — may  well  serve  as  a  model 
of  simi)le  workmanship,  a  most  loyal 
piece  of  Knglish,  put  together  with 
Saxon  craft.  And  this  simplicity  is 
the  result  Oi  a  deep  conviction  held  by 
their  maker.  The  language  of  poetry 
he  maintains  to  be  that  of  common 
men.  Two  causes  prevent  it  from 
becoming  vulgar  or  mean — selection 
made  with  taste  and  feeling,  to  which 
is  added  metre.  One  is  sometimes 
told,  in  a  very  confident  way,  that 
Wordsworth  is  at  his  strongest  and 
best  when  he  departs  from  his  rule. 
In  the  argument  general  issues  are 
seldom  kept  clearly  in  sight.  Fair- 
ness demands  that  appeal  be  made  to 
Wordsworth  as  a  whole,  in  order  to 
compare  him  with  other  writers,  or  to 
vindicate  him  by  balancing  his  own 
work,  part  against  part.  What  in  him 
is  beautifully  florid,  if  anything  of  his 
can  be  called  so,  may  be  outmatched 
by  the  beautifully  simple.  He  may 
and  does  maunder  in  childish  simpli- 
city, but,  at  the  same  time,  he  can 
and  does  use  the  speech  of  children 
with  unaffected  majesty. 

The  next  feature  that  these  lines 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


253 


present  is  still  more  important.  The 
images  are  selected  from  Nature. 
Wordsworth  gives  his  reasons  for  fol- 
lowing N.itiue  in  the  Prelude,  where 
lie  the  keys  which  unlock  the  secrets 
of  his  philosophy.  Man  and  man's 
achievements  pass  away,  but  Nature 
abideth  still  ;  that  was  a  cardinal  be- 
lief of  our  ])oet,  and  it  is,  in  essence, 
true.  Fashion  and  fashionables  die 
and  are  forgotten,  together  with  those 
who  pay  them  homage  in  verse.  Vio- 
lets and  stars  have  long  existed  and 
are  likely  to  remain  long.  People  of 
many  climes,  of  different  habits  of 
thought,  of  diverse  modes  of  life,  can 
be  aroused  by  emotion  which  touches 
objects  they  all  see.  Wigs,  powder, 
paint,  patches,  rapiers,  and  the  volu- 
minous literature  of  the  eighteenth 
century  are  not  near  to  our  hearts 
now  :  they  are  viewed  in  distant  per- 
spective by  those  who  will  put  on  the 
spectacles  of  learning  to  behold  them. 
What  of  humanity  can  be  disco- 
vered there  we  yet  honour,  but  we 
turn  away  from  an  '  understanding 
age,'  which  condemned  the  soliloquies 
of  Shakespeare,  as  having  less  mean- 
ing and  expression  than  '  the  neighing 
of  a  horse,'  or  the  '  growling  of  a  mas- 
tiff,' because  ' correct '  taste  thus  de- 
creed. The  practical  geniality  which 
the  sixteenth  century  manifested  now 
and  again,  when  it  looked  on  the  face 
of  Nature,  the  nineteenth  caught  in 
its  own  way,  and  used,  in  the  case  of 
Wordsworth,  with  different  aim.  But 
to  return  to  the  Prelude  and  its  bear- 
ing on  the  point  under  discussion. 
Toward  the  close  of  Book  XIII,  the 
slow  growing  belief  of  the  poet  in 
regard  to  the  stability  of  Nature  and 
its  effect  on  the  mind  is  expressed  in 
these  lines  : — 

Also,  about  this  time  did  I  receive 

Convictions  still  more  strong  than  heretofore, 

Not  only  that  the  inner  frame  is  good. 

And  graciously  composed,  but  that,  no  less, 

Nature  f»r  all  conditions  wants  not  power 

To  consecrate,  if  we  have  eyes  to  see 

The  outside  of  her  creatures,  and  to  breathe 

Grandeur  upon  the  very  humblest  face 

Of  human  life.     I  felt  that  the  array 

Of  act  and  circumstance,  and  visible  form. 


la  mainly  to  the  pleasure  of  the  mind 
Wliat  passion  makes  thetn  ;  that  meanwhile 

the  fornw 
Of  Nature  have  a  i>assion  in  themselves, 
'lliat  intermingles  with  those  works  of  man 
To  which  she  summons  him  ;   although  the 

works 


I    Be  mean,  have  nothing  lofty  of  their  own ; 
j    And  that  the  Genius  of  the  Poet  hence 
•    Mdi/  Ijiddhi  take  his  ivaij  amonf)  mankind 
:     Wherctcr  Nature  leads  ;  that  he  hath  stood 

By  Nature's  side  amonf/  the  men  of  old, 

And  so  shall  stand  fore  cer. 

As   I   am   speaking  about   Words- 
worth, there  are  two  matters  I  feel  it 
in  my  heart  to  mention,  although  they 
do  not  bear  with  their  whole  weight 
j    on  the  criticism   of  the  verse  about 
j    Lucy.     We  are  frequently  reminded 
I    that  Wordsworth  is  the  poet  of  Na- 
I    ture.     The  man  who  is  content  with 
i    this  idea  alone   has   scarcely  planted 
I    his   foot    on    the   first    round   of    the 
j    Wordsworthian  ladder.  Wordsworth's 
contemporaries   wrote    about    Nature 
I    also,   and   faithfully  ;  yet,  in   survey- 
ing the   landscapes  of  Thomson  or  of 
I    Cowper,  there  is  a  kind  of  aloofness 
I    on    our    part,    unfelt    when    reading 
j    Wordsworth.     Their  colours  are  skil- 
j    fully  laid  on,  albeit  cold  in  tone,  and 
{    there  is   a  just   idea  of  perspective  : 
I    still  the  general  effect  works  its  way 
I    to  one  pole  of  thought,  and  our  criti- 
'    cal   faculties   to   the  other.      Words- 
j    worth's  poetry,  however,  has  a  quiet, 
j    subtle,  penetrative  force  which  refuses 
i    the  criticism  of  minuti^.      His  music 
j    is  pitched  in  Nature's  key,  but  it  is 
I    blended  with  melody  deeper  far  :  Na- 
j    ture  leads   up  to  man,    es|>ecially   to 
the  best  part  of  him,  his  moral  side, 
j    for  there,   hidden   within   accretions, 
I    fair  and  foul,  rest  the  seeds  of  progresp. 
Nature  is  not,  in  the  eyes  of  Words- 
worth,  an  elaborate   picture  galleiy. 
A  fox  glove,    for   example,   is  not  a 
poetical   prize,  every  tinct   and   turn 
whereof  is  to  be   set   before  a   back- 
ground    chosen    with    care,    that   the 
stately  stem  and  head  may  be  thrown 
forward  into  just  relief     Its  bells  are 
made  to  fall  on  the  highway,  and  are 
brought  into  connection  with  human- 
ity, when  they  amuse  the  children  of 
a  vagrant  mother.     «  A  smooth  rock 


254 


POET  11 Y,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


wet  with  constant  springs  '  lies  bathed 
in  the  rays  of  the  declining  sun,  and 
its  brilliancy  is  as  the  lustre  of  a 
knight's  shield  awakening  ideas  of 
chivalry,  or  as  an  entrance  into  a 
fairy-haunted  cave.  (Prelude,  Book 
III.)  Here  again  we  have  the  pass- 
ing from  mental  stillness  to  mental 
life,  from  the  world  of  mere  sensation 
to  the  world  of  thought.  Wordsworth 
did  not  uniformly  regard  the  English 
Lake-country  as  full  of  beautiful  yet 
lonely  hillsides,  over  which  light  and 
shade  played  with  varying  effect  ;  to 
him  it  was  a  region  teeming  with  im- 
aginative life.  When,  therefore,  Pro- 
fessor ^lasson,  in  a  truly  admirable 
essay  on  Theories  of  Poetry,  says  that 
Wordsworth  is  in  literature  what  the 
pre-Raphaelites  are  in  Art,  his  epi- 
grammatic way  of  stating  the  case 
carries  with  it  only  the  partial  truth 
of  all  epigram.  Wordsworth  was  one 
of  an  increasing  throng,  who  respected 
'  ])re-Drydenisui  '  (pre-Gallicism  is  a 
better  word),  but  from  the  realistic 
standpoint,  pure  and  simple,  he  was  not 
more,  often  less,  pronounced  than  his 
fellows.  The  pre-Raphaelite,  or  pre- 
Drydenite  fox-glove  occupies  six  lines ; 
the  Wordsworthian  fox-glove,  eight; 
the  pre-Raphaelite  or  pre-Drydenite 
rock,  four  ;  the  Wordsworthian  rock, 
nine.  Language  such  as  I  have  used 
may  seem  to  sacrifice  truth  to  effect, 
but  the  test  just  indicated  may  be 
applied  fearlessly  to  Wordsworth  as 
a  whole. 

In  the  second  ])lace,  I  should  like 
to  say  a  little  about  Wordsworth's 
philosophy.  Wordsworth  has  suffered 
mucli  from  critics,  ever  since  the  days 
of  the  '  Rejected  Addresses,'  and  of 
Lord  Jeffrey's  famous  verdict  on  the 
'Excursion,'  'This  will  never  do.'  Nu- 
merous ephemeral  reviews,  written 
from  a  hostile  standpoint,  and  not  sel- 
dom as  flippant  as  they  are  superficial, 
may  be  allowed  to  i)ass  in  silence,  but 
when  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  in  an  ar- 
ticle published  some  time  ago  in  '  Mac- 
millan's  Magazine  '  and  subsequently 
prefixed   to   a    collection    of  Words- 


worth's best  pieces,  declares  that  their 
author's  poetiy  is  the  reality,  and  his 
philosophy  the  illusion,  some  sort  of 
reply  will  not  be  out  of  place  even 
here.  It  is  only  fair  to  ask  what  is 
meant  by  philosophy.  If  Mr.  Mat- 
thew Arnold  expects  to  find  in  Words- 
worth a  nicely-squared  philosophical 
system,  jjorfect  down  to  the  minutest 
detail,  of  course  he  will  be  disap- 
pointed. As  sui-ely  as  a  poet  assumes 
the  rigid  metaphysician,  so  surely  will 
his  emotional  warmth  vanish  in  the 
coldness  of  didactics.  In  fact  he  re- 
nounces the  most  important  charac- 
teristic of  poetry,  already  alluded  to 
at  some  length,  and  has  to  depend  on 
the  graces  of  form  for  lasting  recogni- 
tion. But  although  a  poet  is  neces- 
sarily limited  in  regard  to  scientific 
method,  he  can  be  philosophical,  just 
as  every  man  is  to  some  extent,  when 
he  allows  himself  to  be  guided  by 
principle,  without  avowing  professed 
metaphysic.  It  would  have  been  vastly 
more  to  the  point  had  the  critic  taken 
other  poems  of  our  literature  whose 
caste  is  ethically  didactic,  and  by  com- 
parison proved  Wordswoi-th's  illusory 
nature.  Philosophy,  in  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold's  eyes,  seems  to  have  but  one 
meaning — the  specific  meaning  of  the 
schools,  and  appropriate  when  the 
elasticity  and  humanizing  tendency  of 
Literature  are  weighed  against  the 
rigidity  and  the  not  unfrequent  inhu- 
manity of  over-wrought  Dogma.  Yet 
Wordsworth,  if  not  painfully  minute, 
is  logical,  both  in  the  Prelude  and  the 
Excur.sion, confessedly  a  fragment.  The 
Prelude  relates  to  the  mental  growth 
of  the  individual ;  the  Excursion  con- 
siders the  behaviour  of  the  individual 
when  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
problems  of  society.  It  is  true  that  the 
society  is  eminently  quiet  and  retired, 
but  it  will  be  observed  how  deeply  the 
one  event  of  Wordsworth's  time — the 
French  Revolution — moves  the  vil- 
lagers in  the  seclusion  of  their  native 
hills.  And  as  the  Prelude  lies  at  the 
base  of  the  Wordsworthian  thinking, 
allow  me  to  point  out  a  few  of  its 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


cardinal   points,  which  are  sufficiently- 
logical  to  ap))eal  to  those  who  are  not 
over-fond  of  syllogism.     Wordsworth 
is  impressed  by  the  world  of  iSature 
which  lies  before  the  gaze  of  all ;  the 
impression    deepens    into    love  ;     the 
love  becomes  absorbing  and  Nature  is 
adored  for  her  oivii  sale  ;  intercourse 
with  men  provokes   the  feeling  that 
the  love  of  Nature  is  not  absolutely 
the  greatest  love — it  leads  up  to  the 
love  of  man  ;  the  two  loves  are  to  be 
reciprocal,  are  to  play  the  one  into  the 
other ;  the  love  of  Nature  is  not  to  be 
mistrusted,  for  Nature  in  her  moods 
of  silence  and  her  scenes  of  awe,  is 
stable,  is  a  guide  man  can  always  fol- 
low ;  the  majesty  of  Nature  awakens 
in  a  mind  accustomed  to  survey  tamer 
landscapes,  a  creative  power — the  man 
becomes  a  poet ;  the  poet,  like   other 
men,  may  boldly  take  his  way  whither- 
soever Nature  leads,  without  doubt  as 
to  his   future  fame  ;  lastly,  the  poet 
trained   to   observe   Natui-e's  myriad 
changes  will  not  require  any  abnormal 
mental  excitement  to  quicken  poetry. 
Fourteen  books  to   prove  such   com- 
monplace !     It  is  so  common  that  we 
forget  its  share  of  truth,  and  if  any 
of  ray  hearers  will  read  the  Prelude 
for   himself,    he    will    there    discover 
very  many  points  which  time  forbids 
me  to  mention.       Instead   of  poetry 
being  the  reality,  and  philosophy  the 
illusion,  both  are  realities,  and,  in  the 
crowning  works  of  genius,  dramatic 
and  other,  they  are,  in  so  far  as  they 
can  be,  mutual  helps.   '  In  Memoriam  ' 
is  one  of  the  finest  and  most  emotional 
})oems  in  English — a  pretty  piece  of 
mosaic,   cast    in   philosophical   figure, 
put  together  by  a  mind  striving  to 
express  in  it  philosophy  not  only  ab- 
stract but  also  fully  abreast  with  our 
age.     Take  that  element  from  it  and 
then   perhaps    Mr.    Matthew  Arnold 
will  declare  the  purblind  critique  of 
M.  Taine  just. 

Keats    manifests   individuality   of 
another  nature.    His  deepest  belief  is, 

Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty,'  that  is  all 
\  e  know  on  earth  and  all  ye  need  to  know. 


And  so  he  thought  and,  in  conse- 
quence, tlie  imagery  of  Keats  refer 
for  the  most  part  to  the  artistically 
beautiful.  Keats  lived  away  from  the 
turmoil  of  his  generation.  Its  revo- 
lutionary throes  he  neither  witnessed 
nor  sympathized  with,  as  a  poet. 
Wordsworth  put  a  stone  of  the  Bas- 
tile  into  his  pocket ;  Coleridge  and 
Southey  dreamed  of  ideal  republics  ; 
Campbell  was  so  stricken  down  at  the 
news  of  Warsaw's  fall  as  to  be  in  jeo- 
pardy of  his  life — Polish  newspapers 
printed  in  large  type,  '  The  gratitude 
of  our  nation  is  due  to  Thomas  Camp- 
bell ' — Poland  herself  sent  a  clod  of 
earth  from  Koscuisko's  grave  to  be 
cast  into  Campbell's  tomb  as  a  tribute 
of  love  ;  Shelley  threw  political  tracts 
from  a  window  in  Dublin  that  Ireland 
might  be  bettered ;  Byron  joined  the 
Italian  Carbonari  and  fell  in  the  cause 
of  Greek  liberty.  But  the  spirit  of 
these  men  never  found  an  abiding 
place  in  the  soul  of  Keats.  He  in- 
dulges in  no  ethical  moralizing,  wor- 
thy of  the  name.  Moreover,  Keats 
views  antiquity  not  as  an  incentive 
to  future  endeavour  or  as  historically 
interesting. 

Hence,  pageant  history  !  hence,  gilded  cheat  I 
Swart  planet  in  the  universe  of  deeds  ! 
Wide  sea,  that  one  continuous  murmur  breeds 
Along  the  pebbled  shore  of  memory  ! 
Many  old  rotten -timber'd  boats  there  be 
Upon  thy  vaporous  bosom,  magnified. 
To  goodly  vessels  ;  many  a  sail  of  pride. 
And  golden-keel'd  is  left  unlaunch'd  and  dr}'. 

To  Keats  the  value  of  the  past  is  its 
love  of  the  beautiful  in  art.  Light  falls 
on  a  Grecian  urn  and  reveals  its  '  leaf- 
f ringed  legend'  with  classic  distinct- 
ness. Keats'  eye  dwells  on  that,  and 
bending  forward  with  inquiring  glance, 
he  asks  in  words  which  breathe  Greek 
moderation,  purity,  and  symmetry 
throughout. 

What  leaf-fringed  legend  haunts  about  thy 

shape, 
Of  deities  or  mortals,  or  of  both. 
In  Teuipe  or  the  dales  of  Arcady  ? 
What  men  of  gods  are  these  ?   What  maidens 

loath  ? 
What  mad  pursuit  ?  What  struggle  to  escape  ? 
What  pipes  and  timbrels?  What  wild  ecstasy? 


256 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


Who  are  these  coming  to  the  sacrifice  ? 
To  what  green  altar,  O  mysterious  priest, 
Lead'st  thun  that  lieifer  lowing  at  the  skie?, 
Anil  all  her  silken  flanks  in  garlands  drest? 
What  little  town  by  river  or  sea-shore. 
Or  mountain-built  with  peaceful  citadel, 
Is  emptied  of  its  folk,  this  pious  morn  ? 
And,  little  town,  thy  streets  for  evermore 
AVill  silent  be  ;  and  not  a  soul  to  tell 
Why  thou  art  desolate,  can  e'er  return. 

Thirdly,  Scott.  Scott's  imagery  con- 
cerns mediajval  romance  and  displays 
with  great  vividness  two  stable  ele- 
ments— motion  and  colour.  These  are 
the  quintessence  of  Scott  as  a  maker  of 
poetical  visions.  The  knights  he  des- 
cribes act,  as  their  creator  wrote,  fear- 
lessly, joyously,  rapidly.  They  are  not 
effigies,  armour-clad,  now  sitting  awk- 
wardly at  the  board,  now  riding  un- 
easily to  the  fight,  but  are  real  flesh 
and  blood,  playing  their  parts  so  well 
that  time  glides  back  as  we  read  and 
sets  us  in  their  midst.  One  of  the 
most  striking  instances  in  which  Scott 
uses  motion  with  telling  effect,  is  where 
he  rings  the  doom-bell  of  the  monk 
Eustace  and  Constance  de  Beverley, 
both  condemned  to  death  by  the  Supe- 
riors of  Whitby  Abbey.  He  is  anxious 
to  impress  the  knell  on  the  memory 
and,  had  he  pleased,  he  might  have 
drawn  his  picture  with  Dantesque 
touch.  He  might  have  built  up  a  mass 
of  framework  which  quivered  again  as 
the  huge  bell,  with  bulk  and  weight 
accurately  described,  swung  ponder- 
ously within.  But  the  heart  of  effect 
is  reached  at  a  thrust,  swiftly  and  un- 
erringly. Taking  the  line  of  sound 
Scott  marks  three  points  in  it  where 
something  alive  is  resting,  and  at  each 
point  causes  motion.  It  will  be  noticed, 
also,  that  as  force  is  to  be  preserved, 
the  most  delicate  ear  is  placed  last  and 
the  most  distant  movement  is  the  most 
pronounced  ;  thus,  the  laws  of  Natural 
Science  are  not  violated  as  might  at 
first  be  supposed. 

To  Warkworth  cell  the  echoes  roU'd 
His  heads  the  wakeful  hermit  told. 
The  Bamborouijh  peasant  raised  his  head, 
But  slept  ere  half  a  jmiyer  he  said  ; 
So  far  was  heard  the  mighty  knell 
The  stag  sprung  up  on  Cheviot  Fell, 
Spread  his  broad  nostril  to  the  wind, 


Listed  before,  aside,  behind, 
Then  couchM  him  down  beside  the  hind, 
And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern, 
To  hear  that  sound  so  dull  and  stern. 

The  procession  of  Roderick  Dhu's 
barges  on  Loch  Katrine,  shows  the 
blending  of  motion  and  colour.  The 
Briton's  colour-sense  is  of  Celtic  source 
and  the  value  of  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold's 
delightful  lectures  on  Celtic  Literature 
would  be  enhanced  were  this  import- 
ant matter  discussed  in  them.  Many 
mixed  scenes  of  this  nature  have  been 
painted  by  Scott,  but  we  pass  from 
such  to  a  landscape  which  depends  for 
its  force  on  colour  alone.  I  refer  to 
the  review  of  Edinburgh,  as  seen  from 
Blackford  Hill.  '  Observe,'  says  Mr. 
Buskin,  '  The  only  hints  at  form  given 
throughout  are  in  the  somewhat  vague 
words,  "ridgy,  massy,  close  and  high,'' 
the  whole  being  still  more  obscured  by 
modern  mystery  in  its  most  tangible 
form  of  smoke.  But  the  colours  are  all 
definite ;  note  the  rainbow  band  of 
them — gloomy  or  dusky  red,  sable 
(pure  black),  amethyst  (pure  purple), 
green  and  gold — in  a  noble  chord 
throughout.' 

Still  on  the  spot  Tiord  Marmion  stay'd, 
For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survey'd, 
When  sated  with  the  martial  show 
That  peopled  all  the  plain  below, 
The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go, 
And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 

With  gloomy  splendour  red ; 
For  on  the  smoke-wreaths,  huge  and  slow. 
That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow. 

The  morning  beams  were  shed, 
And  tinged  them  with  a  lustre  proud, 
Like  that  which  strikes  a  thunder-cloud. 
Such  dusky  grandeur  clothed  the  height, 
Where  the  huge  (Jastle  holds  its  state, 

And  all  the  steep  slope  down. 
Whose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky. 
Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 

Mine  own  romantic  town  ! 
But  northward  far,  with  purer  blaze, 
On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays. 
And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kissed, 
It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 
Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw  ; 
Here  Preston- Bay  and  Berwick-Law  ; 

And  broad  between  them  roU'd 
The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 
Whose  islands  im  its  bosom  float, 

Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 

It  is  often  said  that  poets  write  as 
naturally  as  birds  sing.   Possible  birds 


POETRY,  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


257 


siing  because  hereditary  experience  has 
brought  ease  and  perfection,  manifest- 
ed from  the  beginning  of  life,  but  all 
poets  depend  on  individual  know- 
ledge. Burns  is  one  of  these  spontane- 
ous singers  to  whom  i-eference  is  con- 
stantly made.  And  yet  what  a  store 
of  lively,  accurate,  enduring  know- 
ledge about  the  things  both  great  and 
small  of  the  Lowland  country  had 
Burns.  We  are  not  satisfied  with  crit- 
icising paintings  on  the  merit  of  gen- 
eral effect,  but  examine  lilies  of  detail 
and  decry  any  faults  we  find.  Some- 
thing of  value,  something  which  separ- 
ates poetasters  from  poets,  will  be 
discerned  if  we  treat  '  spontaneous ' 
poetry  in  the  same  manner.  Poetry 
•which  discloses  fi-equent  weakness 
when  tested  line  by  line  announces 
some  failing  in  its  maker.  Let  me  close 
this  paragraph,  written  to  meet  an  ob- 
jection to  the  general  tone  of  the  lec- 
ture, by  jotting  down  a  brief  analysis 
of  the  first  verse  of  a  poem  which  ap- 
pears to  be,  and  is  sometimes  spoken 
of  as  being,  of  markedly  spontaneous 
birth:— 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour  ; 
For  I  maim  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem  : 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power, 
Thou  bonnie  gem. 

First  line,  two  facts  more  or  less 
botanical  (wee,  crimson-tipped),  and  an 
epithet  (modest),  deduced  from  the 
first  fact ;  second  line,  gentle  sw^ell  of 
the  emotional  wave ;  third  line,  the 
wave  rises  higher,  and  is  coupled  with 
a  fact  derived  from  general  observa- 


tion of  Nature  ;  fourth  line,  another 
fact ;  fifth  line,  the  emotion  wave,  the 
first  wave  of  the  poem  assumes  a  crest; 
sixth  line,  a  comprehensive  image. 

Lastly,  poetry  is  a  progressive  art. 
Its  method  knows  no  change,  but  its  . 
thoughts,  and  their  imagery  take  dif- 
ferent complexions  as  time  speeds.  £ 
pur  si  vmove :  this,  says  legend,  was 
Galileo's  utterance  about  the  physical 
world.  Of  the  mental  and  moral  world 
these  words  are  profoundly  true  :  it 
moves,  it  moves.  Poets  feel  tliat  if  they 
feel  anything.  They  are  not  the  first 
to  feel  it,  John  Stuart  Mill  thinks, 
when  writing  Thoughts  on  Poetry 
and  its  Varieties  ;  but  allowing  the 
point  to  remain  moot,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  as  to  their  feeling  it  much  more 
keenly  than  others.  Their  gifts,  their 
unselfishness  and  their  enthusiasm 
swiftly  raise  them  above  the  aspiring 
throng.  Eapidly  they  climb  unto 
thrones  whereon  the  strong  light  of 
heaven  beats,  cheered  often  by  the 
knowledge  that  men  love  them  for  the 
best  of  them  have  the  word  humanity 
graven  deep  on  their  hearts  ;  cheered, 
too,  by  the  knowledge  that  they  will 
in  the  end  receive  such  homage  as 
kings  crave  in  vain.  And  we,  if  we 
would  gaze  upon  them  clearly  and 
steadfastly,  with  a  love,  time  cannot 
dim  or  make  mere  seeming,  if  he  would 
be  unwaveringly  loyal,  must  ovv'n  in 
our  very  souls  that  not  our  love  merely, 
not  our  loyalty  merely,  but  also  our 
charity  to  all  people  will  be  fashioned 
more  nobly  and  more  eflfectively  by 
humbly  studying  the  untold  beauties 
of  Poetry,  as  a  Fine  Art. 


258  '  SONG'S  PINIONS. 

'SONG'S  PINIONS.' 

BY  PROF.  EDGAR  BUCK,  TORONTO. 


OH  !  for  the  wings  of  the  siren  of  song, 
To  bear  me  away,  and  rest  me,  among 
The  entrancing  charms  of  melody's  strain, 
To  touch  the  heart's  depths  as  of  old,  again  ; 
With  its  rhythm  so  sweet  ! 
The  senses  to  greet ! — 
Is  it  lost  for  ever  1     Ah  !  tell  me  not  so  ! 
For  drear  would  this  earth  seem  bereft  of  its  glow. 

Oh  !  that  the  heart  could  but  realise  all 

The  fervid  pulsations  the  past  could  recall ; 

The  pleasures,  the  pains,  by  sweet  music  conveyed. 

Which  oftimes  the  depths  of  the  heart's  strings  pervade ;, 

Those  strains  of  the  past, 

AVhich  forever  will  last, 
Whose  lingering  tones,  in  soft  melody  ring, 
Whose  sadness  will  ever  fond  memories  bring. 

Oh  !  for  a  song-balm  to  soothe  the  heart's  fears, 
Its  throbbings  and  throes,  its  love-greetings  and  tears. 
Its  harmonies  deep,  struck  in  soft-sounding  chords, 
AVhose  mingling  and  changing  deep  pleasure  affords  ; 

For  ever,  loud  ringmg  ! 

For  ever,  close  clinging  ! 
In  sweetest  of  melodies,  constantly  near ; 
Giving  life  some  mystical  charm,  ever  dear. 

Those  strains  of  the  bygone  years  have  fled, 
Yet  their  influence  lives  though  the  tones  be  dead, 
And  to-day  is  revealed  with  a  living  force, 
The  power  of  song  o'er  the  heart's  remorse  ; — 

Giving  strength  to  the  soul 

To  prepare  for  that  goal, 
Where  love-strains  are  ever  and  ever  the  theme, 
Where  harmony,  wisdom,  and  peace  reign  supreme. 


REJECTED  MSS. 


259 


REJECTED  iMSS. 


'TDETURNED  with  thanks!'  The 
-1- tJ  terms  are  varied  sometimes — 
'  With  the  Editor's  compliments,'  or 
'  With  the  Editor's  compliments  and 
thanks.'  These  aie  the  carter  forms. 
There  is  no  unkind ness  in  tliem,  of 
course.  They  are  mere  business-like 
intimations  that  the  contribution  you 
have  offered  is  not  a  contribution  that 
will  suit  the  editor  of  the  magazine  you 
have  sent  your  MS.  to.  Yet,  perhaps, 
there  are  no  more  painful,  no  more 
odious,  no  more  disheartening  wonls 
in  the  vocabulary  of  literature  than 
these — 'Returned  with  thanks' — even 
when  they  are  softened  with  the  edi- 
tor's compliments  ;  and  a  few  editors, 
editors  who  perhaps  have  a  vivid  recol- 
lection of  their  own  sensations  in  re- 
ceiving back  their  rejected  MSS.,  have 
tried  to  soften  the  blow  to  sensitive 
minds  by  lengthening  the  form  a  little. 
They  regret  that  your  article  is  not 
*  suitaVjle  '  to  their  magazine,  or  that 
they  have  not  space  for  it,  and  try  in 
one  or  two  other  ways  to  save  your 
arnour  propre  in  performing  a  duty 
which,  however  performed,  must  touch 
you  to  the  quick. 

There  may,  of  course,  be  a  dozen 
reasons  for  the  rejection  of  your  ms. 
The  article  may  be  too  long.  The  sub- 
ject, however  interesting  it  may  be  to 
you,  may  not  be  of  sufficient  interest  to  . 
the  public  at  the  moment  to  make  it 
worth  the  editor's  while  to  publish  the 
article.  Or  it  may  be  upon  a  subject 
which  is  outside  the  range  of  topics  the 
editor  wishes  to  deal  with.  Or — for 
there  are  many  constructions  to  be  ])ut 
upon  the  w^ords  — the  style  in  which 
you  have  written  may  not  suit  the 
tone  of  the  magazine.  You  may  be  a 
writerof  brilliant  and  piofound  genius, 
a  Thackeray  or  a  Carlyle  ;  but  even 
Thackeray  and  Carlyle  were  as  fami- 


liar with  these  words  '  Returned  with 
thanks,'  as  the  rest  of  us.  Thackeray's 
'  Yellowplush  Papers  '  were  in  their 
day  among  the  most  sparkling  contri- 
butions to  Frasers  MagaMne.  But 
Thaclveray,  writing  an  article  in  the 
Edinhnrgh  Bevlew,  in  the  style  of  the 
Yellowplush  Papers,  had  to  .submit  to 
a  revision  at  the  hands  of  the  editor 
which  made  his  recollection  of  the 
Edinburgh  Revuio,  even  with  the  .sola- 
tium of  a  handsome  check,  anything 
but  pleasant.  Francis  Jeffrey  used  to 
cut  and  slash  at  Carlyle's  MSS. — dash. 
out  and  write  in — till  Carlyle  must 
have  been  more  than  mortal  if  he  did 
not  use  stronger  language  than  he  put 
upon  paper,  and  even  after  all  this, 
Jeffrey  apparently  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  '  Carlyle  would  not  do ' 
for  the  Edinburgh  h'evieio.  I  have  had 
MSS.  returned  again  and  again,  but  they 
have  always  found  a  publisher  in  the 
end,  and  I  have  an  impi-ession,  which 
is,  I  believe,  shared  by  many  public 
writers,  that  the  best  articles  are  those 
that  are  returned  the  of  tenest.  I  know 
they  are  sometimes  the  most  success- 
ful, and — to  compare  small  things 
with  great — that,  it  is  notorious,  has 
been  the  case  with  two  or  three  histo- 
rical works,  and  works  of  fiction  which 
before  they  were  published  were  meta- 
y)horically  scored  all  over  by  the  pub- 
lishers' readers  with  these  words,  '  lle- 
turned  with  thanks.'  It  is  said  that 
Bret  Harte  has  never  known  what  it 
is  to  have  an  article  rejected,  that 
everything  he  has  written  has  been 
taken  at  once,  and  that  he  so  enjoys 
I  his  own  woik  that  the  reading  of  his 
proofs  is  still  to  him  one  of  the  greatest 
pleasures.  I  cannot  vouch  for  the 
story,  although  it  is  very  likely  to  be 
true.  But  if  it  be,  all  I  can  say  is  that 
Bret    Harte's    experience    stands   in 


260 


REJECTED  MSS. 


marked  contrast  to  that  of  most  men 
of  genius.  There  have  been  men,  of 
course,  who  have  awoke  one  morning, 
like  Byron,  to  find  themselves  famous, 
who  have  caught  the  public  ear  by 
their  first  poem,  their  first  novel,  or 
their  first  essay,  and  kept  it  by  the 
charm  of  their  style  and  their  power 
of  genius  all  through  the  course  of  a 
long  life. 

The  late  Prime  IMinister  is  one  of 
these  men.  His  first  novel,  '  Vivian 
Grey,'  took  London  by  storm,  and  was, 
within  a  few  days  of  its  publication, 
to  be  found  in  every  boudoir  and  upon 
every  drawing-room  table.  It  was 
puffed  in  the  newspapers,  talked  about 
in  club-rooms  and  smoking-rooms, 
and  ran  through  a  succession  of  six 
editions  in  six  months.  But,  as  a  rule, 
successful  men  of  letters  owe  as  much 
to  '  the  magic  of  patience'  as  they  owe 
to  the  magic  of  genius  ;  and  even  Lord 
Beaconsfield,  with  all  his  success,  has 
had  his  mortifications  as  a  writer  no 
less  than  as  a  Parliamentary  debater 
and  statesman.  '  Contarini  Fleming  ' 
fell  still-born  from  the  press,  although 
written,  as  the  author  still  insists,  with 
deep  thovight  and  feeling ;  and  '  The 
Pevolutionary  Epick,'  a  poem  written 
under  the  glittering  minarets  and  the 
cypress  groves  of  the  last  city  of  the 
Ciesars  to  illustrate  the  rival  principles 
of  government  that  were  contending 
for  the  mastery  of  the  world,  and  to 
take  rank  with  the  Iliad,  with  the 
yEneid,  with  the  Divine  Comedy,  and 
with  Paradise  Lost,  was  printed  only 
to  line  trunks  with,  till  a  line  or  two 
happened  to  be  quoted  from  it  in  the 
House  of  Commons  thirty  years  after 
its  publication,  and  Mr.  Disraeli  re- 
printed it,  with  a  few  trifling  altera- 
tions, to  vindicate  his  consistency  as 
well  as  his  courage. 

Sir  Walter  Scott's  career  was  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  and  successful  in 
literature.  But  even  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
maiden  eflTort,  a  thin  quarto  volume  of 
*  Translations  from  tlie  Ballads  of 
Biirger,'  fell,  like  '  The  Ptevolutionary 
Epick,'  still-born  from  the  press,  and 


Scott  returned  to  his  desk  in  his  fa- 
ther's office,  to  copy  writs  and  to  brood 
over  a  ballad  of  his  own  which  should 
convince  the  world,  in  spite  of  itself, 
that  in  neglecting  his  translations  it 
had  '  neglected  something  worth  no- 
tice.' 

Charles  Dickens  is  the  only  writer  of 
distinction  in  our  time  whose  success 
at  all  resembles  Bret  Harte's,  and  the 
success,  the  prompt,  brilliant,  and  start- 
ling success  of  Charles  Dickens  stands 
in  striking  contrast  to  that  of  his  rival, 
his  greatest  and  ):>erhaps  permanently 
successful  rival,  Thackeray.  It  is  pain- 
ful to  read  Thackeray's  life — to  hear 
of  his  loss  of  fortune  in  a  harum-sca- 
rum speculation  like  that  of  his  father- 
in-law  with  The  Constitutional — of  his 
early  struggles  in  Paris  and  London — 
of  his  efforts  as  an  artist — of  Dickens's 
curt  refusal  of  his  request  to  be  allowed 
to  illustrate  '  Pickwick' — of  his  long 
meditation  and  laborious  production  of 
'  Vanity  Fair  ' —  and  of  the  way  in 
which  the  MS.  of  this  work,  a  work 
worthy  of  the  genius  that  pi'oduced 
'  Tom  Jones,'  made  its  round  of  the 
publishers'  readers,  only  to  be  returned 
with  or  without  thanks  by  all  in  turn, 
till  it  at  last  found  a])preciative  pub- 
lishers in  Bradbury  k-  Evans,  and  with 
the  help  of  an  article  in  the  Edinhurgh 
Review,  soon  became  as  popular  in  its 
yellow  wrapper  as  'Pickwick'  had  been 
in  its  green  cover. 

All  the  world  knows  the  history  of 
'  Jane  Eyre' — how  it  was  written  in 
the  gray  old  parsonage  under  the  York- 
shire hills  ;  how  the  rough  notes, 
sketched  hastily  in  pencil,  were  trans- 
scribed  in  a  neat  hand  as  legible  as 
print ;  and  how  the  ms.,  in  its  brown- 
paper  wrapper,  was  sent  oflP  from  the 
small  station-house  atlveighley  to  jiub- 
lisher  after  publisher,  only  to  find  its 
way  back  again,  '  Returned  with 
thanks,'  till  the  packet,  scored  all  over 
with  publishers'  names,  and  well-nigh 
worn  out  by  its  travels,  found  its  way 
into  the  hands  of  Messrs.  Smith  tt 
Elder,  with  a  stamped  envelope  inside 
for  a  reply.  This  story  of  *  Jane  Eyre' 


REJECTED  MSS. 


is,  with  authors  who  cannot  find  a  pub- 
lisher, one  of  the  standing  sources  of 
consolation,  and  it  is  a  very  striking 
instance  of  the  loose  way  in  which 
publishers'  readers  now  and  then  look 
through  MSS.  that  find  their  way  into 
their  hands,  even  if  it  does  not  prove 
that  publishers,  like  women,  though 
they  cant  about  genius,  cannot  divine 
its  existence  till  all  the  world  point 
with  the  hand  ;  for  Messrs.  Smith  & 
Elder's  reader  was  so  struck  with  the 
tale  that,  Scot  as  he  was,  he  sat  up  half 
the  night  to  finish  it.  But  some  allow- 
ance oughts  to  be  made  even  for  the 
readers,  for  it  must  be  dull,  tedious 
work  to  spell  out  the  plot  of  a  story,  or 
to  find  the  proofs  of  genius  in  a  loose 
pile  of  MSS.  which  you  can  hardly  per- 
haps decipher  except  with  a  glass,  and 
perhaps  not  always  with  that.  Francis 
Jeff'rey  knew  so  well  the  difficulty  of 
forming  an  opinion  upon  an  article 
from  reading  it  in  MS.,  that  in  sending 
his  first  article  to  the  Edinhuryh  Re- 
vieio,  after  he  had  relinquished  the 
editorship,  he  stipulated  that  Mx\ 
Napier  should  not  attempt  to  read  it 
till  he  could  read  it  in  type ;  and  the 
editor  of  the  Saturday  Review,  a  few 
years  ago,  i;sed  to  have  every  article 
that  seemed  at  all  worth  publishing  set 
up  in  type  before  he  made  up  his  mind 
whether  to  accept  or  reject  it.  Every- 
thing, as  Charles  Lamb  used  to  say,  is 
apt  to  read  so  raw  in  MS. 

It  is  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the 
world  to  know  how  an  article  will  read 
from   looking  at  it  in  MS.,   so  difficult 
that  even  authors  themselves,  men  of 
long  and  varied  experience,  men  like 
Mooi'e    and  Macaulay,    could  seldom 
form  an  opinion  upon  their  own  writ- 
ings, till  they  saw  how  they  looked  in 
print  And  when  that  is  the  case  with 
the  author,  how  must   it  be  with  the 
publisher  or  his  reader,  and  with  the 
editor  of    a   publication,  who  has   to    ' 
make  up  his  mind  about  the  merits  of    j 
half  a  doznn   mss.    in  the  course  of  a    \ 
morning  !  Yet,  after  all,  I  suspect  that    i 
very  few  articles  and  very  few  books 
that  are  worth  printing,  are  lost  to  the    ' 


2G1 

world,  for  the  competition  among  pub- 
lishers for  MSS.  is  only  one  degree  less 
keen  than  the  competition  among  au- 
thors for  publishers,  and  an  author  who 
has  anything  worth  printing  is  seldom 
long  without  a  pul)lisher. 

I  happen  to  know  the  secret  history 
of  a  book  which  has  long  since  taken 
its  rank  among  the  classics  of  English 
Literature — I  mean  *  EiJthen.'  It  was 
written  years  and  years  before  it  was 
published,  written  with  care  and 
thought,  revised  in  the  keenest  spirit 
of  criticism,  and  kept  under  lock  and 
key  for  a  long  time.  It  is  a  book  which, 
as  far  as  workmanship  goes,  exem- 
I^lifies  in  a  very  striking  form  Shen- 
stone's  rule  for  good  writing  — '  Spon- 
taneous thought,  laboured  expression ' 
— and  there  are  few  books  of  travel 
which  equally  abound  in  adventure, 
incident,  sketches  of  character,  and 
personal  romance.  It  is,  as  Lockhart 
well  said,  an  English  classic.  But  when 
Alexander  Kinglake  offered  it  to  the 
publishers,  they  refused  it  one  and  all, 
refused  it  upon  any  terms,  and  the  au- 
thor at  last,  out  of  conceit  with  his  MS. 
and  perhaps  with  himself,  walked  into 
a  bookseller's  shop  in  Pall  Mall,  ex- 
plained the  adventures  of  the  Ms.,  and 
made  it  a  present  to  the  publisher  if 
he  thought  it  worth  printing.  The  first 
edition  lingered  a  little  on  his  hands, 
till  a  notice  in  the  Quarterly  Revieiv, 
from  the  pen  of  Lockhart,  called  atten- 
tion to  it,  and  the  printer's  difficulty 
after  that  was  to  keep  pace  with  the 
demand.  I  hope  I  am  not  violating 
any  confidence  by  adding  that  the  pub- 
lisher, year  by  year,  for  many  years, 
sent  ]\Ir.  Kinglake  a  check  for  100^. 
every  Christmas  Day. 

Thomas  Campbell,  the  poet,  attend- 
ing a  publisher's  dinner,  once  rose  and 
asked  permission  to  propose  a  toast. 
The  toast  was  to  'Napoleon  Bonaparte.' 
'  Why  are  we  to  drink  his  health  1 ' 
asked  the  host.  '  Because  he  shot  a 
bookseller,'  replied  the  poet ;  and  it 
was  in  the  spirit  of  this  story  that 
Peter  Parley  once  compared  publishers 
to  Odin  and  Thor,  drinking  their  wine 


262 


REJECTED  MSS. 


from  the  skulls  of  authors.  But  if 
publishers,  like  the  rest  of  us,  now  and 
then  make  a  mistake  in  returning  MSS., 
this  anecdote,  which  does  not  stand 
alone,  proves,  I  think,  that  when  they 
make  a  hit  with  a  MS.  they  know  how 
to  share  their  success  with  the  author. 

Anthony  Trollo[>e  is  one  of  the  most 
popular  and  successful  writers  of  our 
day.  He  is  one  of  the  few  men  who 
have  made  a  fortune  by  their  pens. 
Yet  it  seems  only  like  yesterday  that 
Anthony  Trollope,  attending  a  dinner 
given  to  him  upon  his  retirement  from 
the  Post-oliice,  drew  a  graphic  sketch 
of  his  early  experiences  in  literature,  of 
MSS.  rejected  by  the  editors  of  maga- 
zines, of  -MSS.  accepted  and  published, 
and  not  paid  for,  or  paid  for  in  a  way 
which  v/as  worse  than  no  payment  at 
all,  and  of  the  monetary  result  of  his 
first  few  years'  laboui",  12/.  os.  Thd.  one 
year,  '20L  2s.  6d.  anolhei-.  It  was  said 
of  Murray,  'silver-tongued  Murray,' 
that  he  never  knew  the  difference  be- 
tween no  professional  income  and 
3000?.  a  year,  and  that  was  the  case 
with  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  Charles 
Dickens.  But  cases  like  this  of  An- 
thony Trollope's  are,  I  suspect,  much 
commoner  than  those  of  Scott  and 
Dickens. 

Charles  Dickens  used  to  pooh-pooh 
the  notion  of  Lions  in  the  Path  in  the 
pursuit  of  literature,  and  he  pooh- 
poohed  it  with  good  reason,  for  I  doubt 
if  he  ever  experienced  the  feeling  which 
most  other  men  of  his  kind  have  felt  at 
the  sight  of  a  Rejected  MS.  ;  and  from 
the  day  when,  with  the  Neio  Monthly 
in  his  hand,  he  turned  into  Westmins- 
ter Hall,  with  tears  in  his  eyes  to  read 
his  fii'st  contribution  to  a  magazine, 
till  the  afternoon  when  he  laid  down 
his  pen  upon  the  unfinished  page  of 
*  Edwin  Drood,'  the  career  of  Charles 
Dickens  was  a  long  and  uninterrupted 
succession  of  triumphs.  But  there  is 
hardly  another  writer  of  Dickens'  ge- 
nius who  could  not  turn  to  his  pigeon- 
holes and  fish  out  ms.  after  ms.  that  had 
made  the  round  of  the  magazines  or 
the   publishers.     Even   Bret  Harte's 


own  countryman,  John  Lothrop  Mot- 
ley, the  greatest  historian  America  has 
yet  pi-oduced,  had  the  mortification  to 
see  his  ms.  of  '  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch 
Republic '  returned  '  With  Mr.  Mur- 
ray's compliments  and  thanks'  before 
he  could  find  a  publisher  for  a  work 
which  now  ranks  with  the  most  bril- 
liant and  successful  narratives  of  our 
time.  This  was  INIotley's  second  disap- 
pointment with  his  MS.  His  first  was 
the  intelligence,  when  he  had  spent 
several  years  in  collecting  his  mate- 
rials and  in  sketching  the  outline  of 
his  History,  that  Prescott,  with  a 
'  Life  of  Philip  the  Second,'  was  anti- 
cipating him.  The  intelligence  almost 
took  the  soul  of  Motley.  '  It  seemed  to 
me,'  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters,  '  that 
I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  abandon  at 
once  a  cherished  dream,  and  probably 
to  renounce  authorship.  For  I  had 
not  made  up  my  mind  to  write  a  his- 
tory, and  then  cast  about  to  take  up  a 
subject.  My  subject  had  taken  me  up, 
and  drawn  me  on,  and  absorbed  me 
into  itself.  It  was  necessary  for  me,  it 
seemed,  to  write  the  book  I  had  been 
thinking  much  of,  and  I  had  no  incli- 
nation or  interest  to  write  any  other.' 
Yet  Motley  thought  upon  reflection 
that  it  would  be  disloyal  on  his  part 
not  to  go  to  Prescott  at  once  and  ex- 
plain his  position,  and  if  he  should  find 
a  shadow  of  dissatisfaction  on  his  mind 
to  abandon  his  plan  altogether.  Pres- 
cott, one  of  the  most  generous  of  men, 
acted  with  Motley  as  Sir  Walter  Scoct 
acted  on  a  similar  occasion  with  Ro- 
bert Chambers,  and  gave  him  every 
encouragement  and  help  he  could. 
'  Had  the  result  of  the  interview  been 
different,'  said  Motley,  '  I  should  have 
gone  from  him  with  a  chill  upon  my 
mind,  and,  no  doubt,  have  laid  down 
the  pen  at  once  ;  for  it  was  not  that  I 
cared  about  writing  a  history,  but  that 
I  felb  an  inevitable  impulse  to  wi'ite 
one  history.' 

This  was  very  much  the  case  with 
Carlyle  and  his  '  History  of  the  French 
Revolution.'  Lord  Brougham  had  the 
idea    of    writing   a    '  History  of   the 


Jl 


REJECTED  MSS. 


2G3 


French  Revolution  '  in  his  head  for 
years,  and  if  he  could  have  found  time 
for  the  requisite  investigations  he 
would  have  done  it,  for  next  to  elo- 
•quence  his  greatest  ambition  was  to 
rank  as  an  historian,  and  he  thought 
he  possessed  a  special  gift,  equal  to 
Livy's,  for  narrative.  The  secret  his- 
tory of  Carlyle's  work  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  of  its  kind  in  litera- 
ture. There  is  even  a  touch  of  pathos 
about  it,  for  after  the  work  had  been 
completed,  ofiered  to  a  publisher,  and 
returned,  like  Motley's,  '  With  Mr. 
Murray's  compliments  and  thanks,' 
the  MS.  found  its  way  into  the  hands 
of  John  Stuart  Mill  for  perusal,  and 
through  Mill  into  the  hands  of  a  person 
who  expressed  a  great  curiosity  to  see 
it,  '  This  person  sat  up  persuing  it  far 
into  the  wee  hours  of  the  morning ; 
and  at  length  recollecting  herself,  sur- 
prised at  the  flight  of  time,  laid  the 
MS.  carelessly  upon  the  library  table 
and  hied  to  bed.  There  it  hiy,  a  loose 
heap  of  rubbish,  fit  only  for  the  waste- 
paper  basket  or  for  the  grate.  So  Betty, 
the  housemaid,  thought  when  she  came 
to  light  the  library  fire  in  the  morning. 
Looking  around  for  something  suitable 
for  her  purpose,  and  finding  nothing 
better  than  that,  she  thrust  it  into  the 
grate,  and  applying  the  match '  (as 
Carlyle  said  recently  when  giving  an 
account  of  the  mishap),  '  up  the  chim- 
ney, with  a  sparkle  and  roar,  went 
"The  French  Revolution;"  thus  end- 
ing in  smoke  and  soot,  as  the  great 
transaction  itself  did  moi-e  than  a  half 
century  ago.  At  first  they  fovboi^e  to 
tell  me  the  evil  tidings  ;  but  at  length 
I  heard  the  dismal  story,  and  I  was 
as  a  man  staggered  by  a  heavy  blow 
.  .  I  was  as  a  man  beside  myself, 
for  there  was  scarcely  a  page  of  3is. 
left.  I  sat  down  at  the  table  and 
strove  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and  to 
commence  the  work  again.  I  filled  page 
after  page,  but  ran  the  ])en  over  every 
line  as  the  page  finished.  Thus  was  it 
for  many  a  weary  day,  until  at  last,  as 
I  sat  b3'^  the  window,  half-hearted  and 
dejected,  my  eye  wandered  along  over 


acres  of  roofs,  I  saw  a  man  standing 
upon  a  scaffold,  engaged,  in  building  a 
wall — the  wall  of  a  house.  With  his 
trowel  he  would  lay  a  great  splash  of 
mortar  upon  the  last  layer,  and  then 
Ijrick  after  Ijrick  would  be  deposited 
I  upon  this,  striking  each  with  the  butt 
■  of  his  trowel,  as  if  to  give  it  his  bene- 
diction and  farewell;  and  all  the  while 
singing  or  whistling  as  blithe  as  a 
lark.  And  in  my  spleen  1  said  within 
myself,  "Poor  fool !  how  canst  thou  be 
so  merry  under  such  a  bile-spotted 
atmosphere  as  this,  and  everything 
I  rushing  into  the  regions  of  the  inanel" 
and  then  I  bethought  me,  and  I  said  to 
myself,  "  Poor  fool  thou,  rather,  that 
sittest  here  by  the  window  whining  and 
complaining.  What  if  thy  house  of 
cards  falls  1  Is  the  universe  wrecked 
for  that  1  The  man  yonder  builds  a 
house  that  shall  be  a  house  for  gener- 
ations. Men  will  be  born  in  it,  wed- 
ded in  it,  and  biiried  from  it ;  and  the 
voice  of  weeping  and  of  mirth  shall  be 
heard  within  its  walls ;  and  mayhap 
true  valour,  prudence,  and  faith  shall 
be  nursed  by  its  hearthstone.  Man  ! 
symbol  of  eternity  imprisoned  into 
time !  it  is  not  thy  works,  which  are  all 
mortal,  infinitely  little,  and  the  great- 
est no  greater  than  the  least,  but  only 
the  spirit  thou  workest  in  which  can 
have  worth  or  continuance.  Up,  then, 
at  thy  work,  and  be  cheerful."  So  I 
arose  and  washed  my  face  and  felt  that 
my  head  was  anointed,  and  gave  my- 
self to  relaxation — to  what  they  call 
"light  literature."  I  read  nothing  but 
novels  for  weeks.  I  was  surrounded 
by  heaps  of  rubbish  and  chaff.  I  read 
all  the  novels  of  that  person  who  was 
once  a  captain  in  the  Royal  Navy — 
an  extraordinary  ornament  he  must 
have  been  to  it ;  the  man  that  wrote 
stories  about  dogs  that  had  their  tails 
cut  off,  and  about  people  in  search  of 
their  fathers  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
of  all  the  extraordinary  dunces  that 
had  figured  upon  the  jjlanet  he  must 
certainly  bear  the  palm  from  ever/  one 
save  the  readers  of  his  books.  And 
thus  refreshed  I  took  heart  of    ;race 


!64< 


REJECTED  MSS. 


again,  applied  me  to  my  work,  and  in 
course  of  time  '•  The  French  Revolu- 
tion" got  linished — as  all  things  must 
sooner  or  later.'  The  story  is,  I  believe, 
unique  in  literature.  But  even  this 
story  with  '  The  History  of  the  French 
Eevolution'  was  only  one  episode  in 
its  histoiy.  It  was  easier  to  produce 
the  lost  MS.  from  chaos  than  to  find  a 
publisher  for  it ;  and  in  the  recently 
published  '  Letters  of  Mr.  Macvey 
Napier,'  there  are  two  or  three  notes  of 
Carlyle's  about  his  unsuccessful  nego- 
tiations with  publishers — publishers  in 
Paternoster  Row,  publishers  in  Fleet 
Street,  publishers  in  Albemarle  Street. 
Mr.  Napier  gave  Carlyle  a  letter  of  in- 
troduction to  Mr.  Rees,  in  the  hope 
that  he  might  publish  the  work,  and 
Mr.  Rees  received  Carlyle  with  court- 
esy. But  that  was  all.  He  did  not 
care  about  his  MS.  '  The  public  had 
ceased  to  buy  books.'  Murray  was  tried 
again  with  a  fresh  introduction,  and 
Murray  for  a  time  seemed  likely  to  rise 
to  the  bait.  But  Murray,  in  the  end, 
like  Rees,  returned  the  MS.  '  The 
Charon  of  Albemarble  Street  drust  not 
risk  it  in  his  sxiti.is  cymha.  So  it  leaped 
ashore  again.' 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Paternoster 
Row,  that  the  ms.  of  '  Lingard's  His- 
tory '  had  to  go  through  a  similar 
course  of  difficulties  before,  like  Car- 
lyle's, it  found  a  publisher;  and  Lin- 
gvrd,  Carlyle  and  Motley  do  not  stand 
alone  with  their  rejected  MSS. 

Lord  Macaulay  did  not  publish  his 
History  till  his  contributions  to  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  his  Lays,  and  his 
speeches  in  the  House  of  Commons 
had  made  his  name  known  all  over  the 
British  Isles,  in  America,  in  every  bun- 
galow in  India,  in  every  log  hut  in  the 
Yalley  of  the  Hawkesbury,  and  till  he 
knew  perfectly  well  beforehand,  that 
if  he  could  only  realize  his  ideal,  and 
write  the  History  of  England  iii  the 
vivid  and  picturesque  style  of  his  Es- 
says and  his  Lays,  he  was  sure  of 
achieving  the  end  he  had  set  his  heart 
upon,  that  of  being  read  with  as  much 


interest  and  zest  as  one  of  Dickens's 
novels. 

But  even  Macaulay  had  a  skeleton^ 
a  literary  skeleton,  in  his  cupboard — 
to  wit,  rejected  mss.,  two  or  three  sets- 
of  them — MSS.  which  have  not  been 
printed  to  this  day. 

And  that  was  the  case  with  Brough- 
am. Brougham  insisted  that  two  of 
Macaixlay's  articles,  an  article  on  the 
French  Revolution,  and  another  on 
Chatham,  should  be  put  aside  in  favour 
of  one  of  his  own,  because,  in  his  opi- 
nion, no  writer  upon  the  staff  of  the 
Edinburgh  Review  was  competent  to 
deal  with  French  politics  but  himself, 
and  because,  if  his  sentences  were  not 
in  Macaulay 's  '  snip-snap  style,'  he 
could  produce  a  more  truthful  and  an 
equally  picturesque  article.  But  even 
Brougham  in  his  turn  had  to  break 
open  packets  of  mss.  to  find,  instead  of 
a  proof,  one  of  those  curt  announce- 
ments which  sound  like  a  knell  to  all 
the  hopes  of  a  sensitive  soul — '  Re- 
turned with  thanks.' 

Even  Jefii-ey — Francis  Jeffrey,  the 
omniscient  and  versatile  Jeffrey — 
knew  these  sensations,  and  in  those 
rooms  in  Buccleugh  Place  where  Syd- 
ney Smith,  Horner,  Brougham  and 
Murray  met  to  talk  over  the  sugges- 
tion for  establishing  the  Edinburgh 
Review,  there  were  three  or  four  mss. 
lying  about  which  had  been  sent  to  all 
the  existing  magazines  and  returned, 
Jeffrey  had  six  articles  in  the  first 
number  of  the  '  bufl"  and  blue,'  and 
two  or  three  of  these,  I  shrewdly  sus- 
pect, were  articles  that  were  perfectly 
familiar  with  the  post-bag  of  the  Lon- 
don and  Edinburgh  coach,  and  knew 
what  it  was  to  be  tossed  about  with 
cigar-ends  and  Odes  to  the  Spring,  in 
a  waste-paper  basket. 

These  illustrations  might  be  multi- 
plied ad  i)ijinitum.  But  I  must  stop. 
And  yet  there  is  one  more  instance 
which  ought  to  be  mentioned,  because 
it  is  an  instance  that  carries  a  moral 
with  it  to  those  who  think  of  making 
literature  a    profession.     I  refer    to- 


VICTORIA. 


2G5' 


Georoje  Henry  Lewes,  the  founder  of 
the  Fortmyhtlij  Review.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  thou<];htful  and  careful  of 
writers,  a  man  who  lield  that  precision 
of  thought  and  expression  alone  con- 
stitute good  writing.  Yet  George 
Henry  Lewes  had  one  of  the  first  arti- 
cles which  he  sent  to  the  Edinhnrgh 
Review  returned  by  the  editor  to  be 
rewritten  all  through,  and  the  second 
edition  was  so  far  superior  to  the  first, 
even  in  the  opinion  of  its  author,  that 
he  never  after  sent  his  first  hrouillon 
to  press,  but  invariably  wrote  every- 
thing twice,  and  sometimes  thrice  be- 
fore he  thought  of  submitting  it  to  an 
editor.  The  consequence  was,  of  course, 
that  he  seldom  had  a  MS.  returned.  He 
constituted  himself  his  own  editor,  and 
returned  his  own  mss.  It  is  an  admir- 
able plan,  and  if  with  that  plan  men 
would  only  act  upon  Dr.  Johnson's 
advice,  and  strike  out  of  their  articles 
everything  that  they  think  particularly 
fine,  we  should  hear  a  good  deal  less 


than  we  do  at  present  of  *  rejected 
MSS.'  Any  one  can  scribble — if  he  only 
knows  how  to  spell ;  but  writing  is  an 
art — one  of  the  fine  arts — and  the  men 
who  have  had  the  fewest  mss.  returned 
are  the  men  who  have  taken  the  great- 
est pains  with  their  work  :  Macaulay, 
for  instance,  who  wrote  and  rewrote 
some  of  his  essays,  long  as  they  are, 
three  times  over  ;  Albany  Fonblanque, 
the  most  brilliant  and  successful  of 
English  journalists,  who  wrote  and  re- 
wrote many  of  his  articles  in  the  Ex- 
aminer newspaper  six  and  seven  times, 
till,  like  Boileau,  he  had  sifted  his 
article  of  everything  but  the  choicest 
thoughts  and  expressions.  Perhaps  if 
all  writers  did  this,  we  should  have 
shorter  articles  and  fewer  books  ;  but 
moi-e  articles  that  now  perish  with  a 
single  reading  might  be  worth  reprint- 
ing, and  more  books  might  stand  a 
chance  of  descending  to  posterity. — 
Belgravia  Magazine. 


VICTORIA. 

BY   A.    r.    WILLIAMS. 


[The  follomng  Sonnet,  cut  from  the  N.  Y.  Tribune,  deserves  a  place  in  these  pages,  not; 
only  for  its  beauty,  but  as  it  voices  the  gratitude  of  the  American  people  for  that  expression 
of  active  sympathy,  on  the  part  of  the  Queen  and  the  British  nation,  in  the  lamented  death  of 
President  (iarfield,  which  was  so  marked  an  outcome  of  the  sad  occurrence.  We  transfer  the- 
sonnet  with  pleasure  to  our  columns. — Eu.  C.  M.] 

O  QUEEN  I — Nay  more  than  queen — 0  woman  grand  ! 
The  brightest  jewels  in  thy  diadem 

Grow  dim  before  thy  tears.     Recrowned  by  them 
The  woman  ranks  the  queen,  and  doth  command 
A  stricken  Nation's  love.     The  Motherland 

Seems  nearer  now,  since  o'er  the  ocean's  swell 

Was  borne  the  sound  of  our  sad,  tolling  bell. 
And  thou  and  thine  mourners  with  us  did  stand. 
God  save  the  Queen  !  —The  queen  and  woman,  too  ! 
Grant  length  of  days,  a  happy,  peaceful  reign, 

To  one  who  joined  with  us  in  sorrow  true. 
And  bowed  her  crowned  head  above  our  slain. 

Henceforth,  upon  her  shield  this  legend  stands  : 

'Tis  better,  far,  to  conquer  hearts  than  lands. 


l()ij 


THE  PERSOyAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


THE  PERSONAL  HESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS* 


BY  ALEXANDER  TAYLOR  IXXES. 


RESPONSIBILITY  is  a  general 
and  abstract  word.  There  is 
probably  no  more  celebrated  illustra- 
tion of  wh;it  it  means  than  in  a  passa,£;e 
written  by  a  great  statesniiui  now  de- 
ceased. In  that  paragraph  M.  Thiers, 
when  sketching  the  qualities  necessary 
for  success  in  war,  brings  vividly  be- 
fore us  the  tremendous  issues  that 
hang,  moment  by  moment,  upon  the 
genius,  the  strength  of  will,theprompt- 
ness,  and  the  presence  of  mind  of  a 
general  on  the  day  of  battle.  There, 
if  anywhere,  is  the  highest  responsi- 
bility to  be  realized.  But  there  was 
one  day  when  peaceful  Scotland,  un- 
der the  sun  of  a  most  plenteous  har- 
vest, showed  as  if  upon  the  morning 
after  a  battle  or  a  bombardment.  In 
every  direction  was  found  either  the 
bewilderment  of  suspense  or  the  be- 
wilderment of  despair.  The  bx-avest 
held  his  breath  as  he  saw  his  neigh- 
bour, a  more  cautious  and  a  kindlier 
man  than  himself,  struck  down  at  his 
right  hand,  or  watched  on  his  left  how 
serried  filesof  men,  connected  in  family 
or  business  ties,  were  prostrated  by  an 
undiscriminating  blow.  In  almost 
every  town  and  hamlet  of  the  land, 
however  far  from  the  centre  of  explo- 
sion, there  stood  some  liome  unroofed 


•  This  paper,  by  an  eminent  Scotch  solici- 
tor and  writer  on  legal  topics,  is  reprinted 
from  the  Contemporary  Rcvicvj,  for  January, 
187i',  as  a  contribution  on  a  suVjject  of  some 
jjresent  interest  to  holders  of  stock  in  Cana- 
dian banks.  Its  local  references,  to  bank  dis- 
asters in  Scotland  and  the  litiijation  to  which 
these  gave  rise,  do  not  detract  from  the  in- 
terest of  the  article,  nor  make  its  ajjplication 
less  pointed,  in  the  case  of  those  who  accept 
positions  of  trust  in  Banking  or  other  public 
institutions  in  Canada.— Ed.  C.  M. 


and  torn  open  to  the  hard  gaze  of  pub- 
lic curiosity  and  public  comjiassion.  It 
is  true  that  the  sufferers  did,  in  pub- 
lic and  in  private,  show  resignation  to 
God  and  constancy  before  men,  even 
beyond  belief  ;  but  how  many  lives, 
maimed  and  all  but  cut  in  two,  crept 
away  beyond  our  ken  into  a  seclusion 
where  hope  and  energy  are  slowly  eb- 
bing from  the  wounded  spirit  !  Peace, 
we  know,  hath  her  victories  no  less 
than  war.  Apparently,  she  has  also, 
like  war,  her  reverses  and  defeats : 
and  hers  are  equally  ghastly. 

It  would  seem,  then,  not  too  much 
to  say  that  the  responsibilties  of  a  bank 
director  may  be  as  great  as  those  of  a 
general  in  the  field.  They  may  at  least 
be  so  in  a  country  like  Scotland,  where 
unlimited  responsibility  is  the  basis  of 
large  and  popular  joint-stock  com- 
panies. I  do  not  say  that  his  respon- 
sibilities are  of  the  same  nature.  I  do 
not  say  that  the  rules — the  plain  and 
simple  rviles  as  some  are  bold  to  call 
them — of  banks,  institutions  which, 
according  to  one  definition,  receive  and 
invest  money,  or  which,  according  to 
another,  buy  and  sell  money — I  do 
not,  of  course,  admit  that  these  duties 
ever  infer,  necessarily  or  legitimately, 
the  speculative  uncertainties  of  the 
great  game  of  war.  But  on  the  other 
haiid,  having  used  this  illustration,  it 
is  only  fair,  in  parting  with  it,  to  ob- 
serve one  point  of  resemblance,  and 
one  of  contrast,  with  the  thing  signi- 
fied. We  all  know  that  there  are 
generals  who,  as  in  the  greatest  battle 
of  our  -age,  succeed  to  the  responsi- 
bilities which  others  have  created  or 
abandoned,  who  find  themselves,  like 


ll 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRilCTORS. 


2G7 


that  hapless  Imperialist,  hemmed  in 
by  a  narrowing  circle  of  iron,  and  who 
have  scarcely  lifted  the  baton  of  the 
fallen  marshal  before  they  are  con- 
fronted with  the  alternatives  of  a  hope- 
less strugEjle  or  a  horrible  capitula- 
tion. And  the  word  I  have  just  used 
is  not  too  strong.  For  in  this  particu- 
lar point  the  horrors  of  war  yield  to 
the  darker  i-esponsibilities  of  false  or 
guilty  finance.  The  general  in  the 
tield  who  stops  the  fighting  thereby 
stops  the  carnage.  But  he  who, 
whether  weakly  or  wickedly,  leads 
the  shareholdei's  of  a  bank  along  the 
road  of  ruin,  knows  at  least  that  only 
to  stay  his  steps  is  to  invoke  destruc- 
tion, and  that  at  the  moment  when 
he  lifts  the  white  Hag  of  surrender 
above  those  who  have  trusted  and 
followed  him,  he  must  bring  down 
upon  their  heads,  by  his  individual 
and  perhaps  meritorious  act,  the  long- 
deferred  and  desolating  storm. 

In  this  paper,  however,  I  am  to 
treat  of  the  responsibility  of  bank  di- 
rectors^— and  only  of  their  personal  re- 
sponsibility— not  in  a  popular,  but  in 
a  strict,  and,  indeed,  in  a  purely  legal, 
sense. 

Responsibility  means  the  obligation 
of  a  man  to  answer  for  a  thing.  Every 
private  man  answers  for  his  own  acts. 
But  when  a  man  holds  an  otfice,  like 
that  of  a  bank  director,  he  may  have 
to  answer  in  two  capacities.  For  his 
othcial  acts  he  is  responsible  as  di- 
rector with  his  brother  directors,  and 
on  behalf  of  the  bank.  In  this  othcial 
responsi1)ility,  which,  of  coarse,  is  the 
usual  case,  he  does  not  answer  with 
his  own  ])rivate  means,  but  with  the 
funds  of  the  bank,  and  to  the  extent  to 
which  it  has  funds,  and  no  farther. 
But  there  are  acts  which  a  bank  di- 
rector may  do,  either  acting  in  his 
ollicial  capacity,  or  pi-ofessing  to  act 
in  his  olhcial  capacity,  and  at  least 
using  his  official  powers  and  oppor- 
tunities, acts  for  which  the  director 
is  responsible  as  an  individual.  The 
bank  also  may  in  some  cases  be  made 


thereby  responsible,  and  in  others  it 
may  not.  There  is  imjjortant  law  upon 
that  i)oint,  with  which  I  am  not  in 
this  discussion  called  upon  to  deal. 
But  whether  the  bank  is  responsible 
for  such  acts  or  not,  the  director  is 
responsible  for  them  as  an  individual, 
and  lie  must  answer  for  them  with  his 
own  means,  and  in  his  own  person. 

In  his  person  he  answers  to  the 
public  or  criminal  law ;  a  matter  with 
which,  for  obvious  reasons,  I  do  not 
meddle.  With  his  means  he  answers 
an  inquiry  which  may  be  less  august 
in  external  form,  but  which  is  far 
finer  and  more  searching  in  the  appli- 
cation of  the  princi{)les  of  law.  For 
criminal  law  winks  at  many  things 
which  have  not  attained  a  magnitude 
or  publicity  to  attract  its  sword.  But 
the  law  of  private  responsibility  ex- 
tends to  the  smallest  coin  of  which  any 
individual  within  or  without  the  bank 
has  been  wrongfully  deprived  ;  and  it 
runs,  therefore,  sooner  or  later  into  a 
system,  of  which  the  roots  are  deep 
and  the  branches  are  many.  Now 
such  a  system  Great  Britain  possesses 
in  its  greater  form  of  English  and  its 
smaller  of  Scotch  law.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, these  two  laws  are  independent  of 
each  other — as  truly  so  as  the  law  of 
France  and  the  law  of  Japan.  But 
practically,  according  to  a  principle 
not  unlike  that  of  the  difinsion  of 
gases,  jurisprudences,  which  are  near 
each  other  in  locality,  resemble  each 
other  in  spirit,  especially  in  matters 
which,  like  this,  depend  upon  univer- 
sal equity  more  than  upon  statute,  or 
history,  or  custom.  And,  curiously 
enough,  the  law  of  Scotland,  which  on 
this  matter  happened  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  whole  island,  has  in 
this  branch  of  it  one  distinct  advan- 
tage for  tlie  student.  I  do  not  mean 
the  minor  circumstance  that  all  Scotch 
courts  are  courts  both  of  law  and 
equity,  and  that  the  severance  in  the 
law  of  England  which  embarrasses 
strangers,  and  I  think  must  some- 
times perplex  English  laymen,  has  no 
place  in  the  other.     The  special  ad- 


268 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


vantage  which  this  brancli  of  the  law 
has  in  Scotland  is  that  of  a  certain 
separateness  and  priority.  The  facts 
are  rather  curious.  Tliere  is  also  al- 
most no  reported  case  on  the  respon- 
sibility of  directors  in  the  Scotch 
courts  before  1850.  But  from  that 
date  down  to  about  18G5,  tliere  is  a 
succession  of  important  cases,  which, 
iinless  I  am  mistaken,  have  built  up 
something  like  a  law  upon  the  subject, 
a  law  not  of  coui'se  perfect,  but  yet 
solid  and  complete  so  far  as  it  goes. 
Now,  I  do  not  say  that  there  was  no- 
thing on  this  sul>ject  in  the  much 
larger  and  richer  law  of  England  dur- 
ing all  these  years  before  1865.  But 
there  was  comparatively  little  either 
before  or  during  the  fifteen  years 
which  then  closed,  in  comparison  with 
what  has  followed.  For  in  1865  the 
crash  of  Overend,  Gurney  &  Co.  inau- 
gurated a  second  period  of  fifteen  years 
now  ending — a  period  in  which  the 
English  law  has  been  as  rich  in  cases 
as  the  immediately  previous  period 
had  been  in  Scotland  ;  while  during  it 
the  northern  part  of  the  island  has 
scarcely  seen  another  case  in  i-ts  courts. 
I  propose  in  this  {)aper  to  sketch  the 
position  attained  ten  years  ago  by  the 
law  of  Scotland  as  a  small  but  inde- 
pendent jurisprudence  where  equity 
liHs  never  been  separated  from  law ; 
and  afterwards  to  complete  the  sub- 
ject by  reference  to  more  recent  cases 
in  the  law  of  England,  whei'e  equity 
has  been  studied  as  a  separate  depart- 
ment indeed,  but  studied  by  men  of 
consummate  power,  and  with  an  in- 
tensity and  care  scai-cely  equalled  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Border. 

The  law  of  iScotland  on  the  personal 
responsibility  of  bank  directors  was 
built  up  within  a  period  of  fifteen 
years,  extending  from  the  year  1850. 
In  that  year  an  action  was  brought, 
not  against  directors,  but  against  a 
bank,  and  demanding  that  it  should  be 
declared  dissolved  on  the  ground  of 
losses  to  an  amount  specified  in  the 
contract.  The  answer  made  was,  that 
these  losses  did  not  appear  in  the  pub- 


lic balance-sheets,  and  that  the  rules 
of  the  bank  prohibited  investigation 
into  its  books.  The  rejoinder  was, 
that  the  balance-sheets  issued  by  the 
directors  were  false,  and  that  the  di- 
rectors, in  the  transactions  which  the 
balance-sheets  ought  to  have  summa- 
rized, but  did  not,  had  been  guilty  of 
gross  fraud  and  irregularity.  The  Court 
found  that  the  usual  clauses  as  to 
secrecy  will  not  exclude  investigation, 
*  where  a  positive  averment  is  made 
that  the  books  are  fraudulently  con- 
cocted to  conceal  the  true  position  of 
affairs.  Sitting  here  as  a  Court  both 
of  law  and  equity,  there  is  nothing  in 
the  contract  which  enticles  us  to  re- 
fuse this  investigation.'*  Such  a  find- 
ing plainly  opens  the  door  to  cases  of 
more  direct  personal  responsibility. 
And,  accordingly,  next  year,  in  the 
case  of  the  Banking  Company  of 
Aberdeen, t  two  of  the  most  important 
points  in  the  whole  subject  with  which 
we  deal  were  at  once  decided.  That 
was  an  action  brought  by  a  shareholder 
against  the  directors  of  a  bank  per- 
sonally, demanding  reparation  for  the 
loss  he  had  sustained.  It  was  founded 
upon  alleged  fraudulent  transactions 
by  the  directors,  cari'ied  on  in  order  to 
promote  the  private  interests  of  them- 
selves and  their  connections — transac- 
tions which  were  said  to  be  covered  by 
concealment  and  misrepresentation  in 
reports,  paying  dividends  out  of  capi- 
tal, and  keeping  false  and  irregular 
books.  Now,  when  a  man  makes  such 
charges,  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  is 
entitled  to  reparation  from  somebody 
for  his  loss.  But  the  first  question  is, 
From  whom  1  In  this  Aberdeen  case 
there  were  twelve  directors,  but  the 
action  was  only  brought  against  five  of 
them.  It  was  pleaded,  You  must  call 
the  others,  and  you  must  also  call  the 
company  itself  for  its  interest.  The 
Court  said,  No.   You  are  not  bound  to 

*  The  North  British  Bank,  18  December, 
1850.  13  Dunlop's  Reports  of  Court  of  Ses- 
sion Cases,  p.  349. 

t  17  December,  1851.  14  Dunlop's  Re- 
ports, p.  213. 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


269 


<lo  so,  in  an  action  founded  on  fraud. 
Fraud  is  a  personal  tiling,  and  you 
iiave  a  right  to  go  against  men,  in  re- 
spect of  it,  individually.  If  you  think 
that  some  of  them  are  not  so  guilty, 
or  that  it  will  not  be  so  easy  to  prove 
some  of  them  guilty,  or  that  some  of 
them,  though  equally  guilty,  have  not 
as  much  money  to  make  re]3aration 
with, — in  all  these  cases  you  may 
select  your  victim.  You  may  get  full 
redress  from  him  for  your  full  loss, 
leaving  it  to  him  to  find  a  remedy 
against  others  who  had  been  associated 
with  him.  And,  secondly,  as  repara- 
tion may  be  demanded  from  one  or 
more  of  the  directors,  so  it  may  be 
demanded  by  one  or  more  of  the  share- 
holders. In  this  case  the  action  was 
brought  by  one  shareholder,  and  the 
Court  rejected  the  plea  that  he  must 
take  the  company  with  him.  And 
eince  that  date  the  law  has  been  fixed, 
that  any  one  shareholder  can  recover 
from  any  one  director  the  whole  loss 
caused  to  himself  by  the  fraud  in 
which  that  director  can  be  proved  to 
have  been  sole  actor  or  participant. 

But  in  order  to  found  such  unlimit- 
ed responsibility,  you  must  clearly 
prove  the  personal  act  or  personal  par- 
ticipation of  the  director.  And  on 
this  rock  the  case,  in  which  the  gene- 
ral law  was  laid  down,  afterwards 
split.  It  was  found  that,  although 
they  selected  five  out  of  the  twelve  di- 
rectors, they  had  not  made  their  state- 
ments against  any  of  them  sufficiently 
precise.  They  had  been  satisfied  with 
a  genex'al  charge  of  'joint  and  several 
liability  '  for  a  course  of  acting  extend- 
ing over  a  number  of  years,  and  the 
Court  refused  even  to  send  this  to  a 
jury.  They  held  that,  as  ailpa  tenet 
snos  audores,  every  act  of  wrong 
charged  must  be  brought  distinctly 
and  articulately  home  to  the  party 
■coniBaitting  it.  And  the  importance  of 
this,  as  the  next  step  in  tlie  develop- 
ment of  the  law,  was  brought  out  by 
the  contrast  between  two  cases  against 
the  directors  of  the  same  bank — this 


case  of  Leslie,*  which  failed,  and  that 
of  Tulloch,t  which  succeeded.  In  the 
later  and  more  successful  case,  the 
general  rule  already  laid  down  in  that 
which  preceded,  that  any  shareholder 
can  sue  any  director  on  fraud,  without 
calling  the  other  directors  or  the  com- 
pany, was  literally  acted  upon ;  and 
its  authority  was  confirmed  without 
difficulty  by  the  House  of  Lords,  sit- 
ting as  a  Court  of  Scotch  Law.  And 
in  this  case  it  was  found,  also,  that 
the  statements  made  against  the  one 
director  were  sufficiently  specific  to 
send  to  a  jury.  What  has  been  held 
in  this  and  other  cases,  to  constitute 
sufficient  specification,  we  may  see 
afterwards  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  we 
must  notice  another  step  in  advance 
taken  in  this  second  Aberdeen  action. 
The  first,  Leslie,  was  brought  by  an 
old  shareholder,  who  complained  that 
the  fraudulent  actings  of  the  direc- 
tors, commenced  after  he  had  bought 
his  shares,  had  run  down  the  value  of 
his  holding.  Of  his  right  to  repara- 
tion for  this  loss  there  was  no  doubt. 
But  the  second  case,  Tulloch,  turned 
upon  a  purchase  of  shares  in  open 
market  by  one  of  the  public.  Dr.  Tul- 
loch did  not  buy  from  the  bank.  He 
did  not  buy  from  the  directors.  He 
bought  from  a  third  party  ;  and  he 
now  demanded  back  his  money,  or  at 
least  his  loss,  from  the  directors  of  the 
company  which  he  thus  entered.  The 
Court  in  Scotland  now  laid  it  down, 
and  the  House  of  Lords  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  confirm  it,  that  publicly  pre- 
senting fraudulent  reports  to  the  com- 
pany was  sufficient  publication  to  ren- 
der the  directors  liable  even  to  a  stran- 
ger purchasing  shares.  In  the  higher 
Court,  too,  it  was  held,  after  a  full 
argument,  that  this  liability  does  not 
terminate  with  death  on  either  side  : 
that  the  representatives  of  the  defraud- 

*  19  June,  185G.  18  Duiilop's  Reports, 
1046. 

t  Sustained  by  Court  of  Session,  3  June 
1858  (20  Dunlop,  1045)  ;  and  by  the  House  of 
Lords,  23  February,  ISGO  (3  Macqueen,  783). 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


e<l  sliareholder  succeed  to  liis  right  to 
go  against  the  wrong-doing  director, 
and  not  only  to  go  against  liini,  but  to 
go  agaiiist  his  re[>resentatives,  in  so 
far  as  these  have  succeeded  to  property 
from  him.  And  histly,  as  to  the  mea- 
sure of  the  loss,  Lord  Chancellor  Camp- 
bell observed,  that  the  claim  must  be 
for  the  difference  between  the  pur- 
chase-money you  have  paid  and  that 
which  you  ought  to  have  paid — that  is, 
between  the  price  paid  under  decep- 
tion, and  what  would  have  been  the 
fair  market  price  if  the  circumstances 
of  the  company  had  been  truly  dis- 
closed. 

Such  were  the  cases  in  which  the 
personal  responsibility  of  bank  direct- 
ors was  tirst  acknowledged  in  the  law 
of  Scotland.  They  extend  over  the  de- 
cade which  followed  1850,  and  we  have 
already  come  down  to  the  fall  of  the 
"Western  Bank  in  the  year  1857.  That 
event  gave  a  powerful  impiilse  to  the 
development  of  the  legal  doctrine,  and 
during  the  few  years  which  follow 
many  additions  were  made  to  the  prin- 
cii)les  already  quoted.  We  may,  I 
think,  group  these  additional  results 
for  the  sake  of  convenience  under  the 
following  heads  : — 

By  whom  may  the  action  of  dama- 
ges be  brought  1 

Against  whom  may  it  be  brought  1 

And,  in  respect  of  what  kinds  of 
wrong-doings  ? 

1.  We  have  seen  already  that  de- 
faulting directors  are  exposed  to  an 
action  at  the  instance  of  any  share- 
holder deceived  by  them  to  his  loss,  or 
of  any  stranger  deceived  by  them  into 
buying  shares  or  otherwise  to  his  loss  ; 
and,  indeed,  it  may  be  put  generally 
that  l>y  the  law  of  Scotland,  they,  like 
other  men  not  directors,  are  liable  to 
every  individual  to  whom  they  have 
caused  loss  by  gross  wrong-doing  or 
fraud.  This  was  very  early  understood. 
But  it  was  pushed  to  a  very  surpris- 
ing length  by  the  defendants  in  the 
great  action  directed  by  the  liquida- 
tors of  the  Western  Bank  against  the 


directors  of  that  institution.*  The 
directors  who  defended  in  that  case 
said,  '  We  know  we  are  responsible  to 
individuals  for  the  loss,  if  any,  which 
we  have  caused  them.  Let  them  bring 
their  action  on  the  principles  already 
laid  down,  and  we  shall  meet  it.  But 
we  object  to  the  company  itself, 
through  its  liquidators,  bringing  a  si- 
milar action  against  us.'  The  present 
head  of  the  Court  of  Sessions,  then  a 
judge  of  the  Second  Division,  mada 
short  work  of  this  argument.  He  re- 
marked that  if  each  Western  Bank 
shareholder  brought  an  action  for 
each  year  of  malversation  against  each 
director,  '  there  must  be  brought  inta 
this  court  19,500  summonses.  It  is  to 
be  hoped  that  the  parties  who  state 
such  pleas  are  prepared  to  approach  the 
legislature  with  urgent  petitions  for  a 
very  large  extension  of  the  judicial 
establishment  in  Scotland.'  But  he 
also  pointed  out  that  every  company, 
whether  solvent  or  in  liquidation,  has. 
a  right  to  sue  for  moneys  of  which  it 
has  been  wrongfully  deprived.  Indi- 
viduals haA^e  a  right  to  sue  all  who 
have  defrauded  them,  but  when  the 
individuals  are  members  of  a  company, 
that  is  a  right  which  it  is  very  incon- 
venient to  exercise.  The  company,  on 
the  other  hand,  is,  '  primarily  at  least 
the  party  to  sue  the  directors  for  repa- 
ration, to  the  effect  of  restoring  the 
company's  estate  against  the  loss  it  has 
sustained.'  Ever  since  that  decision  in 
1860,  it  has  been  fixed  that  the  direct- 
ors of  a  bank  are  pei-sonally  responsi- 
ble both  to  the  company  and  to  its 
individual  members,  and  may  be  sued 
by  either. 

2.  Directors  in  the  strict  sense  of 
the  word  may  be  sued  ;  are  we  to  in- 
clude in  the  same  rule  those  who  more 
properly  act  along  with  or  under  direct- 
ors, e.  (J.  the  manager  or  the  secretary  ? 
This  came  up  in  the  two  following  years 
in  the  case  of  the  Edinburgh  and  Glas- 


*  .January  and  March,  18C0.    22  Dunloiys 
Reports,  447. 


THE  PERSONAL  nESPONSlBJLlTY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


27t 


gow  Bank,*  and  in  this  the  Court  of  Ses- 
sion unquestionably  went  wrong.  It 
sustained  an  action  laid  on  fraudulent 
representations  against  a  director,  but 
threw  it  out  as  against  the  manager  and 
secretary,  on  the  ground  that  they 
*  are  only  the  servants  of  the  directors, 
are  employed  by  them,  must  obey  their 
instructions,  and  may  be  dismissed  by 
them  at  any  time.'  But  the  case  went 
to  the  Court  of  Appeal,  and  came  into 
the  hands  of  tliat  keenest  of  legal  intel- 
lects, Eichard  Bethel,  then  Lord  Chan- 
cellor Westbury.  He  held  the  Court 
below  to  be  doubly  in  error  accoi'ding 
to  the  law  of  Scotland.  In  the  first 
place,  the  manager  and  assistant  ma- 
nager or  secretary,  are  not  in  point  of 
fact  '  only  the  servants  of  the  direct- 
ors.' The  directors  and  managers  toge- 
ther are  the  officers  ;  all  the  otticers  are 
in  a  legal  sense  the  servants  of  the 
company  ;  the  public  and  the  share- 
holders depend  as  much  ou  the  mana- 
gers as  they  do  upon  the  directors  ; 
and  they  accept,  and  in  the  ordinary 
case  are  entitled  to  accept,  the  reports 
of  the  latter  as  emanating  also  from 
the  former.  But,  secondly,  supposing 
that  these  officials  are  mere  servants, 
the  order  of  a  master  is  no  justification, 
either  moral  or  legal,  for  a  servant's 
committing  what  he  knows  to  be  a 
fraud.  The  master  in  such  a  case  is  no 
doubt  himself  liable ;  but  so  is  the 
servant,  and  each  is  liable  to  the  full 
amount  of  loss. 

3.  The  more  difficult  and  compli- 
cated question  remains,  what  are  the 
actings  which  infer  this  personal  res- 
ponsibility, whether  in  the  directors  or 
the  manager  ]  And  this  inquiry  di- 
vides itself  into  two  branches.  In  the 
first  place,  what  are  the  classes  of 
wrong  actions,  what  are  the  general 
descriptions  of  wrongdoing,  which  as 
a  matter  of  law  bind  liability  upon 
the  person  against  whom  they  are 
proved  1  When  we  have  answered  this 
general  question  of  law,  it  will  be  time 

*  Court  of  Session,  16  February,  ISGl  (i'i 
Dunlop's  Reports  574),  and  House  of  Lords, 
2«  July,  18G2  (4  Macqueen,  424). 


enough  lo  inquire  into  the  matter  of 
detail,  how  these  general  categories  oi- 
wrong-doing  are  to  be  proved  against 
any  man,  and  what  transactions  of 
omissions  on  the  part  of  bank  directors 
have  already  been  held  to  bring  them 
within  their  range. 

The  earlier  cases  against  bank  di- 
rectors all  turned,  as  we  have  seen,  on. 
charges  of  fraud.  But  it  was  soon 
perceived  that  this,  though  one  of  the 
gravest,  was  not  the  only  form  of 
wrong-doing  by  which  a  man  in  an 
official  situation  may  cause  enormous 
loss  to  those  who  trust  him.  And  the 
question  of  broadening  the  grounds  of 
liability  came  up  and  was  substanti- 
ally decided,  in  the  leading  Western 
Bank  case  already  mentioned,  that  first 
brought  by  the  liquidators  against  the 
directors.*  It  has  sometimes  been  sup- 
posed that  the  liability  of  directors  on 
such  a  ground  as  gross  negligence  or 
neglect  of  duty  was  never  laid  down 
till  the  last  of  these  cases,  so  late  as 
1872.  And  the  present  chief  of  the 
Scottish  Court,  in  deciding  that  last 
case,  said  pointedly  that  neither  in 
England  nor  in  Scotland  had  the  ques- 
tion down  to  tiiat  date  arisen  '  under 
circumstances  whicli  admitted  of  any 
general  decision  upon  the  principle.' 
Yet  twelve  years  before,  in  the  first 
case  as  to  that  bank,  the  other  division, 
of  the  same  Court,  in  deciding  an  im- 
portant point  as  to  the  form  of  the 
action,  held  unanimously  that  it  turned 
on  the  question  whether  neglect  as  well 
as  fraud  gave  an  action  for  delinquency 
against  the  individual.  And  it  was- 
the  same  judge  who  then  answered 
this  question  for  himself  and  his  bre- 
thren in  the  affirmative,  in  terms  even 
more  comprehensive  than  those  of  the 
subsequent  judgment  of  1872,  and  at 
least  equally  instructive.  In  the  case  of 
1860,  the  action  was  laid  partly  upon 
fraudulent  concealment,  but  partly  also 
upon  what  was  described  as  eithei'  gross 
and  wilful  mismanagement  and  mal- 
versation   in  office,  or,  alternatively,. 

*  January,  1860  (22  Dunlop,  474). 


272 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


gross,  habitual,  and  total  neglect  of  the 
duty  of  directors,  and  leaving  and  de- 
legating that  duty  entirely  to  other 
irresponsible  i)ersons,  while  themselves 
retained  otlioe.  Is  this  neglect  of  duty 
-a  ground  of  action  against  individuals 
in  the  same  way  as  fraud  is?  The 
Lord  Justice-Clerk  Inglis,  in  answer- 
ing this,  did  not  deny  that  fraud  is 
morally  and  legally  a  worse  thing  than 
negligence,  however  gross.  The  law  of 
Scotland,  following  that  of  Home,  has 
made  a  distinction  between  delicts  or 
delinquencies,  and  quasi-delicts ;  and 
fraud, ^being  classed  among  the  former 
may  infer  even  criminal  liability,  which 
lesser  wrong-doing  does  not  attain  to. 
But  to  the  effect  of  a  mere  claim  of 
reparation  for  pecuniary  loss  sustained, 
it  was  held  that  there  is  no  practical 
distinction.  The  same  measure  of  repa- 
ration is  due  on  the  same  conditions, 
and  by  the  same  form  of  action,  whe- 
ther the  cause  of  the  damage  be  the 
•one  kind  of  '  delict '  or  the  other. 

'  It  is  a  mistake  altogether  to  suppose 
no  delict  or  quasi-delict  can  be  made  the 
foundation  of  such  an  action  as  the  pre- 
sent, without  the  nse  of  the  term  "fraud," 
or  the  epithet,  "fraudulent."  There  are 
vadiny  delicts  to  which  such  language  could 
not  with  propriety  be  applied — for  ex- 
ample, all  delicts  the  essence  of  which  is 
physical  violence,  others  which  derive 
their  mischievous  effects  and  illegality 
from  reckless  disregard  of  conseqviences 
to  one's  neighbour's  property  in  the  pro- 
■secution  of  some  profit  or  pleasure  of  our 
own — cases  of  libel,  of  wrongous  impri- 
sonment, of  wrongful  though  not  frau- 
dulent refusal  to  perform  a  statutory 
duty,  as  in  the  example  of  members  of 
Presbytery  already  cited  ;  and  other 
cases  where— as  in  one  of  the  alterna- 
tives in  the  present  summon  (in  which 
the  weakness  of  the  pursuer's  case  in  this 
discussion  is  supposed  to  lie) — the  ground 
of  liability  is  to  be  found  in  systematic 
and  wilful  neglect  of  a  duty  undertaken, 
on  the  performance  of  which,  bj-  the  de- 
fenders, others  have  naturally  and  justi- 
fiably relied,  which  the  law  designates  as 
crassa  negligentia,  and  holds  equivalent 
to  dole  or  fraud.  All  of  these  equally  in 
our  opinion  belong  to  the  class  of  delicts, 
or  (/uasi-cZeiic^*',  inferring  from  the  nature 


of  the  misconduct  a  joint  and  several  lia- 
bility against  all  who  are  implicated  in 
them,  and  entitling  the  injured  party  to 
demand  lus  remedy  against  any  one  or 
more  of  the  delinquents  in  his  option.' 

Compare  this  with  the  more  popular 
exposition  of  the  law,  as  to  negligence 
alone,  in  1872  :*— 

'  It  is  impossible  to  over-estimate  the 
importance  of  the  question  thus  raised. 
The  general  question  as  to  how 
far  the  director  of  a  joint-stock  company 
— such  as  the  Western  Bank — is  liable 
for  mere  omission  to  discharge  his  duty, 
or  what  amount  or  kind  of  omission  will 
be  held  to  be  crassa  negligentia — has 
never  as  yet  been  authoritatively  deter- 
mined. It  may  be  said,  not  without  force, 
that  the  duty  undertaken  by  the  direct- 
ors of  joint-stock  companies,  such  as  the 
Western  Bank,  is  subject  to  some  quali- 
fications which  may  not  be  always  inci- 
dent to  officers  of  agency  or  trust.  Such 
officials  are  generally  chosen  from  their 
official  position,  their  habits  of  business, 
and  the  amount  of  credit  which  their 
name  will  command.  They  are  generally 
persons  who  have  their  time  occupied  by 
avocations  of  their  own.  When  the  share- 
holders elected  William  Baird  as  a  di- 
rector of  the  Western  Bank,  they  could 
not  have  expected  him  to  make  himself 
conversant  with  all  the  details  of  the 
managementj  or  the  items  of  all  the  ac- 
counts kept  at  the  head  office  and  the 
numerous  branches  of  so  vast  a  con- 
cern. The  ordinary  conduct  of  the  bank 
was  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  professional 
manager,  to  whose  integrity,  as  well  as 
lo  whose  skill,  the  directors  were  entitled 
in  great  measure  to  trust.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  impossible  for  a  court  of 
law  to  assume  that  such  an  appointment 
is  a  mere  name.  The  duties  which  are 
prescribed  by  the  contract  must  be  per- 
formed by  the  directors.  If  these  are  not 
very  specific,  their  scope  and  object  at 
least  are  sufficiently  intelligible,  and  if  a 
director  grossly  neglects  the  discharge  of 
them  he  must  be  liable  in  the  conse- 
quences, as  agents  or  trustees  are,  who 
grossly  neglect  the  interests  of  those  for 
whose  benefit  they  are  appointed.  What- 
ever the  duties  are,  they  must  be  dis- 
charged with  fidelity  and  conscience,  and 
with  ordinary  and  reasonable  care.   It  is 

*  Western  Bank,  Baird's  Trustees,  22  No- 
vember, 1872  (3  Macpherson,  111). 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


27S 


not  necessary  that  I  should  attempt  to 
define  where  excusable  remissness  ends 
and  gross  negligence  begins.  That  must 
depend  to  a  large  extent  on  the  circum- 
stances. It  is  enough  to  say  that  gross 
negligence  in  the  performance  of  such  a 
duty,  the  want  of  reasonable  and  ordi- 
nary fidelity  and  care,  will  infer  liability 
for  loss  thereby  occasioned.' 

Let  us  now  go  back  to  18G0.  The 
result  of  these  views  to  the  particnlar 
action  of  that  year  was  that  it  was 
held  not  an  action  on  contract,  but  one 
to  enforce  an  obligation  of  reparation 
arising  ex  delicto.  Consequently  the 
defendants,  the  whole  of  the  directors 
of  the  Western  Bank,  were  held  to  be 
brought  into  Court,  not  as  joint  debtors 
but  as  joint  delinquents,  and  under 
not  merely  a  joint  but  also  a  several 
liability.  But  the  result  of  the  law  of 
this  and  the  latest  case  has  been  appa- 
rently to  broaden  out  the  particular 
rule  as  to  fraud  into  a  general  one,  and 
to  make  bank  directors  and  others 
liable  for  loss  resulting  from  what  Eng- 
lish lawyers  call  torts,  what  Scotch 
lawyers  call  delicts  or  quasi-delicts,  and 
what  men  who  speak  plain  English 
call  wrong-doing.  Only  if  you  insist 
upon  using  a  popular  word  like  this 
to  gather  up  a  class  of  actions,  you 
must  modify  it  in  two  ways  at  least 
in  order  to  be  accurate.  In  the  first 
place,  the  wrong-doing  which  founds 
our  action  may  mean,  and  often  does 
mean,  doing  nothing — refusing  or  neg- 
lecting to  do  what  it  is  an  official's 
duty  to  do.  But  further,  wrong-doing, 
whetherpositive  ornegative,  is  a  vague 
word,  including  everything,  from  the 
darkest  hue  of  guilt  to  the  lightest 
shade  of  moral  infirmity  or  imperfec- 
tion. And  it  is  not  everything  which 
.  I,  or  a  jury,  may  on  the  whole  think 
not  quite  right,  which  will  found  an 
action  against  any  man — even  against 
a  private  individual.  Still  less  will  it 
do  so  against  an  official,  a  man  who, 
not  for  his  benefit  but  for  mine,  has  ac- 
cepted a  position  in  which  he  must 
continually  act,  and  act  in  difficult 
circumstances.     To  say  that  his  way 


is  morally  wrong,  and  that  my  way  is 
right,  is  scarcely  enough  to  infer  dam- 
ages for  my  loss  by  him.  It  mny  be 
enough,  indeed,  to  say  that  he  has 
acted  fraudulently,  for  that  is  a  defi- 
nite and  unelastic  word.  But  it  is  not 
enough  to  say  that  he  has  acted  neg- 
ligently—I must  allege  gross  negli- 
gence— crassa  negligentia.  Nor  is  it 
enough  to  say  generally  that  he  has 
acted  wrongfully — to  charge  him  with 
CM^^jrt  or  fault — I  must  allege  culpa  lata,. 
or  gross  fault.  For  it  is  only  these 
which  share  in  the  moral  quality  of 
fraud  or  crime  so  far  as  to  found  a 
claim  for  reparation.* 

Fraud  and  negligence  may  there- 
fore be  said  to  be  the  two  great  heads 
under  which  practically  arises  the  per- 
sonal responsibility  of  directors.  I 
shall  take  each  of  them  in  its  order. 
Both  were  sustained  as  grounds  of  ac- 
tion in  the  earliest  Western  Bank 
case,  and  both,  as  we  shall  see,  were 
referred  to  in  those  which  followed  it. 
But  in  three  actions  which  appeared 
and  reappeared  in  the  Court  dui-ing 
the  seven  years  after  1858,  relating 
either  to  the  National  Exchange  Com- 
pany of  Glasgow  or  to  the  Edinburgh 
and  Glasgow  Bank,  only  one  of  these 
charges,  that  of  fraud,  was  brought 
forward.  We  may  therefore  look  at 
them  first.  In  the  case  of  the  former 
company  (which,  by  the  way,  was  not 
exactly  a  bank),  the  Lord  President 
(Colonsay)  had  occasion  in  1860  to 
charge  a  jury  as  to  what  amounted  to 
false  and  fraudulent  representations  in 
reports.!  He  pointed  out  that  the 
statements  made  by  the  directors  as  to 
the  value  of  the  bank's  securities, 
though  they  turned  out  to  be  quite 
false,  were  not  contradicted  by  the 
bank's  books.  To  get  at  the  truth  the 
directors  must  have  sifted  the  value  of 
these  securities  by  a  process  outside 
the  books,  and  that  they  had  not  done 
so  did  not  in  itself  necessarily  amount 
to  fraud.   But  if  they  grossly  neglected 

*  Culpa  lata  equiparatur  dolo.     Dolus  i« 
the  moral  quality  of  crime, 
t  27  July,  1860  (23  Duiilop,  1). 


274 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


the  investigation  of  this  sort  which 
they  ought  to  have  carried  on,  and  at 
the  same  time  falsely  published  to  the 
company  that  they  had  made  such  in- 
vestigation, und  professed  to  give  the 
results,  then  such  representation  was 
probably  not  only  false  but  fraudulent. 
In  the  tirst  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow 
Bank  case*  the  issue  sent  to  the  jury 
was  much  the  same  with  that  just 
mentioned,  only  instead  of  charging 
false  and  fraudulent  representations 
generally,  it  demanded  whether  fraud- 
ulent representations  were  made  '  that 
the  bank  was  flourishing  when  it  was 
in  reality  insolvent ; '  and  both  forms 
of  inquiry  have  been  since  approved 
and  employed.  This  bank  appeared 
in  the  Courtsfor  thelast  time  in  1865,f 
when  the  j  udge  whom  I  have  last  men- 
tioned, dealing  with  the  same  form  of 
issue,  instructed  the  jury  as  follows  : 

*  If  a  person  makes  a  statement  which 
he  knows  to  be  false,  or  which  he  be- 
lieves to  be  false,  or  if,  being  in  a  posi- 
tion of  trust  and  confidence,  he  makes  a 
statement  which  he  does  not  believe  to 
be  true,  and  if  he  makes  that  statement 
with  a  fraudulent  purpose,  intending  to 
deceive  and  mislead  others  into  a  course 
of  action  which  might  be  injurious  to 
them,  and  if  they  are  by  these  means  in- 
duced so  to  act,  and  by  so  acting  suffer 
loss,  he  would  be  guilty  of  falsehood  and 
fraud,  and  might  be  made  liable  accord- 
ingly for  the  consequences.' 

This  is  rather  a  long  story  ;  but  one 
alternative  in  it,  making  a  statement 
*  which  he  believes  to  be  false,  or 
which  he  does  not  believe  to  be  true,' 
was  repeated  by  the  same  authority 
in  the  same  year  in  another  form,  and 
went  to  the  House  of  Lords.  This 
was  in  a  case  against  the  Western 
Bank, I  and  what  the  late  Lord  Presi- 
dent then  said  was  this  : 

'  If  the  case  should  occur  of  directors 
taking  upon  them  to  put  forth  in  their 
reports  statements  of  importance  in  re- 
gard to  the  affairs  of  the  bank,  false  in 

«  Dobbie,  4  March,  1859  (21  Dunlop,  G24). 
+  Cullen,  10  July,   1865   (3  Macpherson's 
Reports,  935). 
;  Addie,  9  June,  1865  (3  Macpherson,  899J 


themselves,  and  which  they  did  not  be- 
lieve, or  had  no  reasunable  ground  to  be- 
lieve, to  be  true  .  .  .  that  would 
be  a  misrepresentation  and  deceit,  and  in 
the  estimation  of  law  would  amount  to 
a  fraud.' 

This  ruling  was  excepted  against  in 
the  Edinburgh  Court,  but  was  unani- 
mously confirmed  ;  and  in  the  House 
of  Lords,  the  phrase  'reasonable 
gi'ound  '  caused  a  difference  of  opin- 
ion, or  at  least  of  expression  of  opin- 
ion, between  the  then  Lord-Chancellor 
Chelmsford  and  Lord  Cranworth.  * 
Lord  Chelmsford  held  the  ruling  good, 
and  laid  no  weight  upon  the  objection 
that  an  honest  though  false  belief 
might  be  entertained  by  directors,  and 
that  the  jury,  under  this  ruling,  would 
have  to  sustain  its  reasonableness. 
'  Supposing,'  he  says,  *  a  person  makes 
an  untrue  statement,  which  he  asserts 
to  be  the  result  of  a  bo7ia  fide  belief 
of  its  truth,  how  can  the  bona  fides  be 
tested  except  by  considering  the 
grounds  of  such  belief  1 '  And  if  it  be 
'  destitute  of  all  reasonable  grounds,' 
how  can  it  be  honest  ?  Lord  Cran- 
worth  takes  the  other  side.  He  puts 
it  thus  : 

'  If  persons  in  the  situation  of  di- 
rectors of  a  bank  make  statements  as  to 
the  condition  of  its  afltairs  which  they 
bona  fide  believe  to  be  true,  I  cannot 
think  that  they  can  be  represented  as 
guilty  of  fraud  because  other  persons 
think,  or  the  court  thinks,  or  your  lord- 
ship thinks,  that  there  was  no  sufficient 
ground  to  warrant  the  opinion  which 
they  had  formed.  ...  If  they  are 
guilty  of  fraud,  it  is  on  account,  not  of 
their  having  stated  as  true  what  they 
had  not  reasonable  ground  to  believe 
to  be  true,  but  of  their  having  stated  as 
true  what  they  did  not  believe  to  be 
true.' 

I  think  it  plain  that  the  (Question  be- 
tween the  two  learned  lords  was  a 
question  of  words,  and  probably  the 
verbal  misapprehension  was  rather  on 
the  side  of  Lord  Cranworth.  '  Eea- 
sonable  ground,'  as  used  by  Lord  Co- 
lonsay,  was  not  equivalent  to  the  other 

*  20  May,  1867  (5  Macpherson,  80). 


I 

I 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIinLITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


275 


phrase  into  whicli  Lord  Cranworth 
translates  it,  '  siitiicient  ground  to 
warrant  tho  opinion.'  For  the  opinion, 
ex  hypothese,  is  one  false  in  point  of 
fact  ;  and  there  can  be  no  sufficient 
ground  for  a  false  opinion.  But  there 
is  a  sense  in  whicli  there  may  be  a 
reasonable  ground  for  a  false  opinion  : 
i.e.,  ground  may  be  conceived  on  which 
a  reasonable  man  may  honestly  enter- 
tain it.  If  there  is  no  such  reasonable 
or  at  least  conceivable  ground,  the  jury 
will  no  doubt  find  him  guilty  of  de- 
ceit ;  and  they  will  do  rightly.  But 
they  are  not  in  that  case  making  them- 
selves judges  of  the  false  opinion  in  ; 
itself;  or  of  the  sufficiency  of  the  i 
grounds  for  that  opinion  in  itself. 
They  merely  inquire  whether  there 
were  sufficient  grounds  for  the  false  , 
opinion  existing  in  another's  mind ;  i.e., 
1  think,  whether  there  were  grounds 
sufficient  for  honesty  ;  and  this  comes 
round  to  Lord  Cranworth's  own  view, 
which  is  no  doubt  substantially  cor- 
rect, that  the  whole  question  is  as  to 
the  bona  fides.  Good  faith,  however, 
as  we  have  seen,  is  denied  by  Lord 
Colonsay  not  only  where  a  man  says 
what  he  believes  not  to  be  true,  but 
where  he  says  what  he  does  not  believe 
to  be  true.  And  I  shall  close  this  sec- 
tion by  an  important  commentary 
upon  and  qualification  of  that  state- 
ment by  Lord  Colonsay 's  present  suc- 
cessor in  the  chair  of  the  Court.  In  a 
trial  well  remembered  in  Edinburgh, 
in  connection  with  the  Edinburgh  and 
Glasgow  Bank,  which  haj)pened  in 
1861,  the  judge  charged  the  jury  on 
the  personal  responsibility  of  bank  di- 
rectors, as  follows  : — 

'  If  a  man  makes  a  statement,  believ- 
ing that  it  is  not  true,  although  not  ab- 
solutely knowing  that  it  is  not  true,  that 
is  still  a   personal    falsehood,  and  it  is 
falsehood  within  the   meaning  of    this 
issue,  because  it  plainly  implies  dishon- 
esty in  the  person  who  makes  the  state-    j 
ment.    But,  gentlemen,  the  person  mak- 
ing the  statement  may  nut  be  in  the  con-    j 
dition  of  believing  the  statement  to  be    ' 
untrue,  and  yet  he  may  bo  in  this  con-    ! 
dition  that  he  does  not  believe  it  to  be    i 


true — for  there  is  a  material  distinction 
between  tliuso  two  things.  Now  when 
you  come  to  that  case — of  a  party  mak- 
ing a  statement,  who  does  not  actually 
believe  it  to  be  true — that  is  a  mere 
negative  state  of  mind,  and  it  will  de- 
pend then  upon  the  relation  of  the  party 
making  the  statement  to  the  fact  which 
he  states,  and  to  the  person  to  whom 
his  statement  is  addressed,  whether  it  is 
dishonest  in  him,  in  these  circumstances, 
to  make  the  statement  or  not.  If  I 
make  a  statement  upon  an  indiflferent 
.  subject  without  having  any  belief  in  its 
truth,  and  without  caring  whether  it  is 
absolutely  accurate  or  not,  there  is  no 
dishonesty  at  all  :  I  am  not  seeking  to 
mislead  anybody.  I  may  be  making  the 
statement  rashly  ;  but  there  is  no  harm 
done.  But  if  you  find  a  person  who  is  in 
a  position  of  acquiring  knowledge  in  re- 
ference to  the  fact  of  which  he  is  speak- 
ing ;  who  has  the  means,  and  peculiar 
means,  of  acquiring  knowledge  upon  the 
subject  ;  and  if  he  makes  a  statement 
which  is  in  point  of  fact  not  true,  andjiu 
the  truth  of  which  he  has  no  personal 
belief  himself,  then  that  is  dishonest 
also — there  is  no  doubt  about  that,  es- 
pecially if  it  is  done  for  the  purpose  of 
deceiving  another,  it  would  be  dishon- 
orable to  make  it  even  although  there 
were  no  direct  purpose  of  deceiving  ano- 
ther, it  will  then  become  dishonest  and 
fraudulent.  '* 

So  much  as  to  the  side  of  fraud. 
And  now  as  to  the  other,  of  neglect 
of  duty — including,  of  course,  and  a 
fortiori,  violation  of  duty.  This  ground 
of  liability,  as  we  said,  was  laid  down 
in  the  opinion  of  tho  Court  in  the  first 
of  the  Western  Bank  cases,  and  it  was 
applied  in  the  decision  of  the  last  of 
them.  And  in  these,  and  the  inter- 
mediate Western  Bank  cases,  we  are 
to  look  for  our  chief  authority  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  island,  as  to  what 
amounts  to  neglect  of  duty,  and  how 
it  is  to  be  made  out.  One  of  the  ear- 
liest cases  against  the  Western  Bank 
directorst  was  laid  exclusively  on 
fraud,  but  distinctions  of  great  import- 
ance were  there  admitted  between  one 
director  and  another,  distinctions  which 

*From  Mr.  Irrine  Smith's  shorthand  report 
of  the  trial,  published  in  1861. 

\InijUs,  IGth  February,  1861  (23  D.  561). 


276 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


pointed  to  what  must  be  done  when 
another  kind  of  case  should  come  up. 
What  was  alleged  here,  was  that  the 
reports  contained  representations  that 
the  bank  was  prosperous  wlien  it  was 
the  i-everse.  This  statement  was  found 
i-elevant  against  the  directors  who 
were  present  at  the  meetings  where 
the  documents  were  prepared  and  ap- 
proved of,  and  who  signed  the  reports 
and  the  dockets  at  the  ends  of  the 
balance-sheets.  But  it  was  not  sus- 
tained against  directors  who  did 
not  sign  them,  and  who  were  not  pre- 
sent at  the  meetings  where  they  were 
prepared.  To  make  people  responsi- 
ble for  false  representations  they  must 
be  shown  to  have  made  or  authorized 
them,  and  the  mere  fact  of  being  di- 
rectors at  the  time  they  are  issued  by 
the  board  is  not  enough.  But  that 
only  means  that  it  is  not  enough  for 
an  action  on  fraudulent  representa- 
tions. Plainly,  while  staying  away 
from  the  board  may  obviate  the  im- 
putation of  fraud,  it  is  not  the  way 
to  escape  the  imputation  of  negligence. 
And  accordingly  the  next  action  was 
one  which  demanded  two  and  a  half 
millions  of  money  from  a  couple  of 
directors,*  upon  charges  which  ulti- 
mately amounted  only  to  gross  neglect. 
Originally,  indeed,  the  action  had  ano- 
ther shape.  It  was  against  the  whole 
fifteen  directors.  And  it  charged  them, 
both  with  excess  of  power  and  wrong- 
ful acts  on  the  one  hand,  and  with 
fraudulent  concealment  of  losses  on 
the  other,  putting  in  neglect  of  duty 
merely  as  an  alternative  iinder  both 
heads.  As  the  case  went  on  some  of 
the  defenders  were  left  out,  and  the 
graver  charges  in  the  summons  were 
dropped,  leaving  only  the  averments, 
first,  that  the  directors  had  neglected 
their  duty,  and  thus  allowed  the  whole 
management  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
a  manager  who  was  guilty  of  the  ex- 
cess of  power  and  the  wrongful  acts  ; 
and  secondly,  that  the  directors  were 


♦  Western  Bank,    Bairds,  20  March,   18G2 
(24  Dunlop,  859). 


I  guilty  of  gross  negligence  in  failing  to 
1  ascertain  and  disclose  the  losses  which 
I  the  bank  had  made.  It  does  not  ap- 
I  pear  to  have  been  questioned  by  the 
Court  that  such  averments,  if  compe- 
tently made  against  individuals,  might 
found  liability.  But  it  was  found  that 
the  existing  action  was  not  constructed 
with  that  view,  and  indeed,  the  state- 
ments in  it  had  apparently  been  rather 
intended  to  support  a  joint  case  against 
the  directors  as  a  whole.  Such  a  case, 
the  Court  expressly  found,  was  compe- 
tent against  directors,  even  as  a  body. 
They  may  be  accused  not  mex-ely  of 
individually  neglecting  their  duty,  but 
of  agreeing  or  conspiring  to  neglect  it, 
and  to  delegate  to  a  manager  the  du- 
ties they  profess  to  perform.  This  is 
j  negligence,  but  negligence  systematized 
and  prepared  ;  and,  indeed,  is  a  sort  of 
fraud.  In  the  Western  Bank  it  was 
alleged  that  the  directors,  as  a  whole, 
had  made  themselves  so  liable  by  al- 
lowing the  manager  to  set  up  a  firm 
in  America,  to  embark  the  funds  of 
the  bank  in  American  discounts  and 
speculative  investments;  and  the  Court 
found  it  a  good  charge  against  the  di- 
rectors as  a  body.  But  though  such  a 
case  is  possible  against  directors  in 
slump,  it  is  not  one  which  it  will  be 
very  easy  to  prove  against  them  all. 
And  if  you  fail  to  prove  it  against  one 
of  the  number,  you  lose  your  action 
against  all.  It  is  much  better,  the 
Court  suggested,  to  try  the  case  as 
against  particular  directoi's,  specifying, 
with  regard  to  each,  the  act  or  class 
of  acts  of  which  he  is  accused,  with 
dates  and  circumstances.  In  such  a 
case,  of  course,  you  don't  conclude  for 
millions  as  you  do  against  the  whole, 
but  for  the  particular  sums  or  balances 
which  you  can  show  to  be  connected 
with  the  wrong  actings  alleged  against 
the  particular  man.  And  the  particu- 
lar actings  or  negligences  may  vary 
exceedingly.  In  that  very  case,  and 
with  reference  even  to  a  joint  liability, 
the  Lord  Justice  Clerk  Inglis  referred 
to  the  varieties  of  negligence  which 
directors  may  cultivate  : — 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


27' 


*  Some  may  never  come  to  the  bank  at 
all,  but  content  themselves  with  hearing 
by  letter  from  the  manager  that  every- 
thing is  going  on  well  ;  others  may,  after 
accepting  othce,  go  abroad,  and  beyond 
the  reach  even  of  correspondence  ;  others 
may  visit  the  bank  occasionally,  or  even 
at  stated  times,  and  assxmie  all  the  airs 
of  bank  directors,  and  take  their  seats  at 
a  Board,  but  without  ever  really  perform- 
ing any  duty.  I  do  not  dispute  that  in 
such  a  case  all  may  be  liable  for  jinnt 
negligence,  and  possibly  each  juso/u/ioh. 
But,'  he  added,  '  I  give  no  opinion  what 
may  be  the  liability  of  a  person  so  ab- 
senting himself,  and  keeping  beyond  all 
knowledge  of  the  conduct  of  the  bank's 
affairs  by  his  brother  directors,  after  un- 
dertaking the  duties  of  a  director.  I  only 
say  such  a  case  is  not  to  be  found  in  this 
lecord.' 

A  very  fair  commentary  on  the 
imaginary  case,  which  was  not  found 
in  that  record,  may  be  found  in  a  later, 
where  a  Western  Bank  director  was 
charged  with  gross  neglect,  first,  dur- 
ing two  years  in  which  he  attended 
the  meetings  of  directors,  and  second, 
during  two  following  years  in  which 
he  did  not  attend  them  at  all.  One 
would  think  that  last  fact  was 
enough.  And  so  it  is,  to  yjrove  gross 
negligence.  But  then  you  must  show 
that  the  gross  negligence  led  to  your 
loss  :  you  must  in  some  way  connect 
it  with  specific  losses  which  it  occa- 
sioned. And  this  was  found,  rather 
to  the  scandal  of  Scotch  law,  though 
perhaps  to  the  credit  of  the  ingenuity 
of  Scotch  lawyei-s,  to  be  exceedingly 
difficult.  For  example,  one  of  the 
things  that  was  found  in  a  general  way 
to  infer  liability  was  this—'  the  mak- 
ing of  reckless  advances  of  enormous 
amount,  by  way  of  discounting  bills  of 
exchange,  to  four  firms — the  bills  for 
the  most  part  being  known  to  be  ac- 
commodation bills,  and  the  obligants 
being  alleged  to  be  for  the  most  part 
unworthy  of  credit.'*  One  observes 
this  is  a  matter  of  degree — often  there- 
fore a  delicate  and  sometime  a  difficult 
question.      All   advances   by    way  of 

*  20  March,  1862  (24  Dunlop,  860). 


I  bill  of  exchange  ai-e  not  reckless.   But 

I  it  is  possible  to  make  such  reckless  ad- 

i  vances  on  bills  of  exchange.     So  as  to 

I  overdrafts    on  accounts.       Overdrafts 
are  things  usual,  legitimate,  and  profits- 

;  able,  and  so  the  Court  expressly  found. 

]  But  there  may   be  overdrafts   which 

!  are  otherwise. 

*If,  under  the  colour  of  an  advance 
,    on  open  account,  continuous  drafts  are 
made  without  any  payments   to  credit 
•    over  a  long  period,  or  if  the  accounts  are 
I    manipulated  so  as  to  conceal  the  true 
;    balance,  or  if  large  drafts  are  made  in 
single    sums  without   any   counterpart, 
in  such  cases  it  will  be  difficult  to  main- 
tain that  these  form  legitimate  advances 
]    merely  because  they  appear  in  an  open 
j    account.  '* 

;    Now  in  the  Western  Bank  the  over- 
drafts and  bills  were    extravagantly 
wrong,  and  that  during  the  very  period 
I    in  which  one  gentleman  of  great  wealth, 
j    while  a  director,  had  not  attended  the 
1    meetings  at  all.     If  he  had  been  sued 
:    by  the  bank  or  by  any  shareholder  at 
j    the  end  of  that  period,  he  would  appa- 
i    rently  have  been  held  liable  for  the  loss 
i    as  caused  by   neglect.     But  the  bank 
j    did  not  break,  and  the  action  was  not 
brought  for  five  years  after  he  ceased 
'    to  be  a   director.     And  during  those 
I    years  the  bank  dealt   with  the  same 
:    customers,   and   trusted   them    to    an 
enormous  amount   (or  to   an  amount 
!    which  we  before  1878    used   to  think 
enormous),  for  the  balance  of  £340,- 
000  grew  into  £1,400,000.      The  old 
balance  was  obliterated,  and  the  Court 

'could  see  no  principle  of  justice  on 
which,  at  the  termination  of  such  a  period 
of  spec\ilation,  during  which  the  balance 
of  1852  became  entirely  absorbed  and 
merged  in  operations  of  .such  magnitude, 
j  the  bank  can  be  permitted  to  revive  this 
I  claim,  after  the  position,  the  assets,  and 
the  liabilities  of  the  customers  had  un- 
dergone changes  so  material. '+ 

These,  we  see,  are  in  a  certain  sense 
i   difficulties  of  proof — difficuties  in  con- 
necting the  director  who  has  admit- 

j       *  22  November,  1872  (11  Macpherson,  113). 
I       t  22  November  (11  Macphersou,  117.) 


278 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


tedly  neglected  his  duty  with  results 
in  the  shape  of  loss.  But  we  must 
not  forget  a  prior  principle,  that  mere 
,  want  of  knowledge  of  many  facts  about 
his  bank  does  not  always  show  negli- 
gence in  a  director.  I  closed  the  former 
branch  of  our  enquiry  by  a  severe  pas- 
sage from  a  judge  of  great  authority 
to  the  effect  that  a  man  is  fraudulent, 
not  merely  if  he  says  what  he  knows 
not  to  be  true,  but  if  he  says  what  he 
does  not  know  to  be  true — provided 
he  has  peculiar  means  of  knowing  the 
truth,  and  makes  the  statement  to 
those  who  have  no  such  means,  and 
who,  he  is  aware,  rely  \ipon  him  in  re- 
gard to  it.  Now  that  strong  statement 
requii-es  qualitication  or  explanation, 
as  applied  to  bank  directors,  and  it 
was  so  explained  or  qualified  in  the 
same  jury  charge,  in  a  passage  a  sum- 
mary of  which  may  close  this  second 
branch,  of  oiegled  of  duty.  In  the  first 
place,  the  learned  judge  remarked,  the 
directors  are  not  paid  officers  of  the 
com).>any  ;  they  get  a  small  fee  every 
board  day,  but  that  is  nothing.  In  the 
next  place,  they  have  generally  busi- 
ness of  their  own  to  attend  to,  and 
those  who  elect  them  know  that  they 
are  bound  to  attend  the  bank  meetings 
with  some  regularity,  and  to  give  ad- 
vice and  assistance  in  the  business 
and  exercise  control  over  it.  But  they 
'  cannot  be  expected  to  make  them- 
selves familiar  with  the  books  of  the 
bank  ; '  they  must  take  results  from 
the  books,  and  not  details.  They  check 
the  states  by  comparing  them  with  the 
balances  ;  but  that  is,  or  was,  done 
quarterly  by  committees  appointed  for 
the  purpose ;  and  apparently  that  was 
thought  quite  a  fair  method  of  deal- 
ing. Then  with  regard  to  such  mat- 
ters as  old  debts  due  to  the  banks,  the 
judge  at  that  trial  was  by  no  means 
prepared  to  say  how  far  it  was  the 
duty  of  each  member  of  the  board  to 
look  individually  into  and  make  up 
his  own  mind  upon  the  solvency  of 
every  debtor,  and  the  value  of  the 
securities  held  for  each  debt.  Some 
one  director,  by  his   training,   might 


'    have    a  much   greater  knowledge   of 
^    some  classes  of  these  things — say,  for 
;    example,  of   railway  securities — than 
the  others  ;  and  it  might  be  gross  neg- 
lect of  duty  in  him  not  to  look  care- 
fully into  that,  and  give  the  bank  the 
benefit  of  his  knowledge.   But  another 
I    director  is  not  bound  to  educate  him- 
1    self  for  that  special  department.     In 
I    short,  such  a   question,  he   concluded, 
I    must   always  be  judged  with  a  refe- 
rence   to    the    individual  director    in 
question,  as  well  as  with  a  regard  to 
i    the  '  general  run  of  the  duties  of  bank 
{    directors,'  which  he  assumed  to  bebet- 
j    ter  imderstood  by  the  community  of 
j    Scotland  than   by   any   other    in  the 
j    world,  and  by  a  Scotch  jury  better 
than  by  a  Scotch  judge. 

My    English    readers    will   observe 
that  down  to  this  point  I  have  given 
i    the  Scotch  law  almost  without  refe- 
rence to  that  of  England.    I  hope  they 
\    will  think  that  there  may  be  some  ad- 
vantage, orat  least  some  compensation, 
in  doing    so.      Theoretically,    if   you 
I    can  find  a  jui-isprudence  which  builds 
I   itself  up  in  a  question  of  this  sort,  on 
I    '  the  common  law   of  the  world,'  but 
!   within  a  definite  and  limited  period, 
I   its  self-development  makes  a  specially 
!    interesting  subject  of  study.   Of  course 
j    the  Northern   lawyers,   while   profes- 
;    sedly  finding  their  repository  of  equity 
j   as  much  in  the  law  of  Rome  as  in  that 
of  England,  have  not  been  neglectful 
j   of  the  magnificent  work  done  by  the 
1   professors  of  that  science  where  it  has 
:   been  studied  separately  and  specially. 
I   And  in  some  cases  it  has  been  forced 
I    upon  their  attention  by  public  events, 
{    even   during  the  period  I  have  con- 
i    sidered,  as  in  the  Royal  British  Bank 
I    case  (which  no  doubt  was  on  the  crimi- 
I    nal  side)  in  1858.    Still,  down  to  about 
1865  English  law  contributed  much  less 
than  afterwards,  while,  very  curiously, 
the  subsequent  law  of  Scotland  on  the 
subject  is  a  blank,  broken  by  only  one 
I    case  in  1872.   One  result  of  the  course 
that  things  have  thus  taken  is,  that  in 
now  completing   a  sketch  of  what  is 
common  to  both    countries  from  ex- 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


279 


clusively  English  sources,  we  can  afibrd 
to  lay  aside  much  that  might  be  gath- 
ered from  the  latter  even  by  incom- 
petent and  foreign  hands,  from  the 
the  period  before  1865,  and  may  refer 
chiefly  to  findings  added  since  that  date; 
findings  which  the  equitable  law  of  a 
small  adjacent  country  must  receive 
with  the  deepest  respect. 

There  are  two  points  which  we  have 
not  yet  noticed  on  which  English  law 
is  clear  and  strong.     One  is  the  inad- 
missibility of   those  who,   like   direc- 
tors, are  in  the  position  of  trustees, 
making  any  personal  profit  from  their 
position,  or  even  entering  into  a  valid 
contract    including  such  profit.      But 
Scotch  law  on  this  matter  is  also  clear, 
and  indeed  one  of  the  leading  cases 
always  founded  upon  in  the  English 
Courts  is  a  Scotch  appeal  in  the  House 
of  Lords.     It  requires  at  present  to  be 
noticed  only   in  relation   to  the  two 
branches  of  fraud  or  misrepresentation, 
and  violation  or  neglect  of  duty.  Alle- 
gations under  both   heads,    in  them- 
selves   inadequate,   would    assume   a 
more  conclusive  aspect  if  the  wrongful 
acts  of  the   directors  or   ofiicials  at- 
tacked were  complicated  with  the  mo- 
tive of  the  receipt  of  such  moneys,  or 
even  with  the  receipt  of  them.     Ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  both  countries 
it  would  seem  that  such  moneys  are  to 
be  paid  back  ante  omnia,  leaving  there- 
after to  all  parties  their  remedies.     A 
matter  on   which    English  law,  how- 
ever, is  conspicuously  strong  is  that  of 
idtra  vires.     It  holds  it  indeed 
'  no   mere  canon  of  English  municipal 
law,  but   a   great   and  broad   principle 
which  must  be  taken  (in  the  absence  of 
proof  to   the    contrary)  as  part  of   any 
given  system  of  jurisprudence,   that  the 
governing  body  of  a  corporation  which  is 
a  trading  partnership— that  is  to  say,  the 
ultimate  authority  within  the  society  it- 
self— cannot,  in  general,  use   the  funds 
of  the  community  for  any  purpose  other 
than    those   for    which  they  were   con- 
tributed.'* 

And  on  this  principle  the  law  founds 

*  V.-C.  Wickens  in  Pickcrino,  1872.    14  L. 
T.  Equity,  322. 


I  a  personal  liability  distinct  from  any 
that  is  based  on  fraud  or  misconduct. 
This  was  explained  and  applied  in 
1870,*  but  was  based  iipon  a  previous 
case  in  which  directors,  'apparently 
with  perfect  horat  fides,  but  being  mis- 
led by  a  false  table  on  which  they  had 
calculated  their  profits,'  had  made 
dividends  really  out  of  capital.  The 
pro])er  order  was  held  by  the  Lords 
Justices  to  be  that  they  should  perso- 
nally pay  back  the  money  they  had 
improperly  paid  to  the  shareholders, 
without  jn-ejudice  to  their  recovering 
it  back  from  the  shareholders  to  whom 
they  had  jjaid  it.  But  this  is  qualified 
by  the  important  doctrine  that  '  share- 
holders may  ratify  an  act  which  is 
idtra  vires ;'  f  that  is  probably,  as  the 
Scotch  law  more  pedantically  but  ac- 
curately puts  it,  they  may  '  homolo- 
gate '  it,  or  ratify  it  so  far  as  they  are 
concerned.  And  it  appears  settled  that 
'  a  shareholder  is  bound  by  the  acts  of 
the  directors  if  he  had  the  means  of 
knowing  that  they  have  acted  beyond 
their  authority,  and  he  does  not  inter- 
fere.' 

But  the  chief  English  authorities 
during  the  period  we  are  considering, 
on  the  heads  of  fraud  and  negligence 
respectively,  are  probably  the  cases 
connected  with  the  catastrophe  of 
Overend,  Gurney  ct  Co.,  which  opened 
that  period.  On  the  former  matter, 
that  of  fraud  and  misrepresentation, 
the  question  arose,  what  is  the  effect 
of  concealment  or  omission  in  pros- 
pectuses and  reports  1  It  was  held  that 
mere  non-disclosure  of  material  facts 
(though  it  may  be  a  ground  for  setting 
aside  an  allotment  or  purchase  of 
shares)  is  not  in  itself  a  ground  for  an 
action  on  deceit  or  for  proceedings  in 
equity  such  as  those  with  which  in  this 
paper  we  deal.  But  though  it  is  not  ne- 
cessarily a  ground  for  the  latter,  it  may 


*  By  V.-C.  James. 
839. 


t  Phosphate  of  Lime  Co.,  2.5  L.  R.. 
Justice  Willes,  however,  refers  in  this  case. 


22  Law  Times  (N.S.), 
636.  Mr. 


not  in  a 
persons 


reassuring  way,  to  cei-tain  '  sapient 
in  the  House  of  Lords. 


ISO 


THE  PERSONAL  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  BANK  DIRECTORS. 


become  so  in  special  circumstances,  and 
was  held  to  be  so  in  the  case  in  hand. 
The  Lord  Chancellor  Chelmsford  states 
it  thus  : — 

*  It  is  said  that  the  prospectus  was  true 
as  far  as  it  goes,  but  lialf  a  trvith  will 
sometimes  amount  to  a  falsehood  ;  and  I 
go  further,  and  say  tliat,  to  my  mind, 
it  contains  positive  misrepresentations. 
The  language  of  the  prospectus  must  be 
read  in  the  sense  in  which  the  respond^' 
ents  must  have  known  it  would  be  un- 
derstood.' 

And  Lord  Cairns,  following  him,  puts 
it  with  great  exactness  that  to  ground 
an  action  in  the  nature  of  an  action 
for  misrepresentation, 

'  there  must,  in  my  opinion,  be  some 
active  misstatement  of  fact,  or,  at  all 
events,  such  a  partial  and  fragmentary 
statement  of  fact,  as  that  the  withhold- 
ing of  that  which  is  not  stated  makes 
that  which  is  stated  absolutely  fals9.'* 

On  the  other  side,  of  neglect  of  duty, 
the  law  of  personal  responsibility  was 
in  the  Overend,  Gurney  tt  Co.  case 
discriminatingly  lenient,  as  on  the  side 
of  fraud  it  was  discriminatingly  se- 
vere. It  was  held  in  Chancery,  and 
confirmed  by  the  House  of  Lords,  in 
1873,  that 

*  imprudence  in  the  exercise  of  powers 
undoubtedly  conferred  upon  directors 
will  not  subject  them  to  personal  respon- 
sibility ;  the  imprudence  must  be  so  great 
and  manifest  as  to  amount  to  gross  neg- 
ligence.' t 

In  this  case  the  directors  were  author- 
ized to  purchase  a  business.  It  turned 
out  to  be  ruinous.  But  '  unless  that 
character  was  obviously  apparent 
when  the  purclia.se  was  made,'  the 
directors  making  it  were  not  responsi- 
ble.    And  in  closing  my  notice  of  a 

♦  Peek  V.  Gurney,  6  L.  11.  (H.  L.  Cases), 
:^77. 

+  Overend,  Gurney  &  Co.  r.  Gibb,  5  L.  E. 
(H.  L.  Cases),  480. 


subject  on  which  the  law  of  different 
parts  of  one  country  must  be  substan- 
tially one,  I  find  a  valuable  contribu- 
tion from  the  Irish  Court  of  Chancery 
seven  years  ago.*  It  makes  important 
distinctions,  and  deals  especially  with 
the  relation  of  those  who  are  merely 
negligent,  to  others  who  are  fraudulent, 
a  case  which  will  be  found  to  be  the 
ordinary  one  raised.  The  distinction 
is  between  directors  who  have  been 
active  in  breaches  of  trust,  and  others 
who  have  been  pnmve,  and  are  liable 
by  reason  of  negligence  only.  '  Pre- 
sence without  dissent,'  it  was  held,  '  at 
a  board  meeting  where  any  of  the  ob- 
jectionable resolutions  were  passed  is 
an  active  participation  in  such  breach 
of  trust.'  On  the  other  hand,  '  where 
knowledge  of  such  breach  of  trust  is 
first  actually  acquired  when  it  is  too 
late  for  remedy,  though  with  due  dili- 
gence and  knowledge  it  might  have 
been  acquired  sooner,  this  is  only  pas- 
sive participation  therein.'  But,  at  the 
same  time,  a  warning  suggestion  was 
thrown  out,  that  if  such  knowledge  is 
acquired  by  a  director  while  remedy  is 
still  possible,  neglect  to  enforce  such 
remedy  may  be  held  to  be  active  parti- 
cipation in  what  was  previously  done. 
The  preceding  pages,  I  believe,  in- 
clude the  principles  upon  which  bank 
directors  in  any  part  of  the  United 
Kingdom  can  be  held  to  incur  per- 
sonal responsibility,  while  they  refer 
specially  to  the  law  in  Scotland.  But 
they  treat  of  personal  responsibility  in 
its  wider  sense,  as  exposing  to  a  claim 
for  pecuniary  reparation  or  damages. 
They  make  no  attempt  to  discriminate 
or  to  deal  with  that  more  limited  class 
of  cases  which  infer  also  a  criminal 
responsibility.  No  such  attempt  must 
be  made  until  the  close  of  a  criminal 
trial  for  which  we  in  Scotland  wait. 


*  V.-C.  Chatterton.     19  Weekly  Reports, 
923. 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS.  281 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS.- 


BY    W.     KIKBY. 


THE    QUEEN'S    BIRTHDAY. 

INTERLUDE    FIllST. 

'  When  the  merry  bells  ring  round, 
Ami  the  jocund  rebecks  sound, 
To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  chequered  shade, 
And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  tlie  sunshine  holydaj'.' 

-  L'ALLEfJRO. 

"ryNHASTING  and  unresting  from  his  height 
l^       The  sun  slid  down  the  slope  of  afternoon, 
An  avalanche  of  glory  for  an  hour. 
One  fleecy  cloud  o'erhead  that  flecked  the  blue 
Lay  fringed  with  silver  like  an  angel's  robe 
Afloat  upon  mid-air,  too  bright  for  shade  ; 
While  in  the  south  the  gods  of  summer  showers 
Let  down  their  golden  ladders  and  in  haste 
Watered  the  mountain  edge  and  plain  above 
The  heights  of  Qiieenston,  column  crowned,  where  lies 
Our  country's  darling  on  his  bed  of  fame. 
Speaking  brave  words  for  ever  to  our  land. 
As  spake  his  death  on  that  October  morn 
Made  glorious  in  our  annals  ever  more.f 
It  thundered  once  beyond  the  echoing  woods, 
Like  laughter  of  the  gods  who  held  the  shower, 
Nor  let  a  raindrop  touch  the  festive  grove 
Where  sped  the  pastimes  of  the  Queen's  birthday. 

The  roaring  of  the  distant  Falls  was  heard— 
Resonant — deep — abysmal — deeper  still  ; 
Like  throbbings  of  earth's  very  heart  it  came, 
The  old  time  monody,  old  as  the  world, 
The  lullaby  of  man  when  he  was  made. 
And  morning  stars  together  sang  for  joy  I 
The  shadows  in  the  grove  crept  eastward  now. 
Weaving  their  woof  and  warp  of  light  and  shade 
In  new  and  quivering  patterns,  that  defied 
All  art  of  schools  to  match  their  tapisserie. 
Upon  the  grass  a  roinid  of  dancers  wheeled 
In  graceful  measure  to  the  violins. 
The  flutes  and  tambourines,  that  tilled  the  grove 
With  music  such  as  stirs  tlie  blood,  and  sets 
The  feet  unconsciously  to  beat  the  bars. 

•  [The  reader  is  referred  to  page  414  of  "\'ol.  VI.  fur  the  Prelude  and  the  first  of  these  Cana- 
dian Idylls.— Ed.  C.  M.] 

t  General  Sir  Isaac  Brock,  Governor  of  Upper  Canada,  killed  at  the  Battle  of   Queenston, 
13th  October,  1812. 


282  CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

May  listened  eagerly — while  on  her  cheek 

The  dimples  went  and  came,  quick  as  her  smiles. 

Trne  woman  she  I  who  gave  the  sighs  where  due 

The  old  French  thorns — the  love  that  went  astray — 

Then  pnt  the  grief  aside.     Her  eyes  shone  out, 

Washed  by  a  tear  ;  the  brighter  for  th'  eclipse 

Of  sorrow,  and  a  love-grief  not  her  own. 

She  took  the  profi'ered  hand  of  one  she  liked  ; 

With  liking  almost  loving,  sooth  to  say  ; 

A  youth  who  worshipped  her — as  well  she  knew, 

And  pleased  to  think  so — for  it  seemed  her  due, 

The  right  divine  of  woman  to  be  loved, 

And  be  herself  heart  free,  if  so  she  chose — 

Mistrusting  little  how  her  strength  might  fail 

Just  at  the  moment  of  its  least  avail  ! 

As  there  was  one  who  once  did  'wilder  him, 

Who  wrote  the  tale — loved  him  perhaps — nay  more. 

Knelt  by  his  side  at  the  Castalian  spring. 

And,  dipping  with  both  hands  the  water  pure, 

Gave  him  to  drink  of  immortality — 

And  kissed  him  into  death,  of  all  beside, 

To  live  with  him  in  verse  for  ever  more. 

May  joined  the  dancers,  while  a  merry  tune. 
In  triple  time  of  lilting  airs  they  loved, 
Greeted  her  coming — for  where  all  were  fair 
'  May  was  the  fairest,  with  her  tossing  hair, 

And  thousand  charms  in  motion  everywhere. 

Her  waving  robe  revealed  two  dainty  feet 

Light  as  a  plover's  tripping  on  the  grass. 

And  scarcely  touching  it,  as  she  danced  through 

The  joyoTis  set  and  then  renewed  it,  too  ! — 

Her  dimpled  smiles  and  merry  glances  caught 

Reflections  of  themselves  in  every  face 

That  turned  to  her,  as  she  flew  gaily  past. 

And  so  May  danced  without  a  single  care. 

Until  her  thought  reverted  to  a  scene 

Like  this,  her  favourite  poet  had  described, 

A  happy  hour  of  others'  joys,  forbid 

To  him  who  wrote  the  story — to  relieve 

The  weary  night  thoughts,  and  forget  the  pain, 

The  want — the  isolation,  and  the  strain 

Upon  the  heartstrings,  until  one  by  one 

They  snapped,  and  silent  lay  the  broken  harp, 

But  not  the  music  ;  which  had  been  set  free 

To  float  forever  in  the  heart  of  May, 

And  those  who,  like  her,  loved  the  poet's  lay. 

The  girl  had  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  a  fount 

Perennial,  hid  from  eye  of  garish  day  ; 

Ideals  of  love  and  duty — words  of  prize 

From  poets  gathered,  many,  rich  and  wise — 

And  most  from  him  whose  book  she  loved  the  best  ; 

That  old  unprinted  volume,  whence  she  drew 

Day  dreams  of  fancy,  tender,  lovely,  pure. 

Illumed  by  hope,  and  warmed  by  youthful  fire  ; 

And  in  them  lived  the  life  of  her  desire. 

Amid  the  meadows  and  beside  the  brook 
The  lake's  lone  shore — or  by  the  winter  fire. 
She  filled  the  varied  scene  with  forms  she  loved 
Flowers — trees — cascades,  rocks,  castles  in  the  air  •, 


CA  NA  DIA  N  ID  YLLS.  288 

A  Beulah  where  true  love  was  always  sure 

Of  its  fulfilment,  for  in  that  bright  land 

Of  her  imaginings,  all  came  to  pass — 

Just  as  she  wished  it  ;  never  died  a  flower — 

Nor  failed  a  fountain  of  its  overflow 

Nor  lost  the  grass  its  verdure,  and  where  seed 

Life-germinal,  first  sown  in  heaven,  ajipears 

On  eax'th  in  new  creations — of  its  kind, 

And  not  another's  to  the  evermore  ; 

Whence  comes  the  newness  and  in  time,  the  old. — 

In  that  fair  land  Love  drank  its  fill  secure — 

No  heart  of  man  or  maid  was  ever  sore — 

No  cross  between  them  ever  marred  their  joy. 

But  all  things  right  and  happily  befell, 

As  she  would  have  it.     And  with  start,  half  joy  ; 

Half  fear,  would  sometimes  flush  to  think  one  day, 

Perchance  to  her  might  happen  in  the  way 

Of  others  to  be  wooed  by  thrilling  clasp 

Of  hands,  that  catch  her  haply  unawares, 

And  hold  her,  not  unwilling  it  might  be. 

What  then  ]     Why  all  her  glorious  fancies  raised 

To  topmost  height,  were  feeble  to  express 

The  hopes — the  joys — the  tremulous  distress 

Of  that  sweet  change  from  fancy  to  the  real 

Which  finds  in  love  the  crown  of  its  ideal. 

The  dancing  ceased  awhile — the  dancers  walked 

By  twos  and  threes  beneath  the  shade,  and  talked 

With  zest  and  relish  of  the  things  they  knew 

Things  easy,  common,  not  too  high  or  low — 

Familiar  as  the  stools  whereon  they  sat. 

None  stumble  over  them — nor  fear  to  trip — 

By  too  much  wisdom — so  gay  talk  and  song 

Succeed  the  dance  amid  the  joyous  crowd. 

May,  flushed  and  happy,  with  disordered  hair 

She  shook  into  its  place — her  arm  half -bare, 

She  covered  blu shingly,  rejoined  the  few 

Beside  her  uncle,  who  sat  book  on  knee 

And  bade  her  choose  a  tale  and  read  it  too. 

She  said  :  '  Good  uncle  !  There  is  one  sweet  tale 

I  love,  and  fain  would  read — Not  that  !  nor  that !  ' 

She  turned  the  leaves  in  haste — '  Not  that  !  just  now, 

That  melancholy  tale  which  tells  of  one 

Poor  maid  forlorn  and  crazed,  who  died  for  loss 

Of  her  young  bridegroom  on  their  wedding  mom — 

In  the  wild  whirlpool  where  he  ventured  in 

To  rescue  drowning  men — and  was  himself 

Caught  by  the  swirling  eddies  ringed  with  foam, 

And  borne  away  in  sight  of  his  young  bride  ! 

'  All  the  day  her  cries  to  heaven  rose  up  in  vain. 
Heaven  gave  no  sign — albeit  the  Father's  ear 
Heard  all  in  pity — ordering  for  the  best 
Th'  eternal  providence  of  life  and  death — 
Of  death,  whose  gloomy  masque  conceals  the  grace 
Of  God  beneath  it— hides  the  beauteous  face 
Of  Life's  great  angel,  sent  to  all  in  turn 
To  summon  each  of  us  in  name  of  him 
Whom  we  call  Death,  but  who  is  Life  eterne. 
Three  days  her  bridegroom  with  iiplifted  arms, 
Stark  stiff  in  death,  besought  her  as  he  whirled 


284  ^^  NADIA  N  ID  YLLS. 

In  vast  gyrations  slowly  round  and  round 
The  watery  circles,  each  one  with  a  well 
That  swallowed  all  things  in  it— bodies,  trees, 
Tall  masts  on  end — disgorging  them  again 
In  sport  of  giants— so  three   days  she  gazed 
Upon  her  bridegroom  in  the  whirling  tides. 
Now  sinking,  now  emerging — till  she  crazed. 
And  still  they  say  her  ghost  is  seen  o'  nights, 
When  winds  roar  up  the  gorge,  and  moonlight  falls 
With  flickering  beams  amid  the  shaking  pines 
That  overlook  the  whirlpool.     On  the  rocks 
There,  with  pale  face  and  clasped  hands,  she  sits 
Peering  into  the  chasm,  where  he  whirls 
With  arms  outstretched — two  hapless  ghosts  forlorn, 
Each  on  the  other  calling— till  the  dawn. 

•  '  I  like  not  that  ! '  said  May— and  turned  the  leaves 

Impatiently—'  nor  this  !     No  !     Neither  this 
Grim  story  of  the  rebel's  bones  !     Although 
You  always  lau.ah  to  hear  it,  uncle  dear  ! ' 

'  Why,  yes  ; '  he  answered,  smiling  as  he  spoke — 
'  It  makes  one  laugh — the  story  is  so  odd — 
So  true,  besides  !  for  my  own  eyes  have  seen 
How  an  uneasy  rebel — killed  and  laid 
In  Navy  Island  could  no  quiet  find 
Even  in  his  grave.     No  rest  had  Beebe's  bones 
Oft  as  men  buried  them  and  beat  them  down, 
Earth  cast  them  up  again  !     Year  after  year 
His  bleached  disjointed  frame  next  morning  lay 
Upon  the  grass  beside  his  open  grave, 
Which  seemed  not  dug,  but  scratched  by  demon  claws, 
As  if  the  great  arch  rebel  Lucifer 
Had  claimed  his  own — A  weird,  uncanny  tale  ! 
Beyond  the  wit  of  any  to  explain  !* 

'  The  tale  of  Beebe's  bones  is  all  too  grim 

For  you,  dear  May  !  although  you  are,  1  know. 

Courageous  as  your  mother — who,  that  night 

Of  battle  round  the  hill  of  Lundy's  Lane, 

Passed  through  our  ranks,  amid  the  lines  of  fire, 

And  carried  water  to  our  thirsty  men, 

Who  drank  to  victory — and  won  it  then  ! 

Canadian  women  loyal,  tender,  true. 

In  all  the  charities  of  life,  possessed 

A  man's  heart  for  their  country  in  those  days, 

As  you  have  in  your  bosom  now,  dear  May  ! ' 

'  Praise  not  my  courage,  uncle  !  lest  it  fail  !  ' 
She  laughing  said — '  1  feel  it  failing  now  ! 
My  man's  heart  is  a  woman's  after  all  ! 
A  tale  of  peaceful  life  and  happy  love — 
Or  love  unhappy,  so  it  end  in  bliss — 
Prefer  I  to  the  records  of  grim  war  : 
Such  I  will  choose,  and  such  wdl  read,  if  you, 
My  dear  companions,  round  this  witness-stone 
Will  listen  patiently — for  it  is  true 

*  Beebe,  a  '  sympathiser,'  killed  in  the  bombardment  of  Navy  Island,  1837.  _ 

In  1846,  nine  years  after  the  occurrence,  the  writer,  with  a  friend  still  Uving.  visited  Is  ayy 
Island,  then  densely  wooded  and  uninhabited.  Curiosity  led  us  to  the  south-east  corner  of  the 
island  to  see  the  grave  of  Beebe.  We  found  it  open,  and  his  bones  lying  beside  it  on  the 
ground,  as  described. 


CANA  DIA  N  ID  YLLS. 

As  poetry  for  ever  is — more  true 
Than  old  dry  knowledge  without  music's  beat, 
That  never  tastes  the  sweetness  of  th'  ideal 
Nor  shakes  the  dust  of  earth  from  off  its  feet  ! 
Old  Cliftbrd  smiled .     '  We  are  alert  to  hear 
Your  tale  so  wisely  prefaced,  dearest  May  ! 
That  poet  in  your  heart  I  think,  and  you 
Who  love  him,  and  have  caught  his  spirit  too, 
Will  fail  not  in  the  reading — for  I  know 
That  when  the  heart  is  in  it,  nothing  fails  !  ' 
May  smiled  approvingly,  but  answered  not  ; 
She  turned  the  faded  leaves,  and  quickly  found 
The  story  treasured,  and  so  often  read — 
Indeed  by  heart  she  knew  it,  and  the  book, 
With  his  firm  writing  on  it,  only  gave 
Her  looks  more  animation,  and  her  tongue 
More  emphasis  of  keenest  sympathy 
That  wound  round  every  fibre  of  the  tale — 
She  smoothed  her  ruffled  hair,  drew  in  her  robe, 
And  pulled  her  kerchief  tighter  round  her  heart 
Unconsciously — to  stay  its  beating — while 
She  sat  upon  the  stone  of  witness,  and — 
With  voice  clear,  soft  and  flexible — began 

THE  BELLS  OF  KIRB7  WLSKE. 

Temp.  Geo.   IV.,  1820. 

'  The  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names, 
On  sands  and  shores  and  desert  wildernesses.' 

— Coiius. 

It  was  their  autumn — fifth  amid  the  woods, 

Yet  in  their  primal  solitude,  remote. 

Vast  and  unbroken,  save  where  came  a  few 

Brave  pioneers — the  first,  to  Balsam  Lake, 

From  English  villages  and  breezy  wolds, 

Led  by  John  Ashby,  who  in  many  wars 

In  every  clime,  and  last  in  Canada, 

Had  served  the  King  with  honour,  and  received 

These  lands  in  gift,  which  he  as  freely  gave 

To  his  poor  hardy  people — their's  in  fee — 

To  build,  to  plant,  and  make  themselves  a  home — 

A  home  of  plenty,  peace  and  sweet  content  ; 

A  home  of  loyal,  brave  and  godly  men. 

The  heirs  of  English  freedom — their's  by  birth  ; 

Not  free  by  license  of  a  lawless  will, 

Or  breach  of  kinship  or  allegiance  due  ; 

But  free  by  right  of  commonweal  in  all 

The  franchises  of  her  Imperial  State  ; 

Whose  jjublic  conscience  is  the  law  of  God, 

Source  of  her  power  and  greatness — that  alone 

Builds  up  a  State — without  it  none  can  stand. 

All  else  is  but  the  house  upon  the  sand, 

Foundationless,  that  in  the  tempest  falls. 

The  equinoctial  gales  had  ceased  among 

The  balsams,  pines  and  hemlocks,  bough  to  bough. 

Locked  in  a  phalanx  with  a  forest  grip  ; 

That  linked  the  hills  together  in  a  chain — 

The  calm  of  Indian  summer  had  set  in — 

Mornings  of  hoar  frost — smoky,  sleepy  noons — 


285 


286  CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

Beheld  the  sun  shorn  of  his  beams.     His  face 

Ruddy  with  festal  joys,  as  of  new  Avine— 

For  all  things  ripened  now.     The  wild  grapes  hung 

In  purple  clusters.     Acorns  uncupped  fell, 

With  mast  of  beech  upon  the  leafy  ground — 

While  far  as  eye  co\dd  see,  the  maples  blazed. 

Like  distant  camp-fires  in  the  piny  woods, 

Breaking  the  solemn  gloom  of  evergreen 

With  touch  of  light  and  warmth.     The  glassy  lake 

Dotted  with  rocky  islets  overgrown 

With  mimic  forests — each  a  fairy  land 

And  empire  of  itself  for  Fancy's  dreams 

Held  in  its  bays— the  vast  migrating  flocks 

Of  Avild  geese,  swans  and  mallards,  with  a  clash 

Of  wings  and  trumpetings.     High  up  the  stream 

In  solitary  pools,  the  beavers  worked 

With  quiet  industry — and  one  for  all 

And  all  for  one — improving  lessons  gave 

To  selfish  man,  to  teach  him  how  to  live  ! 

This  afternoon  two  sisters — lovely  both , 
Each  lovelier  than  the  other — people  said. 
As  rose  or  lily  was  preferred^so  they — 
Unlike  in  aspect,  as  a  ray  of  light 
Upon  a  diamond's  facets  in  the  sun. 
Refracted  variously  is  still  the  same — 
Sat  on  a  fallen  tree — one  with  a  book 
Upon  her  lap,  one  busy  with  the  threads 
Of  varicloured  wool,  half  work,  half  play 
Conversing,  reading,  musing,  as  it  chanced. 
Their  language  soft  as  summer  brooks  that  slide 
O'er  mossy  stones  was  interrupted  oft 
With  breaks  and  sweet  elisions,  that  made 
Unspoken  words  more  clear  than  utterance. 

Their  quiet  lives  amid  the  woods  to-day, 

With  some  unusual  news  had  been  aroused— 

Next  Sunday  was  to  bring  to  Balsam  Lake, 

A  Sabbath  such  as  never  had  been  seen 

In  these  new  settlements  ;  for  word  had  come 

To  good  John  Ashby,  and,  retold,  had  passed 

From  house  to  house  throughout  the  wilderness — 

Leagues  inward,  where  the  woodman  rested  on 

His  polished  axe,  or  ran  the  plougliman  in 

To  tell  his  good  wife,  overjoyed,  the  news  : 

A  godly  missionary  come  from  home, 

Yea— from  their  very  country  side — their  own 

Old  pastor,  would  before  next  Sunday  be 

At  Balsam  Lake,  with  services  that  day  ! 

And  for  the  first  time  in  this  wilderness. 

Set  out  the  holy  table  of  the  Lord, 

For  blest  communion  of  the  Sacrament, 

In  memory  of  Him  who  died  for  all ! 

For  good  John  Ashby,  while  he  never  missed 

In  rain  or  shine,  or  heat  or  cold,  to  read 

God's  word  with  prayers  upon  the  Sabbath  day, 

To  all  his  neighbours,  who  to  worship  came — 

Nor  hesitated,  in  the  need  there  was, 

To  christen  babes,  born  in  their  forest  homes, 

Into  God's  kingdom,  there  as  everywhere  ; 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

And  as  a  magistrate,  for  good  of  peace 

And  people's  quiet  rule  and  government, 

Commissioned  by  the  broad  seal  of  the  king, 

Would  marry  all  who  came  with  good  intent. 

And  lawful  hands  to  be  in  wedlock  joined — •  • 

Yea — earth  to  earth  and  dust  to  dust — interred 

In  graves  of  peace  beneath  the  solemn  pines, 

Such  as  fell  by  the  way  and  died — no  shrine 

Of  holiest  repute  in  Eastern  lands. 

Glowing  in  sunshine  by  the  lofty  palms 

That  cut  the  clear  blue  sk}',  was  nearer  heaven 

Than  those  green  graves  beside  the  Balsam  Lake, 

Yet — moved  by  scruples — over-nice  may  be. 

As  fearing  to  transcend,  what  use  forbade  :  ^ 

Not  Christ  expressly — and  as  if  unsure 

Of  all,  the  depth  and  meaning  of  this  gift 

Of  love  divine  left  in  the  Sacrament, 

John  Ashby  ventured  not  to  break  the  bread, 

Or  give  the  testaraental  cup,  in  those 

Pure  elements,  that  represent  the  sum 

Of  all  God's  grace — past,  present,  and  to  come. 

*  Great  is  the  mystery  of  godliness  !  ' 

Not  less  than  chief  est  of  Apostles  said, 

Unfathomable  as  the  reach  of  space, 

Than  man's  most  searching  plummet  deeper  yet, 

However  deep  the  eternal  mystery. 

Upon  its  waters  floats  the  ark  of  life — 

The  Word  divine.     Amid  the  winds  and  wash 

Of  angry  waves,  we  hear  the  Saviour's  voice, 

Say,  '  Peace  be  Still  I     O  fear  not,  it  is  I  I  ' 

'  Do  this  in  my  remembrance  !  '  Blessed  words  ! 

Enough  to  save  the  world,  if  but  believed. 

Eve  Ashby  held  her  sister's  hands,  and  sat 
With  far  off-look  and  parted  lips,  intent 
To  catch  a  haunting  sound  from  memory's  depths 
That  floated  up,  ai:d  in  her  startled  ears 
Renewed  the  music  of  the  by -gone  years. 
'  0,  listen  Hilda  !  Hear  you  not,'  cried  she. 
With  lifted  hand  that  touched  her  startled  ear  ; 
That  old  familiar  chime  float  in  the  air  ! 
The  bells  of  Kirby  Wiske  are  ringing — ringing- 
Have  in  my  ears  all  day  been  ringing  low. 
Their  triple  cadence  as  on  Sunday  morns 

•  It  came  across  the  meadows,  where  the  thrush 
Sang  in  the  hedges  and  the  sky-lark  rose 
Above  us  in  mid  air,  as  we  passed  on. 
Or  stood  upon  the  bridge  to  watch  the  fishes 
With  their  own  shadows  playing  in  the  brook — 

Across  the  corn-fields,  where  the  beaten  foot-paths 

Cut  by  the  stiles,  led  to  the  distant  village 

Where  stands  our  ancient  church,  gray  with  the  ages, 

That  in  the  nook  of  its  old  massive  tower, 

As  loving  as  a  mother  holds  her  children, 

Keeps  safe  the  graves  of  all  our  kith  and  kin  ; 

The  solemn  bells  above  them  chiming  sweetly — 

Ever  repeating  till  the  judgment  day  : 

"  Blest  are  those  servants  whom  the  Lord  finds  watching 

When  He  shall  comy  I  "    His  servants  !  blest  are  they  l"^ 


287 


2S8  CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

Eve  Ashby,  after  silence  for  a  moment, 

Embraced  her  sister  fondly,  and  went  on, 

'  'Twas  always  said,  you  know,  my  darling  Hilda  \ 

To  hear  those  bells  in  dreams  or  fantasy, 

Was  certain  sign  that  God  was  calling  in 

Some  weary  soul  to  rest  from  earthly  labour," 

As  they  to-day  are  haply  calling  me  ! ' 

A  light  of  joy  flashed  iiji,  and  then  she  paled 
To  see  her  sister  tremble,  full  of  anguish, 
For  Hilda  too  believed  the  legend  hoar 
Told  of  the  bells  of  Kirby  Wiske, — Whoever 
Heard  them,  in  dreams  or  reverie,  knew  well 
That  God  required  the  soul  for  whom  they  rang. 

Eve  Ashby,  pure  of  mind  as  fair  of  face — 
•  In  each  you  saw  the  other — long  had  given 

Her  soul  to  God,  and  loved  of  all  things  else 
Communion  with  His  spirit  by  His  Word, 
Which  quickened  in  her  every  power  beside. 
Her  father's  wisdom,  culled  in  many  lands, 
In  war  and  peace,  converse  with  men  and  things 
With  ripe  experience  of  a  varied  life, 
Was  the  rich  heritage  she  made  her  own  ; 
She  read  her  father's  books — the  choicest  lore 
Of  past  and  present — loved  on  them  to  pore, 
Extracting  gold  whatever  in  them  was. 
From  his  wise  conversation  learned  to  sift 
Truth's  wheat  from  chaff,  and  garnered  in  her  mind 
A  thousand  things  she  loved  to  hear  and  know. 
She  learned  how  graiid  was  England's  heritage 
Of  minds  immortal — from  the  nation's  dawn — 
When  Caedmon,  in  his  dreams,  preluded  first 
In  English  tongue,  up  in  the  Angle-land — 
Our  earlier  Milton — not  unworthy  him. 
Who  after  came  with  thunderous  harmonies, 
And  closed  the  song  which  Caedmon  first  began. 
No  vain  romance  sang  he,  but  things  divine 
Of  truth  and  righteousness,  God's  Word  made  plain 
To  our  great,  rude  forefathers.     Such  the  seed 
First  sown  on  English  ground.     Thank  God  for  that 

Sang  none  before  our  Caedmon.     After  him 
Came  first  a  few — then  more — then  many,  as 
Unwinds  the  roll  of  centuries,  until 
A  mighty  host  goes  forth  at  last,  renowned 
As  sages,  poets,  some  with  laurel  crowned,    . 
To  all  the  earth's  four  corners,  high  a  flood 
With  English  speech  and  deeds  of  Englishmen, 
And  their  true  lineage  here  and  everywhere. 
That,  when  the  world's  great  Babel  crumbles  down, 
Their's  may  remain  at  last  the  only  tongue  ! 

The  sun  was  setting  slowly  in  a  blaze 
That  filled  the  valley  of  the  Balsam  Lake  ; 
Whose  undulating  shores  were  melted  in 
The  bright  effulgence  of  the  western  sky. 

The  sisters  sat Eve,  eldest  of  the  twain. 

Bright  chestnut-haired,  with  eyes  cerulean  blue, 
"*  Clear  as  the  sky  of  Asgard — tall  and  lithe  — 

With  features  sculptured  by  a  master-hand. 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS.  289 

Straight  as  Iduna's,  who  with  apples  fed 
The  Eddie  gods  of  her  ancestral  race. 

She  spake  to  Hilda  smilingly,  whose  eyes 
Still  wet  with  tears,  tried  vaiiJy  to  respond 
To  Eve's  unwonted  ecstasy — to  her 
The  culmination  of  the  dread  of  years, 
To  Eve  a  hope  more  bright  than  any  fears. 
She  drew  her  sister's  face  to  hers,  and  said  : 
'  My  Hilda  !     There  is  cause  for  joy  to-day. 
Our  frequent  prayers  are  answered  in  these  wilds 
Of  woods,  and  waters  little  known  to  man, 
But  dear  and  near  as  Paradise  to  God. 
On  Sunday  all  our  people,  far  and  near, 

Will  come  to  meet  our  Pastor,  and  receive 
From  his  good  hands  the  supper  of  the  Lord. 
Here  hungering  for  the  precious  bread  of  heaven, 

We  long  have  prayed  to  see  Christ's  messenger, 

Ordained  and  sent  and  clothed  for  righteousness, 

Like  to  the  Saints,  in  linen  fine  and  white. 

Who- follow  Him,  whose  name  is  "  Word  of  God."  ' 

More  had  she  said,  but  touched  by  Hilda's  tears, 

Was  silent,  and  she  heard  the  chime  renewed 

More  near  and  clear  of  those  forewarning  bells. 

That  never  lied  to  God  or  man,  in  all 

The  centuries  they  rang  for  quick  and  dead. 

Up  in  the  hoary  towerj  whose  shadow  falls 

Of  summer  mornings  on  the  graves  she  loved — 

Her  mother's,  flush  with  fairest  flowers  of  spring, 

And  many  a  hillock  with  its  mossy  stone. 

Of  kindred  dead,  laid  with  their  kindred  dust, 

With  one  who  might  have  been  more  near  than  all, 

Whose  grave  her  feet  had  left,  but  not  her  heart, 

Por  there  reposed  her  life's  abiding  trust. 

That  old  gray  church,  built  when  Plantagenets  ruled 

Our  England  with  a  kingly  hand,  o'erlooked 

The  broad,  flat  meadows  and  the  gentle  stream 

Not  wider  than  a  girl  can  throw  a  stone. 

Where  stood  the  village  butts  of  olden  time, 

And  sturdy  yeomen  learned  to  draw  the  bow 

Of  Cressy,  Agincourt  and  Flodden  field, 

In  those  brave  days  when  battles  had  no  smoke. 

And  men  their  foes  encountered  eye  to  eye. 

There,  Roger  Ascham,  stout  of  arm  and  brain,* 

Archer  and  scholar,  learned  in  every  lore. 

Taught  men  to  shoot,  and  think,  and  speak  the  truth 

With  wit  and  wisdom,  as  he  nobly  trained 

The  regal  mind  of  great  Elizabeth. 

Or  later,  by  a  century  and  more, 
One  lived  in  this  old  Danelagh  by  the  Wiske, 
Who  felt,  he  scarce  knew  why,  the  Viking  blood 
Stir  in  him,  till  his  learned,  laborious  hand 
Restored  to  English  letters — almost  lost. 
The  heirlooms  of  our  race — the  ancient  tongue 
Of  Woden,  and  the  Eddas  once  our  own. 
Brave,  loyal,  godly  Hickes,  without  a  See,t 

*  The  learned  and  famous  Roger  Ascham  was  a  native  of  Kirby  Wiske.     A  fine  memorial 
window  was,  a  few  years  ago,  placed  in  the  church  to  commemorate  that  distinguished  scholar. 

t  George  Hickes,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Worcester,  and  suffragan  Bishop  of  Thetford.     A  distin- 
guished non-juror,  deprived  for  refusing  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  Wilham  III.    He  was  born  in 
5 


290  CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

A  bishop  rich  in  conscience  as  in  lore  ; 

In  spirit  poor  to  God,  but  not  to  man, 

Remains  without  a  stone  or  carved  line 

In  those  old  walls  he  loved,  which  honouring  him 

Would  have  an  equal  honour  done  themselves. 

And  he  who  these  old  faded  leaves  transcribes 

Will  add  what  surely  had  been  writ  therein 

By  our  dead  poet,  had  he  lived  to  see 

That  monumental  marble  raised  to  one 

Of  England's  dead  who  fell  at  Isandiile 

Far  from  his  happy  home  and  native  seat— 

*Pulleine,  who  when  the  hosts  of  savage  foes 

Surrounded  him,  nor  hope  of  life  remained, 

Bade  two  take  horse  and  save  the  colours,  quick  ! 

AVho  saved  the  honoured  flags,  but  not  their  lives  ! — 

While  he  turned  calmly  to  his  men,  and  spake  : 

'  Men  here  we  stand — and  here  we  fight  it  out 

Unto  the  end  !  ' — and  he  and  all  of  them, 

True  English  hearts  !  together  closed  their  ranks, 

And  died  upon  the  field  they  could  not  win  ! 

The  Christian  soldier,  on  the  arid  plains 

Of  Africa,  had  heard  the  solemn  bells 

Of  Kirby  Wiske  ring  on  that  fatal  day  ! 

Eve  rose  in  haste,  '  Come,  Hilda  ! '  cried  she,  '  come  ! ' 

Her  voice  was  clear  of  flaw  as  is  the  note 

Of  the  glad  oriole  full  tuned  in  spring. 

'Come  !  sister,  come  !     We  must  prepare  the  things 

Are  needed  for  the  Sabbath  day,  and  deck 

With  evergreens  our  upper  room.     It  will 

Be  more  than  filled  with  people  come  to  see 

Their  ancient  pastor,  wearing  robe  and  stole, 

Repeat  the  sacred  prayers,  and  after  years 

Of  si^iritual  fast,  receive  from  him 

The  sacrament  ordained  by  our  dear  Lord. ' 

Rose  Hilda  quickly,  for  like  Martha  she, 
Housewifely  to  the  core,  and  proud  of  it  to  be, 
Was  cumbered  with  much  serving,  more  than  Eve, 
Who  sat  like  Mary  at  her  Saviour's  feet. 
Pouring  on  them  the  ointment  of  her  heart. 
Eve  chose  the  one  thing  needful — that  good  part, 
Which  none  could  take  away — the  love  that  lives 
For  ever  happy  in  the  Master's  eye, 
And  does  His  bidding  without  asking  :     Why  ? 

But  ever  Eve  was  conscious  of  the  bells 
That  rang  forewarningly — and  she  was  glad 
And  whispered  under  breath,  '  His  will  be  done  ! 

the  parish  of  Kirby  Wiske,  1642;  died  1715.  His  gueat  work  on  the  old  Northern  languages, 
entitled  'Thesaurus  Grammaticus  et  Archeologkus  Imguarum  vetcrum  septentrionalium,'  restored 
to  England  the  knowledge  and  study  of  the  Danish  and  Anglo-Saxon  foundations  of  cm- 
language, 

*  At  the  massacre  of  Isandula,  22nd  of  January,  1870,  Colonel  Pulleine,  of  the  24th  Eegi- 
ment,  being  completely  enveloped  by  the  main  army  of  the  Zulus — with  his  amunition  e.x- 
hausted  and  no  hope  left  of  saving  the  lives  of  himself  and  his  men — bade  Lieutenants  Melville 
and  Coghill  mount  and  save  the  colours.  These  two  gallant  officers  fought  their  waj'  through. 
They  saved  the  colours,  but  both  perished  in  the  struggle.  Colonel  Pulleine  then  turned  to 
his  men  with  the  following  speech  :— '  Men  of  the  1st  24th  !  We  are  here  !  and  here  we  stand 
to  fight  it  out  to  the  end  ! '  They  all  fell  fighting  to  the  last  man.  Colonel  Pulleine  was  the 
eldest  son  of  the  late,  and  brother  of  the  present  rector  of  Kirby  Wiske,  where  a  monument 
has  been  erected  to  his  memory. 


AN  ^ESTHETIC  PARTY.  291 

My  Lord  is  calling  me  to  enter  in 

His  kingdom,  where  my  heart  has  gone  before  ! 

Where  He  awaits  me,  who  that  summer  eve 

When  Wiske  ran  rippling  by  our  lingering  feet, 

Heaven's  countless  stars  for  witness,  pledged  his  love 

With  this  betrothal  ring  again  to  come, 

At  Christmas  tide,  the  gladdest  yule  to  be 

For  both  of  us  !  which  came — but  never  he  ! 

Alas  !  the  day  !  when  Swale  in  winter  flood 

From  fells  and  moorlands  overflowed  his  banks, 

And  buried  all  the  fords  in  deluge  wide. 

And  he,  for  love  of  me,  rode  rashly  in, 
To  keep  his  word  and  set  our  wedding  day. 
Ah  !  me  !  his  lifeless  body  stark  in  death, 
His  lips  sealed  with  a  smile  as  hard  as  stone, 
With  open  hands  that  seemed  to  say,  farewell,. 
Was  all  they  brought  me  of  my  Lionel  ! ' 


AN    ESTHETIC    PAETY. 

BY    *  GOWAN    lea/    MONTREAL. 


IN  the  dimly -lighted  chamber 
Hung  with  crimson  and  with  gold, 
See  the  radiant  maidens  sitting, 
Dreaming  of  the  days  of  old. 

'  Yonder,'  says  one,  glancing  upward 
To  the  portraits  on  the  wall, 

'  Yonder  are  the  grand  old  masters 
Looking  down  upon  us  all : 

'  Michael  A^ngelo  and  Turner, 

Raffaelle  and  Socrates, 
Mozart,  Byron — all  the  poets, — 

O  that  ours  were  days  like  these  ' 

*  Might  we  but  commune  in  spirit 

With  the  great  heroic  band  ! 
Might  their  lofty  genius  lift  us 
Into  their  ideal  land  ! 

*  Ah  !  the  tapers  flicker  dimly. 

Light  and  life  burn  to  decay, 
But  the  world  of  Art  and  Beauty 
Opens  to  an  endless  day.' 


292 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


THE    POWER    OF    DISALLOWANCE  AND    ITS    NATIONAL 
IMPORTANCE. 


BY    THE    HON.     JAMES    COCKBURN,    QC,    EX-SPEAKER  OF  THE    HOUSE  OF    COMMONS, 

OTTAWA, 


"TTTHEN  the  scheme  of  Confedera- 
VV  tion  was  discussed  in  the  Legis- 
lature at  Quebec,  there  was  a  marked 
anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  leading  poli- 
ticians to  follow  all  the  good  features 
of  the  federal  plan  of  union  adopted 
by  the  United  States  of  America,  and 
to  avoid  all  the  weak  points  which 
that  system  had  disclosed,  and  which 
had  become,  as  it  were,  prominent 
landmarks  for  our  o\\ai  guidance.  The 
question  of  '  Sovereign  State  Rights  ' 
was  one  which  in  its  applicability  to 
our  Provinces  had  previously  caused 
much  anxious  consideration  at  the 
Quebec  Conference,  held  in  October, 
1864,  and  again  in  the  two  Houses  of 
the  Legislature,  when  the  Address  was 
voted  to  the  Crown,  in  February,  1865, 
praying  for  an  Imperial  Act  to  legalize 
and  confirm  the  new  Constitution.  All 
the  leading  minds  of  the  two  great 
political  parties,  Liberal  and  Conserva- 
tive, were  united  in  the  opinion  that 
the  supreme  power  must  remain  with 
the  Dominion  or  Federal  Government, 
and  that  the  legislation  of  the  Pro- 
vinces must  be  made  subject  to  dis- 
allowance by  that  power.  The  de- 
bates both  of  the  Canadian  Legisla- 
ture and  the  Imperial  Parliament  shew 
that  the  consideration  of  this  import- 
ant question  in  all  its  various  bear- 
ings was  gravely  and  thoughtfully  en- 
tertained, the  result  being  that  the 
clearly  expressed  desire  of  the  people 
of  the  British  North  American  Pro- 
vinces on  this  question  of  sovereign 
power  was  embodied  in  the  Act  of 
Union. 


•  By  reference  thereto,  we  find  that 
inasmuch  as  Acts  passed  by  the  Par- 
liament of  the  Dominion  might — sec. 
56  of  the  Union  Act — be  disallowed 
by  the  Queen  in  Council  within  two 
years,  so  Acts  passed  by  the  Provin- 
cial Legislatures  might — sec.  90 — be 
disallowed  by  the  Governor-General  in 
Council  within  one  year.  It  may  be 
well  to  give  the  section  of  the  Statute 
verbatim  as  it  stands  to-day.  See  sec- 
tion 56,  as  read  in  connection  with  sec. 
90: 

'When  the  Lieut. -Governor  assents  to  a 
Bill  in  the  Gcvernor-Greneral's  name,  he  shall, 
by  the  first  convenient  opportunity,  send  an 
authentic  copy  of  the  Act  to  the  Secretary  of 
State  for  Canada,  and  if  the  Governor-Gene- 
ral in  Council,  within  one  year  after  receipt 
thereof  by  the  Secretary  of  State,  thinks  fit 
to  disallow  the  Act,  such  disallowance  (with  a 
certificate  of  the  Secretary  of  State  of  the  day 
on  which  the  Act  was  received  by  him)  being 
signified  by  the  Lieutenant-Governor  by 
speech  or  message  to  the  Legislature  of  the 
Province,  or  bj'  proclamation,  shall  annul  the 
Act  from  and  after  the  day  of  such  significa- 
tion.' 

This,  then,  is  the  constitutional  au- 
thority for  the  exercise  by  the  Gover- 
nor-General in  Council  of  the  power 
of  disallowance.  No  one,  indeed, 
can  question  that  the  power  exists, 
and  no  one  who  is  at  all  acquainted 
with  the  history  of  the  Canadian  Con- 
federation can  for  a  moment  doubt 
that  the  power  was  so  conferred  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  earnestly  expressed 
desire  of  the  Canadian  people. 

The  recent  disallowance  of  the 
Rivers  and  Streams  Bill  passed  by  the 
Legislature  of  Ontario  has  given  rise 
to  much  acrimonious  disputation  which 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


293 


would  seem  in  a  measure  to  challenge 
the  wisdom  of  this  provision  of  our 
Great  Charter.  It  is  said  that  the 
exercise  of  the  power  of  disallowance 
would  destroy  the  autonomy  of  the 
Provinces,  and  be  wholly  at  variance 
with  the  exclusive  power  given  to 
them  to  legislate  upon  certain  classes 
of  subjects  set  forth  in  sec.  92,  and 
notably  upon  '  Property  and  Civil 
Rights.'  But  the  answer  to  this  con- 
tention is  that  the  autonomy  and  ex- 
clusive power  of  Legislation  conferred 
on  the  Provinces  was  expressly  granted 
svhject  to  this  power  of  disallowance  re- 
served to  the  Central  Government ; 
and  whilst  it  is  competent  for  the  peo- 
ple of  any  Province  to  question  the 
policy  of  exercising  the  power  in  any 
particular  case,  it  is  not  competent  for 
any  one  under  the  Constitution  to 
question  the  power  itself.  That  power 
can  be  constitutionally  exercised  at 
all  times  by  the  Governor-General  in 
Council,  i.  e.,  with  the  aid  and  advice 
of  his  Ministers,  who  are  responsible 
to  the  people  of  the  Dominion  for  this 
as  well  as  for  any  other  Ministerial 
act.  Mr.  Blake,  while  Minister  of 
Justice  in  1875,  took  the  true  position 
on  this  question,  when  the  Colonial 
Minister  claimed  that  the  power  of 
disallowance  should  be  performed  by 
the  Governor  as  an  Imperial  officer 
without  asking  for,  or  acting  on  the 
advice  of  his  Canadian  Ministry,  Mr. 
Blake  repudiated  the  pretension  suc- 
cessfully, and  insisted,  as  he  was  en- 
titled to  insist  under  the  law,  that  the 
disallowance  of  the  Acts  of  a  Pro- 
vincial Legislature  could  only  be  legi- 
timately performed  by  the  Governor- 
General  with  the  advice  of  his  Cana- 
dian Ministers,  and  that  they  were 
responsible  for  such  advice  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Canada  in  the  Parliament  of 
the  Dominion. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  my  purpose 
to  discuss  the  propriety  of  disallowing 
this  particular  Act : — it  may  have  been, 
and  no  doubt  was,  retrospective  in  its 
operation — an  objectionable  feature, 
but  not  fatal  to  its  constitutionality. 


It  may  have  affected  a  subject  matter 
which  was  pendente  lite  ;  also  an  objec- 
tionable feature,  but  still  leaving  it 
within  the  power  of  the  Local  Legisla- 
ture, and  it  may  have  totally  disre- 
garded the  pi-inciples  which  customarily 
govern  the  laws  of  property  ;  but  the 
subject  matter  is  included  in  those  enu- 
merated in  section  92,  and  therefore 
it  is  competent  for  the  Provincial 
Legislature  to  deal  with  it. 

The  Bill  may  be  a  good  Bill  and 
quite  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
Ontario  Legislature,  or  it  may  be  the 
reverse,  and  still  be  within  its  juris- 
diction. In  either  view,  I  wish  to 
di-aw  public  attention  to  the  impor- 
tance of  the  principle  of  disallowance 
in  the  abstract.  The  jurisdiction  may 
for  the  purpose  of  my  remarks  be  in 
all  cases  conceded,  for  if  that  is  over- 
stepped, the  Act,  being  ultra  vires,  is 
void,  and  the  Courts  when  called  upon 
will  hold  it  void,  and  will  practically 
disallow  it.  The  power  given  by  sec- 
tion 90  to  the  Governor- General  in 
Council  to  disallow  clearly  extends  to 
cases  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
Provincial  Legislature, otherwise  there 
would  have  been  no  need  of  any  limi- 
tation, as  the  Courts  of  law  could 
have  effectually  settled  all  such  ques- 
tions. 

The  true  position,  then,  is  this,  that 
the  Governor-General,  by  the  advice 
of  his  Ministers,  may  disallow  Acts  of 
the  Provincial  Legislature  which  are 
quite  competent  for  it  to  pass,  as  well 
as  those  in  respect  of  which  it  has  no 
jurisdiction. 

The  policy,  then,  of  the  particular 
measure  must  necessarily  be  considered 
by  the  Governor-General  and  his  ad- 
visers, to  whom  careful  supervision 
will  thus  become  a  necessary  duty. 

Sir  John  Macdonald,  in  1868,  laid 
down  some  excellent  rules  to  be  fol- 
lowed in  the  carrying  out  of  this  spe- 
cial duty,  which  have  not,  however,  al- 
ways sufficed ;  nor  was  it  to  be  expected 
that  they  should  suffice  in  all  cases  that 
might  arise  thereafter.  The  disallow- 
ance of  a  Provincial  Act   should,  of 


294 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


course,  depend  very  much  on  the  merits, 
or  rather  demerits,  of  the  particular 
measure  under  consideration  ;  but 
many  otlier  matters  of  public  interest 
may,  it  is  conceived,  have  also  to  be 
considei-ed  in  connection  therewith. 
That  the  'Streams  Bill'  was  objection- 
able, according  to  well  understood 
principles  of  legislation,  has  been  al- 
ready pointed  out,  but  that  such  ob- 
jections should  prevail  to  the  extent  of 
disallowance  is  a  question  fairly  open 
to  discussion.  And  yet  in  the  contro- 
versy over  the  merits  of  the  Bill  and 
the  need  of  its  enactment,  we  must 
not  lose  sight  of  the  far  more  important 
constitutional  principle  which  has  be- 
come indirectly  involved,  namely,  the 
continuance  intact  of  the  power  of 
disallowance  which  must  stand  unim- 
peached  under  the  Constitution. 

But  in  the  arguments  used  in  the 
House  of  Assembly  and  in  the  press,  it 
has  been  contended  that  there  should 
be  no  supervision  over  the  Acts  passed 
by  the  Provincial  Legislatures,  that  so 
long   as  they  were   legislating  within 
the  limitations  prescribed  in  section 
ninety-two,  they  should  be  subject  to 
no  veto  power.   This  is,  in  effect,  a  de- 
mand for  a  change  in  the  Constitution 
of  an  extremely  revolutionary  charac- 
ter, and,  with  all  deference,  it  is  sub- 
mitted that  it  would  not  be  in  the  true 
interests  of  the  people  of  the  Dominion, 
that  such  unlimited   powers   of  legis- 
lation should  be  conferred  on  the  Pro- 
vinces.  There  is  no  sound  reason  why 
the  Provincial  Government  should  be 
made  to  occupy  the  anomalous  position 
of  Sovereign  States,  even  though  they 
be  limited  to  the  subjects  mentioned  in 
the  ninety-second  section.    Are  there, 
it  may  be  asked,  no  dangers  touching 
the  public  interests  of  the  Dominion  at 
large  to  be  guarded  against,  no  hasty 
legislation  to  fear,  no  possibility  of  con- 
flict with  the  laws  of  other  Provinces, 
or  with  the    laws   of  the  Dominion, 
and  especially  where  concurrent  pow- 
ers exist  with  the  Dominion   Parlia- 
ment ?     It  should  be   the  paramount 
duty  of  Canadian  statesmen   to  assi- 


milate and  render  uniform,  so  far  as  it 
is  possible,  the  civil  laws  throughout 
the  Dominion,  for  nothing  can  be  more 
hurtful  to  the  interest  and  prosperity 
of  the  people,  or  more  injurious  to  the 
})rogress  of  the  country  at  large,  than 
that  there  should  be  different  and  per- 
haps conflicting  laws  regulating  pro- 
perty and  civil  rights  in  the  different 
I    Provinces.   How,  also,  it  may  be  asked, 
{    can  these  or  any  one  of  these  objects 
\    be  securely  attained  without  the  power 
I    of   disallowance,    and    of   supervision 
j    being  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  gen- 
eral  government  ]      True,  it  may  be 
said,  that  the  country,  up  to  the  pre- 
sent time,  has  not  suffered  from  any 
of   these  evils,   and  it  is  gratifying  to 
know  that,  with  fifteen  years'  experi- 
ence of  our  system  of  Fedei'al  Govern- 
ment, the  occasions  for  the  exercise  of 
the  power  of  disallowance  have  been 
few  and  far  between. 

But  it  has,  in  the  course  of  the  re- 
cent discussions,  been  contended,  by 
way  of  refuting  the  warnings  drawn 
from  the  Civil  War  in  the  United 
j    States,    that    the    importance    of  the 
\   Constitutional    doctrine   as    to    State 
Eights  has  now  passed  away,  and  that 
the  danger  of  any  such  conflict  arising 
in    the    Dominion    was    exaggerated, 
and  obtained  an  undue  importance,  in 
the  eyes  of  those  statesmen  who  plan- 
ned and  framed  the  various  clauses  of 
our  Union  Act.    This  is  a  view  which, 
it  is  svibmitted,  is   entirely   incorrect, 
■for,  on  the  contrary,  the  thinking  men 
of    the    neighbouring    Republic    feel 
keenly  to-day  the  dangers   of  disinte- 
gration which  arise  from  their  system 
of  independent  State  government.     A 
recent  paper  in  the  January  number 
of    the    Princeton    Review,     entitled 
'  Anti-National  Phases  of  State  Gov- 
ernment,' puts  these  dangers   before 
its  readers  in   a   very  clear  and  com- 
prehensive manner  ;  the  writer  says  ; 

'  These  various  State  codes,  and  methods, 
and  systems,  that  flow  through  the  very  arte- 
ries of  social  and  independent  life  are  widely 
diverse,  and  are  often  in  sharp  conflict  with 
each  other.  This  discordance  and  conflict  be- 
tween the  laws  and  institutions  of  the  differ- 


INTRUDING  THOUGHTS. 


295 


€nt  States  present  one  of  the  greatest  evils  in 
our  <  Jovenimcnt ;  the  wrongs  resulting  from 
it  are  hostile  to  the  interests  and  growing 
national  spirit  of  the  people,  and  they  are 
wrongs  without  a  remedy;  there  is  no  organ- 
ized instrumentality  for  their  correction  with- 
in the  four  corners  of  our  system  of  govern- 
ment. For  these  reasons  the  evil  has  appealed 
to  revolutionary  methods  for  its  cure,  and  the 
fact  suggests  gi-ounds  of  apprehension  for  the 
future. ' 

These  dangers  do  not  threaten  us, 
so  long  as  we  liold  fast  to  our  written 
Constitution,  inasmuch  as  we  have 
there  pi'ovided  a  condition — this  power 
of  disallowance — which  protects  us 
from  similar  divergences,  discordances, 
and  conflicts.  But  we  must  be  care- 
ful that  we  do  not  lightly  abandon  a 
wise  safeguard,  which  was  adopted  to 
secure  the  peace  and  the  permanence 
of  the  Dominion. 

It  is  submitted  that  if  Canada  is  to 
become  a  powerful  nation  (always 
under  the  British  Crown)   her  people 


must  cling  to  the  great  principle  of  a 
central  supreme  power  in  the  govern- 
ment of  her  vast  territories.  Her  sons 
cannot  recognise  the  idea  of  seven  dif- 
ferent allegiances,  where  there  ought 
to  be  but  one — to  Canada  alone.  The 
man  who  would  be  loyal  only  to  his 
own  Province  takes  a  narrow,  and  at 
the  same  time  erroneous,  view  of  his 
duty  as  a  citizen  of  a  larger  constitu- 
ency. So  circumscribed  a  field  would 
hardly  suit  the  vaulting  ambition  of 
our  young  race  of  politicians,  nor  yet 
would  it  harmonize  with  the  patriotic 
sentiments  that  have  but  recently 
been  eloquently  expressed  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Canadian  loyalty  in  the  pages 
of  this  Magazine,  Let  us  then  be 
equal  to  the  occasion,  and  deal  with 
this  and  other  cognate  questions  in 
the  larger,  manlier,  and  more  national 
spirit. 


INTKUDING  THOUGHTS, 


BY   R.    S.    A.,    MONTREAL. 

O  THOUGHTS  !  why  will  you  come  to  me 
To  call  up  choking,  blinding  tears. 
To  open  wounds  I  thought  were  healed 
By  the  long  lapse  of  weary  years  ? 

"Why  will  ye  never  cease  to  come 
As  guests  unwelcome  and  unhid  1 

Why  bring  to  light  what  I  had  deemed 
In  dark  Oblivion's  caverns  hid  ^ 

Through  Mem'ry's  corridors  ye  stride, 

•  And  fling  wide  open  every  door, 
Revealing  treasured  word  or  glance 
Fast  locked  away  in  days  of  yore. 


Did  I  but  know  when  ye  were  nigh, 
I'd  double  lock  each  entrance  gate, 

Eut  ere  I  rush  to  bolt  and  bar 
Ye  stand  within — It  is  too  late  ! 


29G 


ERASMUS  OF  ROTTERDAM. 


ERASMUS  OF  ROTTERDAM. 


BY    GEORGE    SIMPSON,    TORONTO. 


THE  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
century  was  characterized  by  the 
development  of  mighty  forces  that  had 
tong  remained  latent.  They  wei-e  not 
confined  to  one  mode  of  manifestation. 
The  older  forms  of  civilization,  the 
previously-existing  modes  of  thought, 
as  embodied  in  religion  and  civil  gov- 
ernment, were  distinctly  face  to  face 
with  a  new  order  of  things.  The  un- 
ending conflict  between  reaction  and 
advancement  came  into  clearer  light. 
The  cause  of  learning  had  become 
obscured  by  empty  mannerism  and 
the  inane  jargoning  of  casuists.  Bar- 
barism in  art,  morals,  religion,  and 
life  had  cast  a  withering  blight  over 
society.  In  that  age  the  pulsations  of 
awakening  life  were  beginning  to  be 
felt.  The  genial  influences  of  a  new 
spring-time  became  diff'used.  Earnest 
minds,  feeling  the  unsatisfactoriness 
of  existing  conditions,  penetrated  be- 
neath the  accretions  of  ages  and 
sought  to  drink  at  the  primal  springs 
of  truth  and  light.  Instead  of  the 
dreary  and  purposeless  speculations  of 
the  Schools,  they  sought  the  revival  of 
learning.  The  purity  of  classic  cul- 
ture possessed  for  them  the  most  fas- 
cinating attractions.  In  Germany  and 
Italy  the  spirit  of  modern  progress  was 
awakened.  In  the  former  land,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  characteristics  of 
the  Teutonic  mind,  there  was  deeper 
earnestness  and  more  steadfastness 
of  purpose.  The  morning  star  of  this 
great  movement  in  Germany  was  John 
Reuchlin,  a  native  of  Pforzheim,  in 
the  Grand  Duchy  of  Baden.  With  all 
the  aptitude,  enthusiasm,  and  tastes 
of  the  scholar,    his  aspirations  were 


providentially  directed.  Favourable 
conditions  enabled  him  to  prosecute 
his  studies  at  the  University  of  Paris 
His  linguistic  acquirements  would 
have  been  remarkable  in  any  age,  but 
at  that  time  they  were  regarded  with 
the  utmost  wonder.  The  troubles  of 
the  time  and  the  intolerance  of  opin- 
ion led  to  his  many  removals.  The 
rising  universities  of  Tiibingen  and 
Wittemberg  were  thus  for  a  time  ena- 
bled to  secure  his  services.  His  grow- 
ing fame  and  influence  speedily  pro- 
voked the  bitter  hostility  of  the 
monkish  brood.  Unable  to  cope  with 
him  in  argument  or  in  scholarship, 
they  had  recourse  to  their  more  genial 
weapons — virulent  abuse,  branding 
him  with  the  name  of  heretic,  and 
committing  his  books  to  the  flames. 
Those  most  distinguished  for  sincerity 
and  intelligence  espoused  the  cause  of 
enlightenment,  championed  as  it  was 
by  one  with  lofty  aims,  remarkable 
genius,  and  a  blameless  life.  Thus- 
arose  the  struggle  with  the  Obscurant- 
ists, which  has  left  a  lasting  monument 
in  the  Epidolo:  Ohscurorum  Virorum, 
the  authorship  of  which  is  still  a  mat- 
ter of  learned  curiosity. 

In  thorough  sympathy  with  the 
movement  for  the  revival  of  learning 
and  church  reform,  another  star  of  the 
first  magnitude  and  the  clearest  lustre 
arose  and  shone  with  steady  light  for 
nigh  half  a  century.  In  that  age, 
with  the  exception  of  Martin  Luther's, 
no  other  name  in  the  republic  of  let- 
ters is  more  conspicuous  than  that  of 
Erasmus  of  Rotterdam. 

A  man  of  good  family,  of  the  name 
of    Gerhard,    living    in    Gouda,   had 


ERASMUS  OF  ROTTERDAM. 


297 


formed  a  deep  and  passionate  attach- 
ment for  the  daughter  of  a  Rotter- 
dam physician.  His  friends,  however, 
were  anxious  that  he  should  enter  the 
priesthood;  to  which  he  seems  to  have 
had  an  aversion.  Gerhard  and  the 
youthful  Margaret  loved  well,  but  not 
wisely.  The  former  went  to  Rome, 
and  the  latter  gave  birth  to  a  son, 
whose  name,  in  keeping  with  the  pe- 
dantry of  the  age,  was  classicised  into 
Desiderius  and  Erasmus.  He  was 
born  at  Rotterdam  on  the  28th  Octo- 
ber, 1467.  Gerhard's  relatives  had 
made  him  believe  that  in  his  absence 
his  beloved  had  died.  He  then  in 
despair  took  holy  orders.  Returning 
afterwai-ds  to  Holland,  he  discovered 
the  deception  that  had  been  practised 
upon  him.  The  parents'  purpose  hence- 
forth was  the  careful  training  of  their 
son,  whose  love  of  learning  was  early 
displayed,  for,  while  attending  the 
School  of  Sinthemius,  at  Daventer, 
that  enthusiastic  pedagogue,  embrac- 
ing him,  exclaimed  that  '  that  child 
will  attain  the  highest  summits  of 
learning.'  The  young  scholar  was 
early  bereft  of  his  parents.  Before 
he  had  reached  his  fifteenth  year,  they 
both  died.  His  relatives  were  then 
anxious  to  shut  him  up  in  monastic 
seclusion.  But  this  was  distasteful  to 
him,  though,  subsequently,  his  repug- 
nance to  the  proposal  was  partially 
overcome.  In  his  seventeenth  year 
he  became  an  inmate  of  the  monastery 
of  Emaus,  near  Gouda.  The  bishop 
of  Cambray,  pitying  his  case,  soon  after 
granted  his  release.  Still  his  friends 
did  not  yet  relniquish  their  desire  for 
his  entrance  on  the  service  of  the 
Church ;  they  were  able  to  persuade 
him  to  become  a  priest.  In  order  to 
extend  his  literary  and  theological 
knowledge,  he  now  went  to  study  at 
the  University  of  Paris.  Like  many 
other  devotees  of  learning,  while  in 
that  centre  of  intellectual  activity,  he 
had  to  contend  with  the  deepest  pov- 
erty. But  he  moved  in  an  ideal  world. 
Beyond  the  sordid  realism  of  every-day 
life,  he  beheld  the  splendours  of  that 


realm  of  learning  where  his  future 
princedom  lay.  As  long  as  he  could 
pick  up  a  precarious  pittance  by  pri- 
vate tuition,  so  that  he  could  buy  a 
book  or  an  old  manuscript,  he  was 
content  to  feast  on  the  plainest  fare, 
and  to  be  indiflferent,  though  his  gar- 
ments were  not  fashioned  after  the 
latest  models.  Young  Erasmus,  for 
about  five  years,  lived  a  life  of  intel- 
lectual toil  in  Paris.  Among  his  pu- 
pils were  certain  well-to-do  English 
youths  whom,  in  the  capacity  of  tutor, 
he  accompanied  to  their  own  country. 
The  continental  scholar  met  with  a 
most  encouraging  reception  in  Eng- 
land, royalty  itself  favouring  him. 
His  first  visit  to  England,  however, 
was  a  short  one,  he  having  soon  re- 
turned to  Paris,  whence  he  set  forth  on 
a  prolonged  journey  to  Italy,  with  a 
view  to  extend  his  knowledge,  and  to 
I  reap  the  benefits  which  travel  and 
converse  with  the  leading  scholars  of 
the  age  Avere  fitted  to  impart.  Eccle- 
siastical life  had  no  charm  for  him; 
he  preferred  being  a  citizen  of  the 
world  to  remaining  a  member  of  a 
sacred  guild.  An  application  to  Pope 
Julius  II.  procured  him  release  from 
the  obligation  of  his  priestly  vows. 
In  his  Italian  journey  he  was  accom- 
panied by  a  natural  son  of  James  lY. 
of  Scotland,  who,  with  his  father,  sub- 
sequently perished  on  the  fatal  field 
of  Flodden.  The  wandering  scholar, 
wherever  he  went,  was  received  with 
the  most  flattering  distinctions.  The 
universities  of  Yenice,  Parma,  and . 
Rome,  vied  with  each  other  in  offer- 
ing him  inducements  to  take  up  his. 
abode  at  these  respective  seats  of 
learning.  Flattering  offers  of  prefer- 
ment were  held  out  to  him  by  the 
chief  dignitaries  of  the  Papal  Court. 
Cardinal  Grimani,  Pope  Julius,  and 
Giovanni  de  Medicis,  his  destined  suc- 
cessor as  Leo  X.,  were  lavish  in  their 
attentions.  At  a  time  of  life  when  bril- 
liant expectations  wei-e  in  the  ascend- 
ant,Erasmusdid  not  seem  to  experience 
much  difliculty  in  deciding  to  decline 
these  advantageous  overtures,  though 


298 


EBASMUS  OF  ROTTERDAM. 


at  a  later  period  he  gave  expression 
to  his  regret  that  he  had  suffered  such 
goklen  opportunities  to  elude  his  grasp. 
Before  leaving  England  he  had  pro- 
mised his  friends  there  that  he  would 
return.  The  succession  to  the  throne 
of  Henry  YIII.  seemed  to  him  an 
auspicioiis  time  for  the  fulfilment  of 
that  promise.  Through  life  Erasmus 
was  distinguislied  by  the  most  perse- 
vering and  painstaking  industry  and 
application.  He  did  not  suffer  the 
long  and  tedious  methods  of  travelling 
in  those  days  to  interrupt  his  studies. 
It  is  said  that,  on  his  journey  from 
Rome  to  England,  in  1509,  he  com- 
posed the  greater  part  of  the  work  on 
which  his  literary  fame  rests,  'The 
Praise  of  Foil}'.'  On  his  return  to 
England  the  same  enthusiastic  recep- 
tion he  had  previously  had,  awaited 
him.  Sir  Thomas  More  gladly  re- 
ceived him  as  his  guest.  While  resid- 
ing under  the  roof  of  the  English  Lord 
Chancellor,  Erasmus  published  the^n- 
comium  Morke,  in  the  title  of  which 
some  of  his  critics  imagine  they  per- 
ceive a  compliment  to  the  name  of  his 
illustrious  host.  Still,  after  the  novelty 
of  his  visit  had  passed  away,  Eras- 
mus did  not  find  himself  freed  from 
pecuniary  care.  He  had  to  subsist. 
For  a  time  he  filled  the  Greek  chair  in 
the  University  of  Oxford,  but  the  in- 
come from  this  source  was  so  meagre 
that  after  a  short  incumbency  he  threw 
it  up  in  disgust.  He  again  returned 
to  the  continent,  and  after  various 
wanderings,  took  up  his  abode  at  Bfile, 
in  Switzerland,  at  that  time  a  centre  of 
intellectual  light  and  activity.  There 
Frobenius,  the  printer,  had  set  up  his 
€stablishmont,in  association  with  whom 
he  found  a  congenial  and  helpful  friend. 
It  was  here  that  the  last  years  of  his 
life  were  spent  in  learned  research  and 
•diligent  labour. 

Constitutionally  inclined  to  peace- 
ful pursuits,  and  keenly  relishing  the 
■quiet  efforts  of  literary  toil,  Erasmus 
would  have  shrank  from  the  eager 
controversies  which  raged  with  viru- 
Zent  intensity  during  the  Reformation 


period.  Though  conscious  that  by 
disposition  he  was  unfitted  for  becom- 
ing a  hero  in  the  strife,  he  was  often 
reluctantly  drawn  into  the  polemics  of 
the  time.  The  leaders  of  the  Refor- 
mation and  the  Papal  authorities  were 
alike  anxious  to  enlist  him  under  their 
respective  banners.  With  more  or  less 
success,  however,  he  inclined  to  a 
middle  course,  one  at  all  times  of  con- 
siderable difficulty,  but  peculiarly  haz- 
ardous when  opposing  parties  ai-e  en- 
gaged in  the  struggle  for  very  exist- 
ence. His  life-work  was  incomparably 
more  favourable  to  the  cause  of  the 
Reformers  than  any  direct  services 
undertaken  on  behalf  of  the  Papacy 
ever  benefited  that  system.  His  bold 
alliance  with  the  friends  of  the  Renais- 
sance, his  unsparing  exposures  of  the 
corruptions  of  priests  and  monks,  his 
})ublication  of  the  revised  text  of  the 
Greek  New  Testament,  gave  a  power- 
ful impetus  to  the  cause  of  the  Refor- 
mation. There  is  considerable  truth 
in  the  contemporary  saying  :  '  Eras- 
mus laid  the  egg  that  Luther  hatched.' 
Yet  he  never  withdrew  his  allegiance 
to  Rome.  When  Luther  was  in  the 
thick  of  the  fight  with  Papal,  Impe- 
rial and  Regal  foes,  Erasmus  suffered 
himself  to  be  inspired  by  the  Vatican 
to  enter  the  lists  against  his  former 
friend.  His  famous  De  Libero  Arhitrio 
was  the  result  of  papal  persuasion. 
At  the  time  of  its  publication  he  oc- 
cupied the  highest  eminence  in  the 
world  of  letters.  He  wielded  an 
almost  undisputed  supremacy,  being 
the  arbiter  to  whom  the  scholars  of 
the  day  deferentially  appealed.  Yet 
the  contest  with  Luther  was  not  lightly 
undertaken.  He  was  more  concerned 
about  the  opinions  of  the  leader  of  the 
Reformation  than  he  was  about  those 
of  all  other  critics  beside.  When 
Luther's  rejoinder,  De  Servo  Arhitrio, 
made  its  appearance,  though  decried 
on  account  of  the  bitterness  of  its  tone 
aud  its  stinging  home-thrusts,  the  re- 
cluse of  Belle,  contemporaries  inform 
us,  winced  xinder  the  castigation  he 
had  needlessly  provoked.     That  con- 


ERASMUS  OF  ROTTEBDAM. 


troversy,  over  and  done  with  long  ago, 
was  mainly  concerned  with  the  inter- 
minable dispute  in  which  sages,  and 
others  not  so  sage,  have — 

'  Reason'd  high 
Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will  and  fate  ; 
Fix'd  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute  ; 
And  found  no  end  in  wandering  mazes  lost.' 

It  has  long  been  the  fashion  to  give 
the  laurel  of  victory  to  Erasmus  in 
this  contention.  Let  it,  however,  be 
remembered  that  the  contestants  ap- 
proached the  subject  from  somewhat 
different  standpoints.  Erasmus  treats 
the  freedom  of  the  will  more  in  the 
light  of  a  philosophical  speculation ; 
Luther  discusses  it  as  a  practical  theo- 
logical question.  It  is  significant  to 
observe  that  German  philosophical  di- 
vines are  now  inclining  favourably  to 
Luther's  views,  as  the  best  approxi- 
mation to  a  partial  solution  of  a  pro- 
bably insoluble  difficulty. 

Ko  sooner  had  the  illustrious  scho- 
lar come  forth  from  the  contest  with 
the  no  less  distinguished  Reformer 
than  he  had  to  confront  more  virulent, 
though  far  more  dangerous,  assailants. 
Because  Erasmus  identified  himself 
with  the  scholarship  of  the  age  the 
monks  regarded  him  with  implacable 
hatred.  They  eagerly  awaited  the  op- 
portunity to  show  their  feeling,  which 
during  the  captivity  of  Francis  I., after 
the  disaster  of  Pavia,  they  thought 
had  arrived.  The  nascent  reform  in 
Paris  had  been  well  nigh  crushed  out. 
The  spirit  of  persecution  had  gained 
the  ascendancy.  Lecouturier,  a  Carthu- 
sian, commenced  a  furious  onslaught 
on  Erasmiis,  which  was  participated 
in  by  the  more  influential,  though  not 
less  bigoted,  Beda.  So  vigorou.s  was 
the  attack,  and  so  speedily  did  liis 
enemies  avail  themselves  of  the  oppoi-- 
tunity  to  strike,  that  the  danger  to 
Erasmus  was  imminent  and  menacing. 
He  set  himself  with  all  his  accustomed 
energy  and  concentration  to  avert  it. 
He  addressed  earnest  remonstrances 
to  the  ablest  men  of  the  Sorbonne,  to 
the  captive  Francis  I.,  and  to  Charles 
Y.      By    the    interposition   of    these 


290 

powerful  friends  the  storm  was  allayed 
and  the  scholar  was  permitted  to  re- 
turn to  his  peaceful  pursuits. 

On  the  other  hand  the  progress  of 
the  Reformation  again  temporarily 
disturbed  the  repose  of  Erasmus.  He 
now  feared  the  opponents  of  Rome. 
The  intrepid  Farel,  and  the  milder 
^"Ecolampadius,  had  been  steadily  pro- 
claiming the  doctrines  of  Evangelical 
Chi'istianity  in  Bale.  Between  these 
leaders  of  Church  reform  and  the 
prince  of  scholars  there  was  no  bond 
of  sympathy  ;  on  the  contrary,  there 
was  unhappily  mutual  distrust.  To- 
wards the  close  of  1528,  a  strong  popu- 
lar movement  secured  the  overthrow 
of  Roman  Catholicism  in  Bale,  and 
the  result  sadly  discomposed  Erasmus. 
He  resolved  to  quit  the  city,  and  for 
a  time  made  his  residence  in  Friburg'. 
When  popular  feeling  in  Bale  partly 
subsided,  the  exiled  scholar  returned 
to  his  wonted  occupations  and  to  his 
former  friendships.  Thereafter  the 
years  glided  more  peacefully  away,  but 
the  harassing  labours  and,  the  conflicts 
of  those  stirring  days  had  told  on  a 
frame  never  robust.  Great  as  were 
the  eminence  and  the  influence  to 
which  he  had  attained,  his  later  years 
were  clouded  with  unavailing  regrets 
and  querulous  complainings.  He  grew 
aged  before  his  time.  His  enfeebled 
health  became  increasingly  burden- 
some to  him.  The  genial  summer 
with  its  perennial  beauty  returned, 
but  it  did  not  bring  healing  to  Eras- 
mus. Surrounded  by  his  friends  and 
solaced  by  their  devoted  care,  he 
passed  away  on  the  i2th  July,  1536, 
in  the  sixty-ninth  year  of  his  age.  In 
those  days  of  strong  partizanship  it 
was  customary  to  represent  the  death- 
bed scenes  of  the  distinguished  in  the 
most  contradictory  manner,  but  it  is 
tolerably  certain  that  though  Erasmus 
did  not  repudiate  the  Church  of  Rome, 
he  entirely  disowned  its  gross  abuses 
and  superstitions,  and  died  in  the 
hope  of  a  glorious  hereafter. 

History  reveals   to  us  the  passions 


300 


CONFESSIONS. 


the  same  influences  that  wrought  with 
such  intensity  then,  are,  under  various 
moditications,  still  opei-ating  in  the  af- 
fairs of  to-day.  It  is  not  without  interest, 
therefore,  to  take  an  occasional  glimpse 
of  the  pa^t,  and  to  endeavour  to  form 
some  correct  estimate  of  those  who 
played  an  important  part  in  the  strug- 
gle for  the  achievement  of  modern  in- 
tellectual and  spiritual  freedom.  Eras- 
mus occupied  not  only  one  of  the  most 
prominent  positions  of  the  time,  but 
in  his  own  special  sphere  contributed 
largely  to  the  advance  of  modern  en- 
lightenment. The  cause  of  civil  and 
religious  liberty  owes  him  a  deep  debt 
of  gratitude.  His  name  will  not  soon 
be  forgotten. 

The  collected  edition  of  the  writings 
of  Erasmus,  published  at  Leyden,  in 
1606,  comprises  ten  volumes.  While 
his  letters  are  highly  prized  by  scholars, 
the  works  most  generally  known  are 
his  edition  of  the  Greek  Testament, 
'  The  Praise  of  Folly,'  and  the  Collo- 
quia,  which  last,  from  the  elegance  of 
its  Latinity,  the  pungency  of  its  satire, 
and  its  merciless  exposure  of  ecclesias- 
tical abuses  and  priest  life,  is  generally 
regarded  as  his  masterpiece.  It  was 
condemned  by  the  Sorbonne,  prohi- 
bited in  France,  and  publicly  burned 
in  Spain.  , 

Erasmus  possessed  many  admirable 
personal  qualities.  One  of  these  was 
the  generous  encouragement  he  was  so 
ready  to  extend  to  impecunious  bvit 
promising  scholars.  He  never  forgot 
his   own  early  struggles  in  life.      Yet 


there  is  one  exce})tional  instance^ 
noted  chiefly  because  of  the  illustrious 
man  who  made  an  appeal  to  his  gener- 
osity in  vain.  One  of  the  most  unsel- 
fish heroes  of  that  age  was  the  bril- 
liant but  unfortunate  Ulrich  Von 
Hiitten.  Worn,  wasted  and  dispirited, 
he  came  to  Bsile  seeking  shelter,  which 
the  distinguished  scholar  denied  him. 
The  chivalrous  knight  keenly  felt  the 
rebuff,  and  resented  it  with  a  stinging 
bitterness,  natural  under  the  circum- 
stances. But  Erasmus  did  not  pre- 
tend to  be  a  hero.  His  was  not  the 
composition  of  which  martyrs  were 
made.  The  contrast  between  him  and 
Luther  in  this  respect  was  great.  It 
finds  fitting  illustration  in  two  char- 
acteristic scenes.  Erasmus,  in  an  in- 
terview with  Frederick,  Elector  of 
Saxony,  was  asked  his  opinion  of  the 
Monk  of  Wittemberg.  With  a  paw- 
kiness  worthy  of  a  Scotchman,  after 
some  fencing,  he  said,  '  Luther  has 
committed  two  grievous  sins  :  he  has 
attacked  the  Pope's  crown  and  the 
monks'  bellies ;'  Luther  confronting 
alone  the  assembled  powers  of  the 
empire,  and  the  papacy  at  the  Diet  of 
Worms,  spoke  these  unforgetable 
words  !  '  Here  I  stand  ;  I  cannot  do 
otherwise.' 

In  the  portrait  gallery  of  the  past 
the  calm  eai'nest  face,  the  searching, 
lambent  eyes,  the  mouth,  around 
which  the  light  of  a  playful  satire 
lingers,  of  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  will 
be  looked  at,  not  unlovingly,  by  gen- 
erations of  scholars  yet  to  come. 


CONFESSIONS 

A  SERIES  OF  SONNETS. 
BY    '  SEKANUS,'   OTTAWA. 


TpOR  I  had  looked  and  lost  or  found  my  soul 
-L        But  one  rare  moment  when,  from  out  a  heap 
Of  indolent  embers,  sprang  with  many  a  leap 
Fantastic,  all  uncertain  of  its  goal. 


CONFESSIONS.  3  Ql 

A  gleaming  beam  of  firelight.     On  it  stole, 

Stirring  the  darkening  room  from  gloaming  sleep, 

Kindling  the  violet  cold  and  crimson  deep 
Of  curtains,  touching  last  the  clear  blue  bowl 
Of  yellow  roses — Ah  !  too  restless  ray, 

The  nearer,  dearer  beauty  of  his  gift, 

Through  thee  to  my  fond  heart  does  so  belie 

The  outer  golden  glory  of  the  sky, 
I  look  no  more  without  nor  choose  to  lift 

My  soul  up  to  the  brightness  of  the  day  ! 

X. 

I  sometimes  think  that  if  they  said  to  me 

'  Child,  are  you  blind  1     This  man  (be  sure  we  mean 
The  one  you  care  for)  loves  you  !     This  we  glean 

From  watching  of  his  eyes  that  wearily 

So  long  watch  yours,  too  full,  he  thinks,  0/  glee 
For  loved  and  loving  eyes,  and  we  have  seen 
His  hand  stray  close  to  yours  when  you  have  been 

Together  with  a  book,  why,  all  can  see 

He  loves  you,  are  your  senses  holden  quite  ? ' — 
I  straight  would  wildly  break  from  them  and  go 

Where  I  could  weep  and  wring  my  hands  and  pray 

To  prove  them  wrong.     For  in  the  noble  fray 
Of  this  compelling  age,  do  I  not  know 

You  need  a  wiser  comrade  for  the  fight  1 

XI. 

A  wiser  comrade  ?    Yes,  I  meant  it  then. 

But  now  my  mood  (a  woman's)  knows  a  change. 

0  if  you  loved  me,  would  I  dare  exchange 
What  you  had  dared  to  find  so  precious  when 
You  chose  me  for  the  mind  that  other  men 

Perhaps  might  look  for  ?     0  'tis  sad,  'tis  strange 

That  woman's  wisdom  is  of  lower  range 
Than  that  of  her  companion  !     Hold  your  pen 

Like  Dora  !  (poor,  pathetic  little  thing. 

With  yet  her  share  of  wisdom)  well,  I  can. 
Be  sure,  do  more  tlian  that,  and  if  some  day 
You  care  for  me,  I  think  that  on  your  way 

My  smaller  life  may  cheer  you.     Though  a  man 

O  listen  to  the  songs  my  soul  will  sing  ! 

XII. 

My  soul  will  sing  of  home  and  happy  fires 

And  harvests  gathered.     Yet  my  woman's  hiart 
Bears  witness  how,  in  all  my  woman's  part 

Of  keys  and  bells,  and  maids  and  meek  desires 

About  the  house,  ray  nature  still  requires 
Some  larger  interests  of  Life  and  Art, 


302 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


Some  sweet  excited  share  in  the  gay  mart 
Of  your  man's  world  !     When,  therefore,  your  soul  tires 

Of  other  women,  as  I  know  it  must — 

For  love  like  mine  must  make  you  mine,  if  power 
There  be  in  loving,  you  will  turn  and  give 
Your  hands  to  me  and  I  will  gently  shrive 

Your  weary  soul,  Beloved,  in  its  hour 
Of  need — 0  i'ive  me  soon  this  sacred  trust  ! 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES  AWARDED  TO 

ONTARIO. 

BY    PARLIAMENTUM. 


OVER  two  hundred  years  ago  the 
ministers  of  the  Sovereigns  of 
England  and  France  commenced  a 
controversy  respecting  the  boundaries 
of  the  territories  which  are  to  day  the 
inheritance  of  the  people  of  Ontario, 
From  the  time  of  the  desertion  to  the 
English  of  the  two  French  Canadian 
coureurs  de  hois,  Pierre  Esprit  Radis- 
son  and  Medart  Chouard  Des  Grosel- 
liers,  in  1667 — which  led  to  the  or- 
ganization of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany in  1670(a) — there  was  a  'dis- 
puted territory'  about  the  shores  of 
Hudson's  Bay  and  to  the  westward — 
a  troubled  arena  of  piratical  raids,  of 
capture  and  recapture  by  the  adven- 
turous soldiers  or  subjects  of  the  re- 
spective sovereigns ;  a  chronic  subject 
of  diplomatic  dispute,  negotiation  and 
treaty — until  the  conquest  of  Canada, 
in  1760,  and  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  of 
1763,  closed  the  controversy,  and  ceded 
to  the  British   crown,   in   full   right, 

(rt)  Oatario  Boundary  Documents,  pp.  109, 
112,  250,  280,  356. 


'  Canada  with  all  its  dependencies,  and 
the  sovereignty  and  property,  posses- 
sion, and  i-ight,  acquired  by  Treaty  or 
otherwise,'  and  fixed  the  limits  be- 
tween the  British  and  French  terri- 
tories in  North  America,  '  by  a  line 
drawn  along  the  middle  of  the  river 
Mississippi  from  its  source'(a). 

The  Crown  of  England  having  suc- 
ceeded to  the  sovereignty  and  terri- 
torial rights  of  the  displaced  Fi'ench 
power,  established  Provincial  govern- 
ments which,  by  the  territorial  de- 
scriptions in  acts  of  state,  became  the 
heirs  of  the  French  proprietary  rights, 
as  against  the  claims  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  ;  and  to-day  the  con- 
troversialists on  the  disputed  boun- 
daries of  Ontario  have  to  go  back  to 
the  time  of  the  French  regime -to  as- 
certain the  territorial  limits  of  the 
French  and  English  crowns  in  Canada, 
so  as  to  decide  whether  Ontario  as 
heir  to  tho  western  portion  of  Canada 
ov  Nouvelle  France  ;  or  the  Dominion, 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  18. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


303 


as  ])urcha3ers  from  tlie  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  is  entitled  to  the () 'J, 000,000 
acres  of  land,  forest,  and  mine,  award- 
ed to  Ontario  in  1S78,  over  and  above 
the  territory  admittedly  hers. 

This  heirship  of  Ontario  was  first 
claimed  by  what  is  now  Ontario  and 
Quebec  in  1857  ;  and  by  what  is  now 
Ontario,  Quebec,  Nova  Scotia  and 
New  Brunswick,  in  18G9.  In  1857, 
the  late  Province  of  Canada  claimed 
heirship  to  the  French  possessions  in 
Canada,  and  asserted  that  on  the  west 
her  territorial  domain  and  civil  gov- 
ernment extended  to  '  the  White  Earth 
River,  the  first  waters  of  the  Missis- 
sippi,' or  to  'the  summit  of  the^Eocky 
^lountains  ;  and  that  on  the  north  she 
was  '  bounded  by  a  few  isolated  posts 
on  the  shore  of  Hudson's  Bay. '(a) 

In  1869,  the  Dominion  of  Canada 
claimed  that  her  own  and  Ontario's 
boundaries  were  those  of  old  French 
Canada,  and  that  on  the  west  they  ex- 
tended to  '  the  country  between  the 
Lake  of  the  Woods  and  Red  .River,' 
and  *  the  w'hole  of  the  country  known 
as  Winuepeg  basin  and  the  Fertile 
Belt,'  and  on  the  north  to  '  the  whole 
region  of  Hudson's  Bay'(i!/).  And  now 
Ontario,  as  heir  of  the  old  Prov- 
inces of  Quebec,  and  of  Upper  Can- 
ada, claims  the  title  and  territorial 
rights  which  the  French  had  west 
of  the  now  Province  of  Quebec, 
and  westward  and  southward  of  the 
boundary  line  of  Hudson's  Bay,  '  to 
the  utmost  extent  of  the  country  com- 
monly called  or  known  by  the  name 
of  Canada'(c),  and  which,  as  the  Law 
Otticers  of  the  Crown  stated  in  1857, 
'  could  have  been  rightfully  claimed 
by  the  French,  as  falling  within  the 
boundaries  of  Canada  or  Nonvelle 
France  {d). 

(a)  Report  of  Commissioner  of  Crown 
Lands,  No.  17  B.  1857  ;  Boimdary  Docu- 
ments, p.  260. 

(b)  Sess.  Papers,  Canada,  1869,  No.  25. 
Boundary  Documents,  p.  3.35. 

(c)  Proclamation  of  1791  ;  Boundary 
Documents,  pp.  388.  390,  411. 

( d)  Opinion  of  the  Law  Officers  of  the 
Crown,  1857.  Boundary  Documents,  pp. 
202,  330. 


Long  prior  to  thoce.ssion  of  Canada, 
both  crowns  exercised  rights  of  sover- 
eignty by  granting  the   northern  ter- 
ritory   about  Hudson's  Bay   to  their 
respective    subjects.       On     the     L'9th 
April,   1G29,  the  French  king,  Louis 
XIII,  granted  to  the  Compaynie  de  In 
Xouvelle  France  (a),  '  the  fort  and  ter- 
ritory of    Quebec    with   all   the   said 
country  of  New  France,  called  Canada, 
as  far   along    the    coast    as    Florida, 
which   the   loyal  predecessors  of  His 
Majesty  had  caused  to  be   inhabited, 
and  close  along  tlie  shores  of  the  sea  as 
far  as  the   Arctic  circle   in  latitude  ; 
j    and  in   longitude  from  the    island  of 
■    Newfoundland,  starting  west  as  far  as 
1    the    great    lake    called     Mer    Douce 
j    (Huron),  and  beyond  and  within  the 
j    lands  and  along  the  rivers  which  flow 
;    through  it  and  dischai'ge  into  the  river 
j    called    St.    Lawrence,    or    the  Grand 
j    River  of  Canada,    and   along  all  the 
1    other  rivers  which  flow  to  the  sea,  and 
I    all  lands,  ores,  mines,  posts,  and  har- 
bours, streams,  rivers,  ponds,  islands, 
islets,  and  generally  all  the  territory, 
so  much  and  so  far  as  they  are  able  to 
spread  and  make  known  the  name  of 
His  Majesty'(6). 

On  the  2nd  May,  1670,  Charles  IL 
of  England  granted  to  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  '  the  sole  trade  and 
commerce  of  all  those  seas,  straits, 
bays,  rivers,  lakes,  creeks,  and  sounds 
in  whatsoever  latitude  they  shall  be, 
that  lie  within  the  entrance  of  the 
straits,  commonly  called  Hudson's- 
Straits,  together  with  all  the  lands  and 
territories  upon  the  countries,  coasts, 
and  confines  of  the  seas,  bays,  lakes, 
rivers,  creeks,  and  sounds  aforesaid, 
that  are  not  already  ])ossessed  by  or 
granted  to  any  of  our  subjects,  or  ))os- 
sessed  by  the  subjects  of  any  other 
Christian  prince  or  state  ;'  and  by  the 
same   charter   constituted    the    Com- 

(a)  This  Company  was  succeeded  by  others 
up  to  1763,  the  last  of  which  was  'La  Com- 
pagnie  des  Indes,'  referred  to  in  the  25th  ar- 
ticle of  the  Capitulation  of  Canada,  1760. 
See  Boundary  Documents,  p.  135,  note  t 

(6)  Edits,  Ordonnances  Royaux  du  Canada, 
pp.  1,  7.     Boundary  Documents,  p.  111. 


;o4. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


pany  '  tbc  true  and  absolute  lords  and 
jiroprietors  of  the  same  territory,  lim- 
its, and  places  aforesaid'(rt). 

Both   fjrants  overlapped,  and  both 
^vere  indefinite  as  to  boundaries. 

The  treaties,  under  which  Canadian 
territory  was  granted  to  or  ceded  by  the    | 
respective  sovereigns  of  England  and 
France,   diplomatically   declared  that 
there  should  be  '  a  Christian,  true,  sin- 
cere and  perpetual  peace,  and  friendship 
between  His  Most  Christian  Majesty    j 
and  His  Britannic  Majesty,  as  well  as   j 
by  sea  and  land  in  North  America,' —    i 
a  harmless  piece  of  political  rhetoric, 
disregarded,  if  not  forgotten,  as  soon  as    ■, 
the  ink  of  the  signatures  was  dry  ; —    } 
for  the  subjects  of  both  crowns  during    , 
times  of  peace,  captured  and  recap-    | 
tured  the  forts  at  Hudson'sBay.  Three    | 
of  the  treaties  provided  for  the   set-    j 
tlement  of  the  territorial  limits  of  the 
respective  sovereigns  in  North  Ame- 
rica by  commissioners.    The  provisi- 
onal  treaty,  of  16S7,   provided   that 
commissioners  on  behalf  of  France  and 
England,  should  '  fix  the  bounds  and 
limits  of  the  colonies,  isles,  islands  and 
cojintries,  under  the  dominion  of  the 
two  kings  in  America'  (b).  The  Treaty 
of  Ryswick,  1697,  provided  that  '  com- 
missioners   should    be  appointed   on 
both  sides,  to  examine  and  determine 
the  rights  and  pretensions  which  either 
of  the  said  kings  hath  to  places  situat- 
ed in  Hudson'sBay'  (c).  By  the  Treaty 
of  Utrecht,  1713,   it  was   '  agreed  on 
both  sides  to  determine  within  a  year 
by   commissioners,    to    be    forthwith 
named  by  each  party,  the  limits  which 
are  to  be  fixed  between  the  said  Bay 
of  Hudson,  and  the  places  appei'tain- 
ing  to  the  French  ;  which  limits  both 
the  British  and  French  subjects  shall 
be  wholly  forbid  to  pass  over,  or  there- 
by to  go  to  each  other  by  sea  or  by 
land  '  (d).     Boundary  Commissioners 

(rt)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  33. 

(6)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  15. 

(c)  Boundarj'  Documents,  p.  15. 

{(i)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  16.  In  the 
'  GeneralPlan  of  Peace,'  it  was  proposed  that 
the  commissioners  were  to   ascertain    '  the 


were  appointed  by  the  respective  so- 
vereigns ;  but  they  accomplished  noth- 
ing. Each  side  accused  the  other  of  en- 
deavouring to  avoid  the  settlement  of 
the  '  boundary  question.'  In  1720,  the 
English  alleged  that  the  French  'knew 
we  came  prepared  to  reject  all  their  de- 
mands, and  to  make  very  considerable 
ones  for  ourselves'  (a)  ;  the  French 
contended  that  the  pretension  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  to  all  the  ter- 
ritory which  belonged  to  France  by'  the 
Treaty  of  Breda,  between  the  sixtieth 
and  forty-ninth  degrees  of  latitude, 
was  '  a  novelty  of  which  no  mention 
was  made  in  the  articles  of  the  Treaty 
of  Peace  of  Utrecht '  (b). 

'  History  repeats  itself,'  and  recent 
events  seem  to  indicate  that  the  policy 
of  the  English  commissioners  of  1720 
now  infects  the  rulers  of  the  Dominion; 
and  that  the  grasping  propensities  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  have  come, 
with  the  purchase  of  their  rights,  to  the 
same  authorities. 

Urgent  diplomatic  words  for  an  early 
settlement  of  the  '  disputed  bound- 
aries,' were  spelled  out  in  all  the  trea- 
ties. The  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
also  were  repeatedly  urgent  that  their 
limits  should  be  settled  *  without  de- 
lay' (c).  Urgent  diplomatic  words  for 
an  early  settlement  of  the  "  disputed 
boundaries "  of  Ontario  are  also  set 
forth  by  the  Dominion  Order  in  Coun- 
cil, dated  28th  November,  1871  :  that 
the  fixing  of  the  boundary  line  '  should 
be  as  far  as  possible  expedited ; '  land 
again  in  another  Order  in  Council, 
dated  9th  April,  1872  :  that '  both  Go- 
vernments would  feel  it  their  duty  to 
settle  tviihout  delay  upon  some  proper 
mode  of  determining  in  an  authorita- 
tive manner  the  true  position  of  the 
boundary'  (d). 

The  Treaties  between  the  crowns  of 

boundaries  of  Canada  or  New  France  on  one 
side,  and  of  Acadia,  and  of  the  land  of  Hud- 
son's Bay  on  the  other.'    Ibid.  p.  145. 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  367. 

(6)  Ibid,  p.  369. 

(c)  Ibid,  p.  359. 
{d)  Ibid,  p.  342. 


THE  Northern  and  western  boundaries. 


go; 


England  and  France  provided  that  the    , 
question  of   the  disputed  boundaries 
should  be  settled  by  eouiinissioiu'rs,  or 
in  other  words  liy  arbitrators  ;  and  in 
accordance  widi   such   precedents  and 
the  ])ractice  of  modern  di|)louiacy,  the    | 
political   sovereignties  of  Canada  and 
Ontario,  in  1S74  and  187S,  agreed  by 
Orders    in    Council,    to    which    each    | 
pledged  the  good  faith  and  honour  of    ! 
the  Crown  to  refer  to  arbitration  the    i 
controversy,  which,  among  all  civilized    [ 
nations,    is  essentially  one  of   public    ' 
and  diplomatic  law  :  the  controversy 
as  to  the  territorial  boundaries  of  their 
respective  political  sovereignties.  Both    i 
appointed       arbitrators,      and      both 
pledged  the  good  faith  and  honour  of   j 
the  Crown,  that  the  determination  of 
the  ai-bitrators  should  'betinal  and  con- 
clusive upon  the  limits  to  be  taken  as    j 
and  for  each  boundary  respectively' (a),    i 
But  to-day,  through  the  arbitrators  on    j 
the  3rd  of  August,  1878,   adjudicated 
u))on  the  controversy  referred  to  them    ' 
and  made  their  final  award,  the  sover- 
eign power  of  Canada  says,  that    the 
faith  of  the  Crown  shall  not  be  made 
good  to  the  sovereign  power  of  Ontario, 
and  contends  that  the  final  award  is 
waste  paper. 

The  Ontario  Order  in  Council  of  1874, 
proposed,' that  the  question  concerning 
the  Northern  and  Western  boundaries 
of  the  Province  of  Ontario  should  be 
determined  by  a  reference  to  arbitratoi's 
to  be  mutually  airi-eed  upon,  and  whose 
standing  and  ability  might  readily  be 
expected  to  secure  for  their  decision 
the  confidence  alike  of  the  people  of 
Ontario  and  the  people  of  the  Domi- 
nion.' The  Dominion  Order  in  Coun- 
cil of  1874  concurred  '  in  the  proposi- 
tion of  the  Government  of  Ontario  to 
determine,  by  means  of  reference,  the 
Northern  and  Western  boundaries  of 
that  Province  relatively  to  the  rest 
of  the  Dominion.'  The  Orders  in 
Council  of  both  Governments  of  1878 
affirmed  the  same,  and  finally  named  as 
arbitrators  Chief  Justice  Harrison  on 


(o)  Ontario  Sessional  Papers,  1879,  No.  42. 

6 


behalf  of  Ontario,  Sir  Francis  Hinck.s 
on  behalf  of  the  Dominion,  and  Sir 
Edward  Thornton,  ]3ritish  Minister  at 
Washington,  '  on  behalf  of  the  Gov- 
ments  of  the  Dominion  and  Ontario.' 
The  tribunal  of  Arbitration  met  at 
Ottawa  on  the  l.st.  2nd,  and  3rd  Au- 
gust, 1878  ;  and  after  the  argument  of 
counsel  (a),  made  and  published  their 
award  as  follows  : 

*  The  undersigned,  having  been  ap- 
pointed by  the  Governments  of  Canada 
and  Ontario  as  Arbitrators  to  deter- 
mine the  Northerly  and  Westerly 
boundaries  of  the  Province  of  Ontario, 
do  hereby  determine  and  decide  that 
the  following  are,  and  shall  l:e,  such 
boundaries,  that  is  to  say  : — commenc- 
ing at  a  point  in  the  southern  shore 
of  Hudson's  Bay,  commonly  called 
James'  Bay,  Avhere  a  line  produced  due 
north  from  the  head  of  Lake  Temis- 
caming  would  strike  the  said  south 
shore,  tiienoe  along  the  said  south 
shore  westerly  to  the  mouth  of  the 
AlVjany  lUver,  thence  up  the  middle 
of  said  Albany  River  and  of  the  lakes 
thereon  to  the  source  of  the  said  river 
at  the  head  of  Lake  St.  Joseph,  thence 
by  the  nearest  line  to  the  easterly  end 
of  Lac  8eul,  being  the  head  waters  of 
the  English  Pviver,  thence  westerly 
through  the  middle  of  Lac  Seul  and 
the  said  English  Kiver  to  a  point 
where  the  same  will  be  intersected  by 
a  true  meridional  lino  drawn  norther- 
ly from  the  international  monument 
placed  to  mark  the  most  northwesterly 
angle  of  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  by 
the  recent  boundary  Commission,  and 
thence  due  south,  following  the  said 
meridional  line  to  tlie  said  interna- 
tional monument,  thence  southerly 
and  easterly  following  upon  the  inter- 
national boundary  line  between  the 
British   possessions    and   the    United 


(a).  The  counsel  for  Ontario  were,  the  Hon. 
Oliver  Mowat.  Q.C.,  M.P.P.,  Attoniey-(ieii- 
eral  of  Ontario,  and  Mr.  Thomas  H<i(l>;iiis, 
Q.<J.,  M.P.P.,  for  West  El^-in  ;  an.l  for  the 
lioiniiiion,  Mr.  Hugh  Mac^fahon,  Q.C,  of 
London,  Ontario,  and  Mr.  E.  C.  Monk,  of 
Montreal,  Quebec. 


306 


THE  JfiORTHEEN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


States  of  America  into  Lake  Superior. 

*  But  if  a  true  niericlibnal  line  drawn 
northerly  from  the  said  international 
boundary  at  the  said  most  north-west- 
erly angle  of  the  Lake  of  the  Woods 
shall  be  found  to  pass  to  the  west  of 
where  the  English  River  empties  into 
the  Winnipeg  River,  then  and  in  such 
case  the  northerly  boundary  of  On- 
tai-io  shall  continue  down  the  middle 
of  the  said  English  River  to  where 
the  same  empties  into  the  the  Winni- 
peg River,  and  shall  continue  thence 
in  %  line  drawn  due  west  from  the 
confluence  of  the  said  English  River 
with  the  said  Winnipeg  River  until 
the  same  will  intersect  the  meridian 
above  described,  and  thence  due  south, 
following  the  said  meridional  line  to  the 
said  international  monument,  thence 
southerly  and  easterly  following  upon 
the  international  boundary  line  be- 
tween the  British  possessions  and  the 
United  States  of  America,  into  Lake 
Superior-. 

'  Given  under  our  hands  at  Ottawa, 
in  the  Province  of  Ontario,  this  third 
day  of  August,  1878. 

(Sd.)     RoBT.  A.  Harrison, 
"        Edward  Tiiorxton, 

"  F.  HiNCKS.' 

It  is  a  chronic  practice  on  the  part 
of  defeated  litigants  to  complain  that 
the  Court  was  not  a  learned  one  ;  that 
it  did  not  give  due  consideration  to  the 
leading  facts  on  their  side,  or  that  its 
decision  was  a  compromise.  TJie  Do- 
minion rulers  in  their  despatch  of  the 
27th  January,  1882,  say  that  the  pro- 
posal of  1874  '  that  the  dispute  should 
be  referred  to  arbitration  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  treated  by  either  govern- 
ment as  a  mode  of  seeking  an  authori- 
tative decision  upon  the  question  in- 
volved as  a  matter  of  law,  but  rather 
as  a  means  of  establishing  a  conven- 
tional line  without  first  ascertaining 
the  true  boundary.  In  corroboration 
of  this  vieio  it  is  to  be  noted  that  of  the 
three  gentlemen  who  made  the  award, 
tvjo  ivere  laymen  and  only  one  of  the 
profession  of  the  law.^ 


Argument  or  evidence  in  support  of 
this  pretence  there  is  none.  Tersely 
})ut  it  reads  ;  '  It  does  not  seem  that 
either  government  sought  an  authori- 
tative decision  on  the  boundary  ques- 
tion as  a  matter  of  law,  because  two 
of  the  arbitrators  were  laymen,  and 
only  one  a  lawyer.'  Two  statements 
answer  this  pretence:  (1)  The  settle- 
ment of  undefined  national  boundaries 
involves  the  consideration  of  mixed 
questions  of  fact,  and  of  international 
and  municipal  law,  and  was  referred 
to  an  appropriate  tribunal  composed 
of  an  Ontario  judge,  a  British  diplo- 
matist, and  an  ex  Minister  of  the  Do- 
minion ;  (2)  The  clear,  precise,  and 
formal  words  of  the  Orders  in  Council 
of  1874  and  1878  show  that  each 
government  referred  to  the  Arbitra- 
tors the  determination  of  '  the  north- 
ern and  western  boundaries  of  Ontario 
relatively  to  the  rest  of  the  Domi- 
nion \a). 

No  charge  is  made  against  the  Ar- 
bitrators of  their  being  parties  to  this 
supposititious  theory  ;  yet  it  is  their 
adjudication  and  their  award  that  is 
covertly  impeached. 

The  latest  writer  on  International 
Law  says  :  *  An  arbitral  decision  may 
be  disregarded  in  the  following  cases  : 
— when  the  tribunal  has  clearly  ex- 
ceeded the  powers  given  to  it  by  the 
instrument  of  submission  ]  when  it  is 
guilty  of  an  open  denial  of  justice  ; 
when  its  award  is  proved  to  have 
been  obtained  by  fraud,  or  corruption, 
and  when  the  terms  of  the  award  are 
equivocal '  (h). 

The  award  cannot  be  impeached  on 
any  of  these  grounds.' 

The  Dominion  asks  Ontario  to  re-lit- 
igate the  boundary  dispute  before  one 
English  lawyer,  or  before  three  or  four 
English  lawyers  in  London,  or  before 
six  Canadian  lawyers  at  Ottawa.  What 
is  this  but  a  re-arbitration  1  And  as 
no  new  evidence  has  been  discovered 
or  proposed,  it  means  a  re-arbitration 

(a)  Ontario  Sessional  Papers,  No.  42,  1870. 
(h)  Hall's   International  Law,  p.  307. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


307 


on  the  evidence  which  was  before  the 
arbitrating  tribunal  of  1878. 

The  reference  to  any  one  of  the  tri- 
bunals now  proposed  by  the  Dominion 
rulers  would  pledge  the  good  faith  and 
honour  of  the  Crown  as  fully  as  the 
same  were  pledged  in  1874  and  1878. 
And  if  the  former  pledges  of  the  good 
faith  and  honour  of  the  Crown  are  to 
be  violated  in  1882,  what  security  has 
Ontario  that  the  present  or  future 
rulers  of  the  Dominion  may,  as  against 
any  future  awai'd,  violate  the  Crown's 
pledge  to  the  people  of  Ontario  ? 

When  a  similar  x'eference  to  the 
Privy  Council  was  proposed  in  1857, 
Sir  R.  Bethell,  Attorney-General,  and 
8ir  H.  S.  Keating,  Solicitor-General,  ad- 
vised the  Crown  that  such  a  reference 
would  be  'a  quasi-judicial  inquiry,' 
{i.e.,  an  arbiti-ation),  and  that  the  deci- 
sion of  the  Judicial  Committee  of  the 
Privy  Council  '  ivould  not  have  any 
■effect  as  a  binding  judicial  determination^ 
until  confirmed  by  a  '  declaratory  Act 
of  Parliament.' (a) 

Ontario  has  by  various  statutes  con- 
firmed the  awardof  1878;  andhasesta- 
blished  civil  courts  within  the  awarded 
territory.  After  these  acts  of  sovereign 
legislation  which  have  been  '  assented 
to  on  the  part  of  the  Crown,  and  to 
which  the  Crown  therefore  is  a  party,' 
(b)  to  recede  now  would  be  an  admis- 
sion by  Ontario  of  a  wasteful  exercise 
of  legislative  authority,  and  a  renun- 
ciation of  sovereignty  over  the  terri- 
tory which  is  hers  by  virtue  of  the 
award,  and  the  Crown's  prerogative. 

It  is  said  that  the  award  establishes 
a  'conventional  line.'  The  term 
'  conventional '  applied  to  a  boundary 
line  ordinarily  means  a  boundary  ac- 
cording to  a  treaty.  Such  was  the 
boundary  the  arbitrators  had  to  de- 
termine. By  the  treaties  between  the 
English  and  French,  it  had  been 
agreed  that  commissioners  or  arbitra- 

(rt)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  202. 

(6)  Lord  Chancellor  Cairns  on  provincial 
legislation  in  Theben/c  v.  Landry,  L.  K.  2 
App.  Cas.  102,  108. 


tors  should  determine  the  '  bounda- 
ries between  the  Bay  of  Hudson  and 
the  places  appertaining  to  the  French  ' 
— i.  e.,  Canada;  and  the  Crown,  by 
giving  to  Upper  Canada  all  the  west- 
ern country  '  to  the  utmost  extent  of 
the  country  called  or  known  by  the 
name  of  Canada'  revived  the  boun- 
dary dispute  between  the  French  and 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company.  The  ar- 
bitrators were,  therefore,  in  the  posi- 
tion of  the  former  French  and  Eng- 
lish Commissioners,  and  had  to  decide 
what  were  the  conventional  or  treaty 
boundaries  between  the  old  French 
and  English  possessions  about  Hud- 
son's Bay  and  the  west.  And  their 
award,  without  the  partizanship  of 
national  influences,  determines  what 
were  the  boundaries  intended  by  the 
former  treaties  and  conventions,  and 
therefore  what  are  the  '  legal  boun- 
daries'  of  Ontario. 

Bearing  in  mind  that  the  award 
finds  Hudson's  Bay  and  the  Albany 
River  the  northern,  and  the  Lake  of 
the  Woods  the  western,  boundary  of 
Ontario,  the  leading  facts  afi"ecting 
the  question  of  the  boundaries  may 
be  stated  as  follows  : 

Priorto  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht,  1713, 
the  French  claimed  the  territory  about 
Hudson's  Bay,  called  by  them  La  Baye 
du  Nord  du  Canada.  Louis  XIV.,  in 
a  letter  to  M.  de  la  Barre,  Governor 
of  Canada,  dated  Fontainebleau,  5th 
August,  1683,  said  :  '  I  recommend 
you  to  prevent  the  English,  as  much 
as  possible,  from  establishing  them- 
selves in  Hudson's  Bay,  possession 
whereof  was  taken  in  my  name  seve- 
ral years  ago ;  and  as  Col.  D'Un- 
guent  (Dongan),  appointed  Governor 
of  New  York  by  the  King  of  Eng- 
land has  had  precise  orders  on  the 
part  of  the  said  king  to  maintain  good 
correspondence  with  us,  and  carefully 
avoid  whatever  may  interrupt  it,  I 
doubt  not  the  difficulties  you  have  ex- 
perienced on  the  side  of  the  English 
will  cease  for  the    future.'  (a)     The 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  106. 


308 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


French  King  at  this  time  claimed  that 
prior  to  the  Company's  charter  these 
territories  were  his,  i.e.,  'possessed  by 
another  Christian  Prince  or  State,'  and 
were  not  therefore  within  the  power  of 
the  English  Crown  to  grant  to  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

There  ai'e  statements  and  counter- 
statements  of  the  early  explorations 
of  the  French  about  Hudson's  Bay  : 
that  of  Jean  Bourdon,  Attorney-Gene- 
ral of  Quebec,  in  1656  ;  of  Pere  Dab- 
Ion  and  Sieur  de  Valliere,  in  1661  ; 
of  Sieur  de  la  Couture,  Sieur  Duquet, 
King's  Attorney  for  Quebec,  and  Jean 
L'Anglois,  in  1663  ;  (a)  but  the  fact, 
or  the  extent,  of  their  explorations 
has  been  questioned,  [b) 

But  no  doubt  exists  as  to  the  fact 
of  the  surrender  by  the  Indians  to  the 
French,  at  Sault  Ste.  Marie,  in  1671, 
of  the  territory  occupied  by  seventeen 
Indian  nations,  '  including  all  those  of 
the  Ottawas  and  of  the  entire  of  Lake 
Huron,  those  of  Lake  Superior,  of  the 
whole  northern  country,  and  of  Hud- 
son's Bay,  of  the  Baie  des  Puans 
(Green  Bay),  and  of  the  Lake  of  the 
Illinois  '  (Lake  Michigan)  ;  (c)  nor  as 
to  the  fact  of  a  similar  surrender  to  the 
French  at  Lake  Nemiskau,  in  1672,  of 
the  Indian  territory  on  the  east  side  of 
Hudson's  Bay.  [d)  Neither  the 
Crown  of  England  nor  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  ever  acquired  the  In- 
dian title  in  those  territories. 

The  Treaty  of  Ryswick,  1697,  recog- 
nised the  French  title  to  nearly  the 
whole  of  Hudson's  Bay.  It  provided 
that  'conimLssioners  should  beappoint- 
ed  on  both  sides  to  examine  and  deter- 
mine the  rights  and  pretensions  which 
either  of  the  said  kings  had  to  the 
places  situated  in  Hudson's  Bay  ;  but 
the  possession  of  those  places  which 
were  taken  by  the  French  during  the 
peace  which  preceded  the  present  war, 
and  were  retaken  by  the  English  dur- 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  pp.  109,  111,  250. 
(6)  Mr.  Ramsay's  Report,  pp.  9,  24. 
(c)  Boundary  Documents,  pp.  61,  112. 
{d)  Ibid.,  p.  104. 


ing  this  war,  should  be  left  to  the 
French.'  (a)  This  gave  the  French 
king  ((U  the  forts  at  Hudson's  Bay 
except  York  Fort  (Bourbon),  at  the 
mouth  of  the  York  or  Nelson  River ; 
but  this  fort  was  taken  by  the  French 
the  same  year  ;  while  Albany  Fort, 
which  should  have  been  given  to  France 
under  the  Treaty,  was  retained  by  the 
English,  (b)  The  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany complained  that  '  their  interest- 
was  not  comprehended  in  the  Treaty 
of  Ryswick,'  and  that  by  this  surren- 
der '  they  found  their  condition  much 
worse  than  it  was  before,'  and  that 
they  were  *  the  only  mourners  by  the 
peace.'  In  1700,  they  proposed  to  the 
English  Government  to  ignore  the 
treaty,  and  to  ask  that  '  the  bounda- 
ries between  the  French  and  them 
should  be  Albany  River  on  the  west, 
and  Rupert's  River  on  the  east,  or 
53°  North  latitude,  (c)  In  1701,  they 
again  sought  to  evade  the  Treaty  as  to 
the  French  forts  north  of  the  Albany 
River,  and  submitted  the  following 
proposals  of  limits  between  them  and 
the  French  at  Hudson's  Bay  : 

'  1.  That  the  French  be  limited  not 
to  trade  by  wood  runners  or  other- 
wise, nor  build  any  house,  factory,  or 
fort  to  the  northward  of  Albany  River, 
vulgarly  called  Checheawan,  in  the 
west  main  or  coast. 

'  2.  That  the  French  be  likewise 
limited  not  to  trade  by  wood  runners 
or  otherwise,  nor  build  any  house, 
factory,  or  fort  to  the  northward  of 
Hudson's  River,  vulgarly  Canute 
River,  in  the  east  main  or  coast. 

'  3.  On  the  contrary,  the  English, 
upon  such  an  agreement,  do  engage 
not  to  trade  by  wood  runners,  nor 
build  any  house,  factory,  or  fort  to 
the  southward  of  Albany  River,  vul- 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  15. 

(6)  The  Forts  at  Hudson's  Bay  to  which 
the  French  became  entitled  under  this  Treaty 
were  :  Fort  Rupert,  at  Rupert  River  ;  Mon- 
sippi,  or  Moose  Fort,  at  Moose  River ;  Al- 
bany, at  Albany  River  (retained  by  the  Eng- 
lish);  Severn,  at  Severn  River  ;  Churchill,  at 
Buttons  Bay.  See  Mr.  Mill's  Report,  p.  145. 

(c)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  123. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


309 


garly  called  Checheawan,  in  the  west 
coast,  on  any  ground  belonging  to  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

'  4.  As  also,  the  English  be  likewise 
limited  not  to  trade  by  wood-runners 
or  otherwise,  nor  build  any  house,  fac- 
toi'y,  or  fort  to  the  southward  of  Hud- 
son's E,ivei',  vulgarly  called  Canute 
Elver,  on  the  east  coast,  in  any  ground 
belonging  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany. 

'  5.  That  all  the  islands  in  the  said 
Bay  and  Streights  of  Hudson,  lying 
to  the  northward  of  Albany  River,  on 
the  west  coast,  and  of  Hudson's  Pdver, 
vulgarly  called  Canute  River,  on  the 
east  coast,  shall  be  and  remain  to  the 
English. 

'  6.  Likewise  that  the  islands  on  the 
said  Bay  of  Hudson,  lying  to  the  south- 
ward of  Albany  River,  in  the  west 
coast, andof  Hudson's  River,  vulgarly 
called  Canute  River,  on  the  east  coast, 
shall  be  and  remain  to  the  French  \a). 

The  Company  added  a  '  without  pre- 
judice '  clause,  that '  should  the  French 
refuse  the  limits  now  proposed,  the 
Company  think  themselves  not  bound 
by  this  or  any  former  concessions  of 
the  like  nature.'  Whatever  may  have 
been  the  rights  of  the  Company  before 
the  Treaty  of  1697,  their  claim  to  the 
whole  of  Hudson's  Bay  after  that 
treaty,  and  after  the  French  had,  or 
were  legally  and  by  treaty  entitled  to, 
the  possession  of  all  the  forts  formerly 
held  by  the  English  on  the  shores  of 
the  Bay,  was  a  most  untenable  one. 

In  1712 — the  French  being  still  in 
possession  of  the  forts  at  Hudson's 
Bay,  the  Company  advanced  their  pre-  j 
tensions  southward,  and  proposed  that 
the  boundaiy  should  be  through  Lake 
Miskosinke  or  MistovenyinSl  i^  north 
latitude,  and  that  the  French  should 
surrender  York  Fort  (Fort  Bourbon), 
*  together  with  all  forts,  factories,  set- 
tlements, and  buildings  whatsoever, 
taken  from  the  English,  or  since  erec- 

(a).  Boundary  Documents,  p.  124.  The 
award  makes  the  Albany  river  the  northern 
boundary  of  Ontario. 


ted  or  built  by  the  French,  together 
with  all  other  places  they  are  posses- 
sed of  within  the  Bay  and  Streights  of 
Hudson '  (a). 

Following  this  demand  came  the 
Treaty  of  Utrecht,  1713,  by  which  it 
was  provided  that  the  French  should 
'  restore  '  to  the  English  '  the  Bay  and 
Streights  of  Hudson,  together  with 
all  lands,  seas,  sea  coasts,  rivers  and 
places  situate  in  the  said  Bay  and 
Streights,  and  which  belong  thereto, 
no  tracts  of  land  or  of  sea  being  ex- 
cepted which  are  at  present  })ossessed 
by  the  subjects  of  France,'  all  of  which, 
together  with  any  buildings  or  for- 
tresses *  there  erected,  either  before 
or  since  the  French  seized  the  same,* 
were  to  be  given  up  within  six  months 
from  the  ratification  of  the  Treaty  (h). 

Then  for  the  first  time  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  proposed  that  their 
boundary  should  be  extended  south- 
ward to  latitude  49^(c).  But  in  the 
instructions  to  the  British  Commis- 
sioners, while  they  were  expressly  di- 
rected to  claim  to  line  49",  they  were 
advised  that  in  agreeing  with  the 
French,  '  the  boundaries  be  under- 
stood to  regard  the  trade  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  only.'  {d). 
What  is  now  commonly  called  the 
'  Height  of  land,'  is  the  invented 
boundary  of  late  years(e).  For  after  the 
French  had  given  up  their  posts  on 
the  shores  of  the  Bay,  and  the  Com- 
pany had  declared  itself  satisfied,  the 
French  continued  to  hold,  without 
complaint,  their  posts  of  Temiscaming, 
Abbitibbi,  Nemiskau,  St.  Germain, 
near  Churchill,  and  one  on  the  Moose 
river — all  north  of  the  Height  of  Land, 
as  well  as  their  posts  in  the  west,  un- 
til Canada  was  ceded  in  1763  (/").  The 
French  up  to  the  close  of  negotiations  in 
1720  vigorously  contended  that  *  the 
term  restitution,  which  has  been  used 
in  the  Treaty,  conveys  the  idea  clearly, 

(a).  Boundary  Documents,  p.  129. 
(b).  Ibid.,  p.i6.  {c).  Ibid.,  p.  132. 

((/)  Ibid.  p.  .363. 

(e)  '  The  Heights  of    Land  '  runs  down  to 
47Jf°  on  the  east,  and  up  to  50i°  on  the  west. 
if).  Mr.  Mills'  Eeport,  p.  181. 


310 


TEE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


that  the  English  could  claim  only  what  I 
they  had  possessed  ;  and  as  they  never 
had  but  a  few  establishments  on  the 
sea  coast,  it  is  evident  that  the  inte- 
rior of  the  country  is  considered  as 
belonging  to  France  '  (a). 

A  widely  scattered  fringe  of  trading 
posts  on  the  shores  of  the  Bay  was  all 
that  the  Company  occu))ied  there 
between  1670  and  the  cession  of  Can- 
ada in  1763.  The  Fi-ench  kept  north 
of  the  Height  of  Land,  and  had  pene- 
trated into  the  interior,  built  forts,  and 
carried  on  an  extensive  fur  trade  with 
the  Indians,  Officers  of  the  Company 
stated  before  a  Committee  of  the  House 
of  Lords  in  1 749 :  '  There  was  a  French 
settlement  up  Moose  River  at  a  dis- 
tance of  50  miles  at  Abbitibbi  Lake.' 
'  The  French  w^ent  further  in  the  coun- 
try first,  and  are  better  beloved  ;  but 
if  we  w-ould  go  up  into  the  country, 
the  French  Indians  would  trade  with 
us.'  *  The  French  had  a  settlement 
at  about  the  distance  of  100  or  six 
score  miles  from  Churchill.'  '  The 
French  draw  the  Indians  from  Hud- 
son's Bay.  The  creating  settlements 
up  in  the  country  would  be  the  most 
proper  method  to  increase  the  trade  ' 
(b).  All  these  were  north  of  the 
•  Height  of  Land  '  In  Boicen's 
Geography,  published  in  1747,  the 
occupation  by  the  French  about 
Hudson's  Bay,  at  Moose  River,  Fort 
Nemiskau,  on  Rupert  River,  is  ad- 
mitted, and  the  author  adds :  '  The 
English  who  trade  here  have  no  plan- 
tations or  settlements  within  land,  but 
live  near  the  coast  within  their  forts 
or  little  houses  or  huts'  (c).  In  Rob- 
son's  Account  of  Hudson's  Bay,  pub- 
lished in  1753,  it  is  stated  :  '  The 
Company  have  for  sixty  years  slept  at 
the  edge  of  a  frozen  sea.  They  have 
shown  no  curiosity  to  penetrate  fur- 
ther themselves,  and  have  exerted  all 
their  wit  and  power  to  crush  the  spirit 
in  others.'  '  The  French  live  and  trade 

( a).  Boundary  Documents,  p.  372. 
(h).  Ibid.,  p.  395. 
(c).  Rid.,  371. 


with  the  Indians  within  the  country 
at  the  heads  of  the  rivers  that  run 
down  to  the  English  factories.'  '  In 
consequence  of  this  narrow  spirit  of 
self-interest  in  the  Company,  the 
French  have  been  encouraged  to  travel 
many  hundred  miles  overland  from 
Canada,  and  up  many  rivers  that  have 
great  waterfalls  in  order  to  make  trad- 
ing settlements  ;  and  there  they  carry 
on  a  friendly  intercourse  with  the  na- 
tives at  the  head  of  most  of  the  rivers 
westward  of  the  Bay,  even  as  far  as- 
Churchill  River,  and  intercept  the 
Company's  trade  '  (a).  And  Governor 
Pownall,  in  his  report  to  the  British 
Government  on  the  French  Posts  in 
North  America,  in  1756,  states  that 
the  French  had  '  throughout  the  coun- 
try sixty  or  seventy  forts,  and  almost 
as  many  settlements,  which  take  the 
lead  in  the  command  of  the  country  ; ' 
'  they  have  been  admitted  to  a  landed 
possession,  and  are  become  possessed 
of  a  real  interest  in,  and  a  real  com- 
mand over,  the  country  '  (b). 

Admissions  by  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  are  the  best  evidence.  In 
their  statement  printed  in  1857,  and 
furnished  by  them  to  the  Dominion  for 
the  purposes  of  the  arbitration  they 
say  :  '  As  long  as  Canada  was  held  by 
the  French,  the  opposition  of  wander- 
derin^  traders  {Coure^^rs  des  Bois) 
was  insufficient  to  induce  the  Cotn- 
pany  to  give  up  their  usual  method  of 
trading.  Their  servants  ivaited  at  the 
forts  hvilt  on  the  coast  of  the  Bay,  and 
there  bought  by  barter  the  furs  which 
the  Indians  brought  from  the  interior. 
But  after  the  cession  of  Canada  to 
Great  Britain  in  1763,  British  traders, 
foUovrmg  the  track  of  the  French,  pene- 
trated into  the  countries  lying  to  the 
north-west  of  the  Company's  territo- 
ries, and  by  their  building  factories 
brought  the  market  for  furs  nearer  ta 
the  Indian  settler  (c).   And  the  Chair- 

(a).  Robson's  Accoiant    of    Hudson's  Bay^. 
pp.  6,  7. 

(6)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  380. 
(c)  Ibid.,  p.  402. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


311 


man  of  the  Company  in  187G,  report- 
ing to  the  Dominion  Government  the 
result  of  his  researches  into  the  re- 
cords of  the  Company,  says  ;  '  At  the 
time  of  the  passing  of  the  Quebec  Act, 
1774,  the  Company  had  not  extended 
their  posts  and  operations  far  from 
the  shores  of  Hudson's  Bay.  Jour- 
nals of  the  following  trading  stations 
have  been  pi'eserved  bearing  that  date, 
namely  :  Albany,  Henley,  Moose, 
East  IMain,  York,  Severn  and  Church- 
hill(rt).  To  these  may  be  added  the 
conclusions  of  the  Dominion  ministers 
in  1869:  'The  evidence  is  abundant 
and  conclusive  to  prove  that  the 
French  traded  over  and  possessed  the 
whole  of  the  country  known  as  the 
Winnipeg  basin  and  Fertile  Belt  from 
its  discovery  by  Europeans  down  to 
the  Treaty  of  Paris'{Z;). 

It  has  been  argued  that  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  by  taking  posses- 
sion of  the  mouths  of  certain  rivers 
flowing  into  Hudson's  Bay  became  en- 
titled to  all  the  lands  watered  by 
those  rivers.  The  answer  to  this  is 
(1)  that  by  agreeing  to  refer  the  ques- 
tion of  the  boundaries  of  their  ter- 
ritories to  arbitration  in  1697  and 
1713,  their  possession  was  not  ]n'0- 
tected  by  the  law  of  nations  :  (2)  That 
a  charter  with  indefinite  boundaries 
and  without  possession  does  not  by  the 
municipal  law,  or  the  law  of  nations, 
give  a  title  or  right  of  pi'operty  in  the 
soil(c)  :  (3)  That  if  the  Company  had 
a  title  which  could  be  recognised,  they 
waived  it  by  allowing  the  French  to 
occupy  the  territory  and  to  form  set- 
tlements and  posts  inland  along  and  at 
the  heads  of  the  rivers  flowing  into 
the  Bay.  '  It  may  happen  (says  Vat- 
tel),  that  a  nation  is  contented  with 
possessing  certain  places,  or  appropri- 
ating to  itself  certain  rights  in  a  coun- 
try which  has  not  an  owner,   without 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  442. 

{b)  Ibid.  p.  335. 

(c)  Lords  of  Trade  to  the  King,  8th  Sep. 
1721 ;  Mr.  Mills'  Report,  p.  119.  See  also 
Menard  v.  Massey,  and  Mayuire  v.  President 
Tyler,  post. 


being  solicitous  to  take  possession  of 
the  whole  country.  In  this  case,  ano- 
ther nation  may  take  possession  of 
what  the  fii'st  has  neglected  '  (a). 

In  view  of  the  Company's  limited 
occupation  of  the  shores  of  Hudson's 
Bay,  and  of  the  French  occupation  of 
the  territories  south  and  west  of  the 
bay,  the  French  construction  of  the 
Treaty  of  1713,  may  be  referred  to. 
M.  D'Auteuil,  Attorney-General  of 
Canada,  was  recalled  to  Paris  in  1719 
as  one  thoroughly  master  of  the 
facts  afiecting  the  settlement  of  the 
boundaries.  In  his  memoir  to  the 
French  Boundary  Commissioners,  he 
states  :  *  It  is  well  to  remark  that  the 
English  in  all  the  places  of  the  said 
Bay  and  straits  which  they  have  oc- 
cupied, have  always  stopped  at  the 
border  of  the  sea,  while  the  French, 
from  the  foundation  of  the  colony  of 
Canada,  have  jnot  ceased  to  ti-averse 
all  the  lands  and  rivers  bordering  on 
the  Bay,  taking  possession  of  all  the 
places  and  founding  j^osts  and  mis- 
sions. They  cannot  say  that  any  land, 
or  river,  or  lake  belongs  to  Hudson's 
Bay,  because  if  ail  the  rivers  which 
empty  into  this  Bay  or  which  commu- 
nicate with  it  belong  to  it,  it  might  be 
said  that  all  New  France  belongs  to 
them,  the  Saguenay  and  St.  Lawrence 
communicating  with  the  Bay  by  the 
lakes.  The  English  cannot  pretend 
to  anything  except  a  very  small  ex- 
tent of  the  country  adjoining  the  forts 
which  they  have  possessed  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  Bay.  ISTevertheless  their 
pretensions  amount  to  nothing  less 
than  to  overrun  nearly  all  the  north 
and  west  of  New  France.  The  Treaty 
of  Utrecht  speaks  only  of  restitution  ; 
let  the  English  show  that  which  the 
French  have  taken  from  them  and  they 
will  restore  it  to  them  ;  but  all  that 
they  demand  beyond  this,  they  de- 
mand without  any  appearance  of 
right.'  (6). 

The  contention  of  the  French  was 

[a]  Vattel's  Law  of  Nations,  p.  171. 
(h)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  368. 


312 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


that  *  Canada'  or  Nouvclle  France,  ex- 
tended to  Hudson's  Bay,  and  that  as 
'  Canada'  was  not  named  in  the  Treaty, 
no  part  of  its  territory  could  be  claimed 
by  the  Crown  of  England.  France 
being  the  ceding  power  was  entitled, 
where  the  treaty  was  capable  of  two 
intei'pretations,  to  such  an  interpre- 
tation as  would  be  most  favourable  to 
her.  In  deciding  a  case  of  a  conflict 
between  the  Spanish  and  American 
copies  of  the  Treaty  of  1819,  which 
ceded  Florida  to  the  United  States,  it 
was  held  by  the  United  States  Supreme 
Court  that  the  interpretation  most  fa- 
vourable to  Spain  should  govern  :  '  The 
King  of  Spain  was  the  grantor,  the 
treaty  was  his  deed,  the  exception  was 
made  by  him,  and  its  nature  and  effect 
depended  upon  his  intention  expressed 
by  his  words.  The  Spanisli  version 
was  in  his  words  and  expressed  his  in- 
tention, and  though  the  American 
version  showed  the  intention  of  this 
government  to  be  different,  we  cannot 
adopt  it  as  the  rule  by  which  to  de- 
cide what  was  granted,  what  excepted, 
and  what  reserved. '(«). 

But  the  conquest  of  Canada  ended 
the  controversy  respecting  the  '  dis- 
puted boundaries  ;'  and  by  the  Treaty 
of  Paris,  the  English  King  succeeded 
to  the  assertion  of  title,  the  sover- 
eignty, the  prerogative  rights  and  the 
public  property  of  the  French  King 
about  Hudson's  Bay  and  the  western 
country.  This  dual  sovereignty  was 
thereafter  to  be  exercised  by  the  Eng- 
lish sovereign,  in  such  a  way  as  would 
best  maintain  the  titles  and  possession, 
and  rights  of  property  of  his  new  sub- 
jects. Succeeding  to  the  French  sover- 
eignty over  the  people  residing  and 
claiming  possessory  titles  within  this 
'  disputed  territory,'  and  to  the  public 
property  of  the  French  crown  there, 
the  crown  of  England  had  the  right  to 
claim  against  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany and  all  others,  the  French  sover- 
eignty as  if  the  French  authority  was 
itself  seeking  to  enforce  its  own,  and 

(a)  United  States  v.  Arredondo,  6  Peters, 
74i. 


its  subjects'  territorial  claims.  The 
doctrine  of  succession  to  the  sovereign 
rights  of  a  displaced  power  has  been  ex- 
plained by  the  late  Lord  Justice  James, 
while  Vice  Chancellor,  thus  :  '  I  take 
it  to  be  clear,  public,  universal  law, 
that  any  government  which  defacto  suc- 
ceeds to  any  other  government,  whe- 
ther by  revolution  or  restoration,  con- 
quest or  re-conquest,  succeedfi  to  all  the 
public  property,  to  everything  in  the 
nature  of  public  property,  and  to  all 
rights  in  respect  of  the  public  property 
of  the  displaced  power.'  '  But  this 
right  is  a  right  of  succession,  is  the 
right  of  representation  ;  it  is  a  right 
not  paramount  but  derived,  I  will  not 
say  under,  but  through  the  suppressed 
and  displaced  authority,  and  can  only 
be  enforced  in  the  same  way  and 
to  the  same  extent,  and  subject  to 
the  same  correlative  obligations  and 
rights,  as  if  that  authority  had  not  been 
suppressed  and  displaced,  and  was  itself 
seeking  to  enforce  it '  [a).  *  The  con- 
queror (sriys  Vattel)  acquires  the  pub- 
lic and  political  rights  of  the  sovereign 
he  displaces  '  {b). 

No  estoppel  could  have  opex'ated  in* 
favour  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
as  against  the  crown,  on  the  acquire- 
ment of  the  French  sovereignty  and 
title  under  the  Treaty  of  176-3.  Both 
their  grant  and  their  possession  were  in- 
definite and  doubtful.  On  the  question 
how  far  a  grant,  without  defined  boun- 
daries, made  by  a  prior  government  is 
valid,  the  United  States  Supreme 
Court  has  held  (1)  that  upon  the  trans- 
fer of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States, 
the  latter  government  succeeded  to  all 
the  powers  of  the  governors  and  intend- 
ent-generals  of  French  Louisiana,  and 
could  give  or  withhold  the  completion 
of  all  imperfect  titles  at  its  pleasure  ; 
and  (2)  that  a  concession  or  gi-ant  of 
territory  having  no  defined  boundaries 
made  by  the  Governor  of  Louisiana, 
before  such  transfer  to  the  United 
States,  but  not  sui'veyed,  could  not  be 

(a)  United  States  v.  McRae,  L.  E..  8  Eq.  75. 
Wheaton's  International  Law,  p.  42. 

[b)  Vattel's  Law  of  Nations,  p.  574. 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON  UNIVERSITY  CO-EDUCATION. 


313 


considered  as  property,  and  as  such 
protected  by  courts  of  justice  (a). 
And  in  another  case  the  same  Court 
held,  '  that  a  grant  by  the  French  Go-- 
vernment  of  territory,  subsequently 
acquired  by  the  United  States,  but 
•without  any  sufficient  boundary  lines, 
making  a  definite  parcel  of  land,  so  as 
to  sever  it  from  the  public  domain, 
created  no  right  of  private' property 
which  could  be  asserted  in  a  court  of 
justice  ;  and  that  as  between  two 
claimants  setting  up  distinct  imperfect 
titles  to  the  same  territory,  under 
grants  from  a  former  government,  the 

(«)  Menard  v.  Masse>/,  8  Howard,  U.  S.  293. 


Courts  have  no  jurisdiction  to  deter- 
mine the  controversy  ;  the  political 
power  alone  is  competent  to  determine 
to  which  the  perfect  title  shall  be 
made'  (b). 

These  cases,  and  the  opinion  of  the 
Law  Officers  of  the  Crown,  given  in 
1857,  before  referred  to,  also  show  that 
the  settlement  of  the  question  of  '  un- 
defined boundaries,'  belongs  to  the 
political  or  executive  department  of 
the  Government,  and  not  as  '  a  matter 
of  Law  '  to  its  judicial  department. 

(h)  Maguire  v.  President  Tuler,  8  Wallace, 
U.  S.  6.50. 

{To  he  continued.) 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON  UNIVERSITY  CO-EDUCATION. 


BY    'FIDELIS,     KINGSTON. 


IT  would  seem  as  if  the  vaunted  pro- 
gress of  the  age  were  somewhat 
crab-like  in  its  character — subject  to 
reaction  or  retrogression,  rather  than 
proceeding  in  a  steady  and  even  course. 
At  least,  this  seems  the  only  expla- 
nation why,  some  three  hundred  and 
fifty  years  after  ladies  were  allowed 
to.  sit  in  the  professorial  chairs  of 
the  most  famous  universities  of  the 
world,  there  should  still  be  a  serious 
question  in  the  minds  of  many  as  to 
the  propriety  of  admitting  them  as 
pupils  to  university  class-i'ooms ;  and 
why,  after  one  of  our  Canadian  Uni- 
versities has  already  tried,  with  perfect 
success,  the  experiment  of  throwing 
open  its  classes  without  resti'iction  as 
to  sex,  another,  our  National  Univer- 
sity should  shrink  from  admitting  the 


female  portion  of  the  nation  to  its  pri- 
vileges, lest  such  a  step  should  prove 
subversive  to  '  due  order  and  discip- 
line.' Such  an  opinion  must  imply,  it 
would  seem,  a  very  unflattering  esti- 
mate of  either  our  young  women  or  our 
young  men- — or  indeed  both  ;  an  esti- 
mate which,  it  is  humbly  siibmitted, 
there  are  no  facts  to  warrant.  Every 
one  will  remember  how  anxiously 
King  James'  puzzled  courtiers  tried  to 
solve  the  pi-obl«m  why  a  sturgeon,  put 
into  a  full  vessel,  would  not  cause  it 
to  overflow,  until  one  bethought  him- 
self of  enquiring  what  was  really  the 
fact !  Now  if  we  have  any  facts  bearing 
on  this  theoretical  subversion  of  '  due 
order  and  discipline/  why  should  we 
not  give  them  a  reasonable  amount  of 
weii{ht  ?    What  are  the  facts  then,  as 


314 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON  UNIVERSITY  CO-EDUCATION. 


testified  by  the  experience  of  those 
universities  in  whicli  the  experiment 
has  been  fully  tried  1  From  one  and 
all  comes  the  same  testimony — much 
of  which  has  already  been  given  in  this 
^lagazine,  in  the  very  words  of  the 
authorities, — that  so  far  from  subvert- 
ing good  order  and  discipline,  the  pre- 
sence of  ladies  in  college  class-rooms 
has  promoted  order,  quiet,  gentlemanly 
conduct,  and  even  stimulated  faithful 
study  among  the  young  men.  At  Mi- 
chigan University  in  particular,  where 
there  is  a  large  body  of  female  medical 
students  attending  the  general  medical 
classes,  the  presence  of  ladies  has  a 
perceptible  beneficial  effect  on  the 
demeanour  of  the  students  at  the  clin- 
ical lectures,  —  the  severest  test  to 
which  the  system  of  co-education  can 
be  subjected. 

But,  in  addition  to  this  testimony 
from  our  neighbours,  we  have  the  ex- 
perience, to  a  small  extent,  of  one  of 
our  own  universities,  Queen's  Univer- 
sity, Kingston.  For  some  years  its 
class-rooms  have  been  open  to  female 
students,  and  that  they  continue  so, 
after  a  fair  trial  of  the  experiment,  is 
itself  a  sufiiciently  significant  testi- 
mony that  no  detriment  has  yet  arisen 
to  good  order  and  discipline.  In  fact, 
the  presence  of  several  young  ladies  in 
various  classes  in  Arts  makes  absolute- 
ly 710  diflference,  except  that,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  young  men  themselves, 
it  decidedly  promotes  order.  '  It  makes 
the  students  conduct  themselves  in  a 
more  gentlemanly  manner.'  'There  is 
perfect  quiet  now,  where  sometimes 
there  used  to  be  rude  calls  and  jokes,' 
Such  is  the  testimony  of  male  stu- 
dents, withovit  any  natural  bias  on  the 
subject ;  the  only  drawback  apparently 
experienced,  so  far,  being  that  some  of 
the  young  men  feel  a  little  shyness 
about  reciting  before  the  young  ladies, 
a  feeling  which  would  naturally  lead 
them  to  more  careful  preparation,  that 
they  might  acquit  themselves  tvellf 
Lecturers  who  come  to  the  University 
from  a  distance  give  exactly  the  same 
testimony   to   the  perfect   order    and 


tranquillity  in  the  halls,  utterly  undis- 
turbed by  this  dangerous  feminine 
element  !  The  male  and  female  stu- 
dents do  not  come  into  contact  at  all, 
although  the  entrances  are  common. 
They  do  not  necessarily  even  become 
acquainted,  and  as  one  student  naively, 
but  significantly,  said, '  we  very  seldom 
meet  in  the  street,  because  their  studies 
keep  them  busy.'  In  fact,  they  see 
just  as  much  or  as  little  of  each  other 
asthey  doat  chui'ch — less,  if  anything; 
and,  to  be  consistent,  those  who  op- 
pose the  presence  of  young  women  in 
University  class-rooms  on  the  score  of 
propriety,  should  advocate  the  '  Qua- 
ker meeting  '  principle  of  arrangement 
in  churches,  and  should  discountenance 
all  public  evening  lectures  Avhich  young 
men  and  women  can  attend  in  com- 
pany, if  so  disposed.  Their  attendance 
together  at  the  ordinary  University 
classes  is,  indeed,  the  more  completely 
unobjectionable  of  the  two.  And  if 
premature  falling  in  love  be  an  evil  to 
be  dreaded,  and  discouraged,  young 
men  are  much  less  likely  to  fall  in 
love  with  young  Avomen  whom  they 
meet  only  under  the  disenchanting  in- 
fluences of  class-room  competition  than 
with  those  they  meet  in  ordinary 
'  society.' 

Whathasbeen  proved  to  be  not  only 
harmless  but  useful,  tried  on  a  small 
scale,  might  reasonably  be  expected  to 
be  found  equally  harmless  on  a  much 
lai-ger  one,  since  the  presence  of  a 
larger  number  of  young  women  would 
naturally  prove  a  more  powerful  in- 
fluence for  good,  while  it  would  be  a 
greater  safeguard  to  the  individuals 
composing  it,  making  still  smaller 
the  chances  of  personal  contact  be- 
tween students  of  different  sexes.  But 
it  is  very  unlikely  that  there  would 
ever  be  any  very  large  number  of  fe- 
male students  crowding  to  our  uni- 
versities. For  the  great  majority,  cir- 
cumstances and  the  ordinary  chances 
of  life  will  be  far  too  strong.  Young 
women  will  always  require  some 
strong  mental  '  vocation,'  some  cher- 
ished  and  definite  aim,  to  overcome 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON  UNIVERSITY  CO-EDUCATION. 


315 


the  many  *  lions  in  the  way,'  and  the 
many  counter  attractions  of  life,  and 
nerve  them  to  submit  to  the  somewhat 
rigorous  discipline  and  steady,  pro- 
tracted work  of  a  University  course. 
Against  those  who  have  this  strong 
mental  tendency,  this  earnest  aim,  is 
it  not  both  hard  and  unjust  that  a  Na- 
tional University  should  close  its 
doors  ?  And  it  will  be  long,  in  all 
probability,  before  the  number  of  fe- 
male candidates  for  university  privi- 
leges will  warrant  the  establishment  of 
a  separate  university  as  highly  and 
fully  equipped  as  that  which  shuts 
them  out. 

Some  of  the  objectors  in  our  Legisla- 
ture argue  against  University  co-educa- 
tion, as  if  it  implied  a  coercive  re-model- 
ling of  our  female  education  generally. 
For,  on  no  other  supposition  is  there 
any  relevancy  in  assuring  us  that  men 
and  women  have,  as  a  rule,  different 
spheres  in  life,  and  differing  capaci- 
ties and  tastes  to  enable  them  suit- 
ably to  fill  these.  Granted  fully  ;  but 
neither  all  men  nor  all  women  are 
formed  in  one  unvarying  mould.  There 
is  far  too  much  interaction  of  the  cha- 
racteristics of  the  sexes  for  any  such 
regularity  of  type.  How  often  does 
it  happen  that  a  daughter  inherits  the 
intellectual  endowments  and  tenden- 
cies of  her  father,  while  a  son  inhei-its 
the  emotional  nature  of  his  mother. 
It  is  by  no  means  a  very  rare  pheno- 
menon to  see  little  boys  who  love  dolls, 
and  little  girls  who  do  not  care  for 
them.  Nor  is  it  very  rare  to  see  girls 
who  are  much  more  enthusiastic  and 
earnest  students  of  Greek  and  Latin 
than  their  brothers.  The  predomi- 
nance of  mathematical  talent,  indeed, 
is  much  rarer  among  women  than 
among  men,  yet  there  are  women  i-e- 
markably  endowed  in  this  respect, fitted 
to  attain  high  excellence.  Where  such 
exceptional  talent  exists,  should  not  a 
wise  State  make  provision  for  its  pi'o- 
per  training  and  development  ?  Or  is  it 
to  be  suppressed  and  wasted  because 
it  happens  to  exist  in  the  brain  of  a 
woman  ?     As  a  rule,  men  and  women 


will  fall  in  love  and  marry,  and  any- 
thing which  would  unfit  woman  for 
this,  her  natural  and  divinely  appoint- 
ed function,  would  be  indeed  a  calam- 
ity.    But  this,   too,  is  a  rule  which 
has  many  exceptions,  and  it  is  hard 
on  the  exceptions — on  the  many  wo- 
men who  cannot  possibly  marry — if 
society  is  to  ignore  them  in  its  arrange- 
ments, and  restrict  them  in  the  highest 
development  of   which  their   natures 
are  capable.     Moreover,  it  has  yet  to- 
be  proved  that  the  highest   develop- 
ment of  which  any  woman's  nature  is 
capable  can  possibly  do  anything  to  un- 
fit her  for  fulfilling  any  duty  of  mar- 
ried life,  should  that  be  her  lot.     A 
distorted   and  one-sided  development 
i    might  well  do  so,  and  of  this  more  will 
be  said  presently.   But  the  more  truly 
cultivated  a  woman  is — according  to 
the  powers   and   capacities   God  has 
given  her — the  more  truly  fitted  she 
will  be  for  any  work  or  duty  to  which 
He  calls  her.     Neither  is  there  any 
greater   incompatibility    between  the 
'  liberal  arts '    and   '  failing    in  love,' 
than  there  is  between  love  and  arith- 
metic or  thorough  bass.     The  two  be- 
long to  different  sides  of  our  nature, 
and  though  devotion  to  any  study  or 
serious  pursuit  will  act  as  a  safeguard 
against  a  very  common   tendency  to 
fiud  refuge  from  ennui  in   perpetual 
'  flirtation,'  it  will  never  so  alter  a  wo- 
man's nature  as  to  render  her  proof 
against    answering   with    her    whole 
heart    when    the    right    voice    calls. 
Sappho,  whose  name  has  stood  to  all 
ages   as  the   embodiment   of    female 
genius  and  ancient  Greek  culture,  fell 
in  love,  as  we  all  know,  like  the  sim- 
plest and  most  unlettered  maiden,  and 
so  far  as  we  can  judge  inferentially, 
with  a  very  ordinary  and  unapprecia- 
tive  young  man.      But  now  that  the 
mists  that  once  clouded  her  name  have 
been  cleared   away,  and  the   suicide 
stoiy  exploded,  we  can  see  her,  having 
overcome  with   womanly  dignity  this 
luckless  passion  which,  doubtless,   in- 
spired some  of  her  finest  poems,  mar- 
ried eventually  to  a  man  who  seems 


S16 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON  UNIVERSITY  CO-EDUCATION. 


to  have  made  a  good  husband,  and  ad- 
miringly sahited  l)y  her  contemporary, 
Alcasus,  as  *  Violet-crowned,  pure, 
sweetly,  smiling  Sappho.'  And,  later 
still,  we  find  her,  having  been  left  a 
•widow,  with  one  daughter,  the  centre 
of  a  sort  of  female  literary  society, 
teaching  the  arts  of  m\isic  and  poetry 
to  the  young  Lesbian  maidens  and  re- 
ceiving almost  divine  honours  from  a 
people  who  worshipped  intellectual 
power.  And,  to  come  down  to  the 
days  of  the  Kenaissance,  we  find  Olym- 
pia  Morata,  one  of  the  most  renowned 
of  mediaBval  learned  ladies — appoint- 
ed at  sixteen  to  lecture  on  Cicero,  at 
the  University  of  Ferrara — becoming 
as  passionately  devoted  a  wife,-  and  as 
faithful  a  housewife  as  she  could  have 
been  had  she  never  learned  anythiug 
beyond  her  native  tongue.  Mrs. 
Browning  and  Mary  Somerville  ai'e 
distinguished  examples  of  the  same 
truth  in  our  own  day.  So  much  for 
the  figment  that  there  is  anything 
in  the  highest  cultivation,  or  in  devo- 
tion to  the  highest  pursuits,  to  unfit 
a  woman  for  womanly  duties,  and  the 
happiness  which  she  is  so  constituted 
as  to  find  most  truly  in  the  life  of  the 
affections.  Asa  rule,  the  nobler  the 
pui'suits  to  which  a  woman  devotes 
herself,  the  nobler  her  character  must 
be  supposed  to  be,  and  true  nobility 
of  character  and  mental  discipline 
natui'ally  imply  a  greater  degree  of 
self-command,  thoroughness  in  work, 
and  faithfulness  to  the  duty  of  the 
hour.  If  there  are  '  blues  '  who  are 
•careless  and  slovenly  in  feminine  du- 
ties, it  is  because  of  a  one-sided,  not 
because  of  a  thorough,  cultivation. 
Other  things  being  equal,  the  woman 
whose  mental  powers  have  been  most 
fully  disciplined,  and  who  has  been 
accustomed  to  habits  of  accuracy  and 
■of  economy  of  time,  will  be  not  only 
a  more  intelligent  companion,  but  a 
more  efficient  and  prudent  housewife 
than  she  who  has  drifted  through  life 
in  aimless  trifling,  with  morsels  of  gos- 
sip  as  the  only  food  for  her   mental 


vacuity,   and   '  parties '  as    her   most 
absorbing  interest. 

But  there  is  another  'rock  ahead.' 
It  is  not  often  put  into  words  so  can- 
didly as  it  was  by  a  young  student  of 
more  than  average  intelligence  and 
culture  : — '  I  don't  think  I  should  care 
to  marry  a  girl  who  knew  more  than 
I  did.'  '  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  you 
would,'  was  the  reply ;  '  but  if  you 
should  happen  to  care  very  much  for 
a  girl  who  knew  more  than  you  did, 
don't  you  think  it  might  stimulate  you 
to  study  harder  ? '  'I  think  it  might,' 
the  young  man  very  honestly  replied. 
Human  nature  is  the  same  all  over  the 
world,  and  we  need  not  be  surprised  to 
find  a  western  modification  of  the  rea- 
soning of  the  Hindoo  Sahibs  who  objec- 
ted to  their  wives  being  taught  to  read 
and  write,  because  they  would  know 
more  than  their  husbands,  and  they 
would  no  longer  look  up  to  them.  But 
the  Sahibs  graduall}'-  found  out  that  it 
would  be  better  for  them  to  advance 
in  knowledge  than  to  keep  their  wives 
in  ignorance  ;  and  as  they  learn  the 
value  of  education  for  themselves,  they 
are  not  merely  willing  but  anxious  to 
secure  its  benefits  for  their  wives.  Our 
ambitious  young  women  must  there- 
fore decide  the  question  for  themselves 
whether  their  devotion  to  study  is 
so  great  that  they  are  willing  to  lessen 
their  matrimonial  chances  for  the  sake 
of  this  dangerous  knowledge  which 
may  make  them  formidable  in  the 
eyes  of  the  average  Canadian  />a?-ft. 
But  the  danger  really  concerns  no  one 
else,  for  the  most  inane  young  man 
will  always  find  a  sufficient  number  of 
inane  young  women  among  whom  to 
choose  a  wife  ;  and  in  the  long  run  the 
higher  intellectual  status  of  even  a 
fraction  of  our  young  women  must  in- 
evitably tend  to  raise  the  tone  of  social 
life,  and  with  it  the  intellectual  aspir- 
ations of  our  young  men.  And  our  Can- 
adian youth,  as  a  whole,  is  not  so 
highly  cultivated  or  intellectual  in  its 
tastes  that  it  will  not  bear  a  good  deal 
of  raising,   with   great  benefit   to  ita 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON  UNIVERSITY  CO-EDUCATION. 


317 


physical,  intellectual  and  moral  char- 
acteristics. 

This  naturally  leads  to  the  consider- 
ation of  another  objection — that  con- 
cerning the  physical  effect  of  higher 
education  upon  young  women.  Some 
rather  singular  statements  vvere  made 
in  this  connection  in  the  discussion  in 
the  Legislature.  One  was,  that  the  abil- 
ity to  win  medals  and  honours  was  not 
the  result  of  superior  intelligence,  but 
of  superior  physical  endurance  !  If 
this  were  so,  we  should  find  that  col- 
lege honours  and  medals  were  invari- 
ably or  usually  taken  by  the  biggest 
and  strongest  young  men,  quite  irre- 
spective of  their  intellectual  qualities. 
This  may  be  true  in  athletic  sports, 
but  certainly  is  not  in  any  other 
branch  of  competition.  There  are  a 
few  other  things  besi.les  physical  en- 
durance that  have  fully  as  much  to  do 
with  winning  university  distinctions. 
Some  of  them  are  quickness  of  per- 
ception, power  of  memoi-y,  persever- 
ance, steadiness  of  aim  and  purpose, 
self-control,  and  in  these  qualities 
young  women  not  infrequently  sur- 
pass their  masculine  contemporaries, 
while  they  are  entirely  free  from 
certain  habits,  such  as  smoking  and 
drinking,  which  do  not  tend  to  pro- 
mote either  study  or  physical  endur- 
ance. In  these  ways,  they  more  than 
make  up  for  any  deficiency  in  physical 
endurance,  though  of  this,  also,  women 
not  seldom  show  more  than  men.  But 
they  are  not  asking  for  medals  and 
honours,  of  necessity,  but  simply  for 
their  right  to  pass  through  the  ordin- 
ary University  course,  which  is  not 
too  great  a  strain  for  any  healthy  and 
projterly  prepared  female  student.  If 
they  should  go  too  far  in  their  ambi- 
tion to  win  distinction,  that  is  an  evil 
which  must  be  left  to  cure  itself,  just 
as  it  is  in  the  case  of  male  students. 

Further,  we  are  told  that  the  extent 
to  which  higher  education  for  women 
has  been  pushed  in  the  United  States 
is  responsible  for  the  lack  of  health, 
of  beauty,  of  symmetry,  in  American 
■women.     One  might  well  stop  here  to 


interpose  a  query  as  to  facts.  Cer 
tainly  American  women,  in  their  youth 
at  least,  are  generally  admitted  to  be, 
as  a  clas.s,  the  most  beautiful,  if  not 
the  most  symmetrical,  women  in  the 
world.  And  if  in  the  matter  of  health 
thei-e  is  very  much  to  be  desired,  there 
are  a  hundred  other  causes  to  which 
this  deficiency  is  usually  and  reason- 
ably attributed.  High-pressure  life 
under  unnatural  conditions,  climatic 
peculiarities,  unwholesome  diet,  dissi- 
pation of  all  sorts,  are  quite  sufiicient 
to  account  for  the  general  lack  of 
health  and  vigour  so  common  among 
Americans  of  both  sexes,  and  of  all 
classes.      Even  granting  that   in  the 

I  matter  of  education,  as  in  other  things,, 
their  superabundant  nervous   energy 

I  goes  to  extremes,  the  percentage  of 
female  graduates  even  there,  is  far  too 
small  and  too  recent  to  produce  any 
generally  appreciable  effect.  But  si> 
far  as  facts  have  been  collected  con- 
cerning the  healthfulness  in  later  life 
of  women  who  have  graduated  in 
American  colleges,  the  evidence  has 
all  been  in  favour  of  the  healthful,  not 
the  unhealthful,  tendency  of  such  a 
course  of  study.  American  women, 
as  a  rule,  live  far  too  fast  in  all  walks 
of  life.  The  careful  housewife  is  al- 
most as  apt  to  fall  a  victim  to  her  ex- 
cessive industry  and  household  ambi- 
tion, as  the  fashionable  woman  to  her 

/  extravagant  round  of  dissipation  ;  and 
an  improvement  can  be  hoped  for  only 
when  a  more  thorough  education  shall 
have  implanted  hygienic  and  sanitaiy 
principles  more  firmly  in  the  minds  of 
women  of  all  classes.  To  this  end 
higher  education  is  doing  something, 
and  will  yet  do  much  more. 

But  there  is  something  to  be  said 
about  the  question  of  lower  female 
education  also,  and  to  this,  in  the  pre- 
sent writer's  opinion,  some  of  the 
reasoning  which  is  irrelevant  to  the 
question  of  higher  education  might, 
with  great  benefit,  be  applied.  The 
question  of  common-school  education 
for  girls  does  require  some  serious  re- 
consideration. There  are  much  greater 


318 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON  UNIVERSITY  CO-EDUCATION. 


dangers  and  drawbacks  attending  co- 
education in  tlie   earlier  than  in  the 
later  3'ears  of  study,   and  one  serious 
drawback  is  the  laying  down  of  a  uni- 
form plan  of  study  for  boys  and  girls, 
This  is  a  coercive  measure,  practically, 
while  the    admission    to    University 
privile  jes  is  simply  the  removal  of  a 
restriction,  and  coerces  no  one.     But 
in   all  places,  except  large  cities  and 
towns,   girls  must   take  the  common 
school  education  as  now  arranged,  or 
go  without.     And  this  system  of  edu- 
cation does  not  make  the  faintest  at- 
tempt   at   any   provision    for    fitting 
girls  for  the  special  duties  of  woman- 
hood.    Not  a   single  womanly  art  is 
taught  in   our   common    schools,  not 
even  the  most  necessary  and  important 
one  of    plain  needlework,   which  old- 
fashioned  girls'    schools  taught  as    a 
matter  of  course,  and  which  no  woman 
— married  or    single — can  afibrd    to 
dispense  with.     Not  only  is  there  no 
provision  made  for  it,  but  there  is  no 
time  given,  under  the  present   '  cram- 
ming' system,  to  allow  them  to  learn 
this  or  any  other  household  art  during 
the  very  years  when  it  can  be  most 
easily  and  most  thoroughly  acquired  ; 
and  the  natural  result  of  this  is  that 
the  neat,  thorough  '  plain  sewing'  and 
darning  of  our  mothers  and  grandmo- 
thers,   is    fast    becoming   a   lost    art. 
Dressmakers,  who  receive  pupils  fresh 
from   the  common  schools,    complain 
grievously  that  they  can  hardly  find 
one  who  can  accomplish  respectably 
the  simplest  seam.     Girls,  of  course, 
generally  manage    to    pick   up    some 
'  fancy  work'  when  their  school  days 
are  over,  and  many  of  them  cultivate 
'  crewel  work'  extensively,  in  place  of 
the  old-fashioned  ottomans  and  slip- 
pers.    But  under  the  present  regime, 
an  accomplished  plain    needlewoman 
will  soon  be  a  rarer  phenomenon  than 
a  good  female  mathematician,  and  one 
wonders  where  the  women  are  to  come 
from  who  are  to  patch,  and  darn,  and 
'  gar  auld  claes  look  a'maist  as  weel  as 
th'  new,'  for  a  future  generation?  Not, 
apparently,  from  our  common  schools. 


Had  ladies  some  voice  in  arranging 
the  system  of  education  for  their  own 
sex,  as   seems  only   natural,  this  de- 
ficiency would   hardly   have  been  al- 
lowed to  exist  so  long  ;  though  doubt- 
less  in  country  schools  where  there 
can  be  but  one  teacher — and  that  a 
man — there  might  be  a  good  deal  of 
practical  difiiculty  in  providing  for  it. 
But  one    thing  might  be  done   even 
there,  to  obviate  the  evil.     While  we 
should  not  like  to  see  the  elementary 
studies    of    girls    less  thorough   than 
those  of  boys,  a  smaller  number  of  stu- 
dies might  be  made  compulsory  in  their 
case,   and  certainly  a    much   smaller 
number  of  'ologies'    might  be   made 
compulsory  for  female  teachers.      It  is 
of    much    more    consequence    that    a 
woman  should  have  the  gift  of  impart- 
ing knowledge,  and  should  be  able  to 
teach  girls  to  read,  write,   cipher  and 
sew  well,  than  that  she  should  be  able 
to  give  them   a  smattering   of  many 
things  which  in  most  cases  they  never 
will  follow  up.      '  Midtum  non  nixdtcC  « 
should  be  the  motto,  instead  of  the  re- 
verse. Yet  we  often  see  inexperienced 
girls  promoted  over  teachers  of  tried 
efficiency  simply  because  they  can  pass 
a    higher    examination    in    branches 
quite  superfluous  to  a  good  elementary 
female   education.     By  lessening  the 
number  of  studies  that  girls  have  to 
learn  at   school,    time  might  be  given 
them  to  learn  needlework  and  house- 
wifery at  home,  and  if  plain  sewing 
could  not  be  taught  by  the  teacher,  as 
it  used  to  be  by  all  female  teachers, 
prizes  offered  for  proficiency  might  at 
least  encourage  the  cultivation  of  this 
most  necessary  art. 

The  health  question  ought  to  come 
in  here  also.  The  excessive  study  en- 
forced under  the  present  system  on 
girls  under  sixteen,  is  far  more  injur- 
ious than  overstudy  in  the  later  years 
when  growth  has  ceased  and  the  phy- 
sical powers  are  compai-atively  ma- 
tured. Young  women  at  least,  knoio 
better  than  to  endanger  their  health 
by  overstudy.  Growing  girls  of  twelve 
and  thirteen  do  not.     It  is  here  that 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


319 


the  brakes  should  be  applied  ;  to  put 
them  on  later  is  of  little  use,  when 
most  of  the  mischief  is  done.  It  has 
been  abundantly  shown  that  girls  of 
tender  age  are  so  over-burdened  with 
study  in  and  out  of  school  hours,  that 
they  have  no  time  for  needful  exercise, 
and  in  not  a  few  cases  has  serious  and 
fatal  disease  been  the  result  of  the 
nervous  strain  of  the  cramming  and 
forcing  process,  intensitied  by  the 
periodical  competitive  examinations. 
Charles  Kingsley  addressed  an  able 
plea  to  Englishwomen  on  the  subject 
of  encouraging  girls  to  engage  in  the 
exercises  that  are  so  necessary  for 
developing  a  healthful  and  beautiful 
jihysique.  But  our  girls  have  no  lei- 
sure left  for  these, — hardly  indeed  for 
taking  a  little  fresh  air,  unless  on  their 
daily  walks  to  and  from  school.  It 
is  hei'e  that  reform  should  begin.  Af- 
ter girls  have  been  encouraged  to  give 
their  whole  time  and  strength  to  the 
same  studies  with  their  brothers,  it  is 
rather  hard  to  stop  them  short  at  the 
gates  of  the  University,  and  tell  them 


that  they  may  not  carry  their  studies 
further,  to  some  practical  end  ! ' 

What    the  female  students  of  On- 
tario are  asking  is — not  that  the  whole 
course  of  education  for  both  sexes  be 
assimilated  ; — this   is   indeed,    as  we 
have  said,  too  much  the  case  ah-eady ; — 
nor  that  a  course  of  university  educa- 
tion should  be  in  any  way  j)'^'^scrihed 
for  young   women,    but    simply  that 
those  exceptional  young  Avomen  who 
have  the  taste,  the  aptitude,  the  means 
and  the   perseverance,    for  taking   a 
university    course,    should   have  the 
privilege  of  doing  so.     And  as  this  is 
I   impossible    in  present   circumstances 
I   without  opening  to  them  the  ordinary 
I   classes,  they  ask  for  admission  to  these, 
I   at  least  until  it  shall  be  proved  that 
'   the  results  are  more  injurious    than 
j   they  have  yet  been  proved  to  be  where 
I   the  experiment  has  been  tried.     In  a 
j    word,  they  simply  ask  for  equal  educa- 
I   tional  rights  from  a  national  provision 
I    for  education ;  no  very  unreasonable 
request,  and  one  which,  we  believe,  will 
not  be  long  denied. 


YOU^G    PEOPLE 


A  STEAM  CHAIPw. 


BY    JIMMY    BROWX. 


IDOZSJ 'T  like  Mr.  Travers  as  much  as  I 
did.  Of  course  I  know  he's  a  very  nice 
man,  and  he's  going  to  be  my  brother 
■when  he  marries  Sue,  and  he  used  to 
bring  me  candy  sometimes,  but  he  isn't 
what  he  used  to  be. 

One  time — that  was  last  summer — he 
was  always  dreadfully  anxious  to  hear 
from  the  post-office,   and  whenever  he 
came  to  see  Sue,  and  he  and  she  and  I   ' 
would  be  sitting  on  the  front  piazza,  he    [ 
would  say,  '  Jimmy,  I  think  there  must   | 
be  a  letter  for  me;    I'll  give  you  ten  ! 


cents  if  you'll  go  down  to  the  post- 
office'  ;  and  then  Sue  would  say,  'Don't 
run,  Jimmy  ;  you'll  get  heart  disease  if 
you  do'  ;  and  I'd  walk  'way  down  to 
the  post-office,  which  is  pretty  near  half 
a  mile  from  our  house.  But  now  he 
doesn't  seem  to  care  anything  about  his 
letters  ;  and  he  and  Sue  sit  in  the  back 
parlour,  and  mother  says  I  musn't  go  in 
and  disturb  them  ;  and  I  don't  get  any 
more  ten  cents. 

I've  learned  that  it  won't  do  to  fix 
your  affections  on  human  beings,  for 
even  the  best  of  men  won't  keep  on 
giving  you  ten  cents  forever.  And  it 
wasn't  fair  for  Mr.  Travers  to  get  angry 
with  me  the  other  night  when  it  was  all 


320 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


an  accident — at  least  'most  all  of  it,  and 
I  don't  think  it's  manly  for  a  man  to 
stand  by  and  see  a  sister  shake  a  fellow 
that  isn't  half  her  size,  and  especially 
•when  he  never  supposed  that  anything 
was  going  to  happen  to  her  even  if  it  did  j 
break . 

When  Aunt  Eliza  came  to  our  house 
the  last  time,  she  brought  a  steam  chair  ; 
that's  what  she  called  it,  though  there 
wasn't  any  steam  about  it.  She  brought 
it  from  Europe  with  her,  and  it  was  the 
queerest  sort  of  chair,  that  would  all 
fold  up,  and  had  a  kind  of  footstool  to 
it,  so  that  you  put  your  legs  out  and 
ji^^t  lie  down  in  it.  Well,  one  day  it 
got  broken.  The  back  of  the  seat  fell 
down,  and  shut  Aunt  Eliza  up  in  the 
chair  so  she  couldn't  get  out,  and  didn't 
she  just  howf  till  sumebod}^  came  and 
helped  her  !  She  was  so  angry  that  she 
said  she  never  wanted  to  see  that  chair 
again,  '  And  you  may  have  it  if  you 
want  it,  Jimmy,  for  you  are  a  good  boy 
sometimes  when  you  want  to  be.' 

So  I  took  the  chair  and  mended  it. 
The  folks  laughed  at  me,  and  said  I 
couldn't  mend  it  to  save  my  life  ;  but  I 
got  some  nails  and  some  mucilage,  and 
mended  it  elegantly.  Then  mother  let 
me  get  some  varnish,  and  I  varnished 
the  chair,  and  when  it  was  done  it  looked 
so  nice  that  Sue  said  we'd  keep  it  in  the 
back  parlour.  Now  I'm  never  allowed  to 
sit  in  the  back  parlour,  so  what  good 
would  my  chair  do  me  ?  But  Sue  said, 
*  Stufl'  and  nonsense  that  boy's  indulged 
now  till  he  can't  rest.'  So  they  put  my 
chair  in  the  back  parlour,  just  as  if  I'd 
been  mending  it  on  purpose  fon  Mr. 
Travers.  1  didn't  say  anything  more 
about  it ;  but  after  it  was  in  the  back 
parlour  1  took  out  one  or  two  screws  that 
I  thought  were  not  needed  to  hold  it 
together,  and  used  them  for  a  boat  that 
I  was  making. 

That  night  Mr.  Travers  came  as  usual, 
and  after  he  had  talked  to  mother  a 
while  about  the  weather,  and  he  and 
father  had  agreed  that  it  was  a  shame 
that  other  folks  hadn't  given  more 
money  to  the  INIichigan  sufferers,  and 
that  they  weren't  quite  sure  that  the 
sufferers  were  a  worthy  object,  and  that 
a  good  deal  of  harm  was  done  by  giving 
away  money  to  all  sorts  of  people,  Sue 
said  : 

'  Perhaps  we  had  better  go  into  the 
back  parlour  ;  it  is  cooler  there,  and  we 
won't  disturb  father,  who  wants  to  think 
about  something.' 


So  she  and  Mr.  Travers  went  into  the 
back  parlour,  and  talked  very  loud  at 
first  about  a  whole  lot  of  tilings,  and 
then  quieted  down  as  they  always  did. 

I  was  in  the  front  parlour,  reading 
Robinson  Crusoe,  and  wishing  I  could  go 
and  do  likewise — like  Crusoe,  I  mean  ; 
for  1  wouldn't  go  and  sit  quietly  in  a 
back  parlour  with  a  girl, like  Mr.  Travers, 
not  if  you  were  to  pay  me  for  it.  I  can't 
see  what  some  fellows  see  in  Sue.  I'm 
sure  if  Mr.  Martin  or  Mr.  Travers  had 
her  pull  their  hair  once  the  way  she 
pulls  mine  sometimes,  they  wouldn't 
trust  themselves  alone  with  her  very 
soon. 

All  at  once  we  heard  a  dreadful  crash 
in  the  back  parlour,  and  Mr.  Travers  said 
Good  something  very  loud,  and  Sue 
shrieked  as  if  she  had  a  needle  run  into 
her.  Father  and  mother  and  I  and  the 
cook  and  the  chambermaid  all  rushed  to 
see  what  was  the  matter. 

The  ,  chair  that  I  had  men  Jed,  and 
that  Sue  had  taken  away  from  me,  had 
broken  down  while  Mr.  Travers  was 
sitting  in  it,  and  it  had  shut  up  like  a 
jackknife,  and  caught  him  so  he  couldn't 
get  out.  It  had  caught  Sue  too,  who 
must  have  run  to  help  him,  or  she  never 
would  have  been  in  that  fix,  with  Mr. 
Travers  holding  her  by  the  wrist,  and 
her  arm  wedged  in  so  she  couldn't  puU 
it  away. 

Father  managed  to  get  them  loose, 
and  then  Sue  caught  me  and  shook  me 
till  I  could  hear  my  teeth  rattle,  and 
then  she  ran  upstairs  and  locked  herself 
up  ;  and  Mr.  Travers  never  ofiered  to 
help  me,  but  only  said,  '  I'll  settle  with 
you  some  day,  young  man,'  and  then  he 
went  home.  But  father  sat  down  on 
the  sofa  and  laughed,  and  said  to 
mother : 

'  I  guess  Sue  would  have  done  better 
if  she'd  have  let  the  boy  keep  his  chair.' 

I'm  very  sorry,  of  course,  that  an  acci- 
dent happenad  to  the  chair,  but  I've  got 
it  i;p  in  my  room  now,  and  I've  mended 
it  again,  and  it's  the  best  chair  you  ever 
sat  in. — Harper's  Young  Feojjle. 


THE  CANOE  AND  THE  CAMERA. 

By   MYRON  ADAMS,     KOCHE.STER. 

The  canoe  and  the  gun  we  know, 
and  the  canoe  and  fly-pole  :  but  what 
is    this   new   combination  ?      It   is,    all 


YOUNG  PEOPLK. 


:i21 


things  considered,  one  of  the  best  co- 
partnerships yet  made .  Canoe  and  ca- 
mera come  sweetly  together  in  every 
way.  '  I  thought,'  says  Judd  Northrup, 
author  of  charming  vacation  books, 
*  shooting  and  fishing  had  exhausted  or 
engaged  all  my  latent  enthusiasms  of 
the  boyish  sort,  but  amateur  photo- 
graphy has  gone  down  deeper  than  all 
the  rest.' 

A  camera  tucked  conveniently  in  your 
pocket  (or  carried  like  a  field-glass  in  a 
leather  case),  with  the  legs  of  the  same 
packed  in  the  compass  of  an  umbrella, 
is  a  fishing  tackle  with  which  the  canoe- 
ist can  catch  anything,  from  clouds  and 
mountains  down  to  a  glimpse  of  a  little 
lake  with  a  string  of  speckled  trout  hung 
in  the  foreground. 

The  reader,  cherishing,  perhaps,  fond 
recollections  of  summer  tramps  in  woods, 
with  rod  and  gun,  or  possibly,  if  a  lady, 
with  sketch-book  and  plant-case,  begs  to 
know  how  the  thing  is  done  ;  and  the 
writer  begs  the  privilege  of  telling  how, 
principally  in  order  that  many  others 
may  share  a  delightful  recreation  in 
which  he  has  had  a  little  experience. 
The  outfit  consists  of  (1.)  a  camera, 
which  with  lens  and  legs  weighs  not 
more  than  two  pounds  ;  (2.)  say  half  a 
dozen  boxes  of  prepared  dry  plates  ;  the 
boxes  each  about  three  inches  square  by 
one  deep,  and  containing  in  all  seventy- 
two  plates  ;  (3.)  three  (or  better  four) 
plate-holders.  The  plate-holder  is  a  very 
compact  and  ingenious  contrivance  for 
the  exposure  of  the  plates,  and  holds 
two,  for  separate  exposures.  (4.)  Avery 
small  riiby  lamp. 

Suppose,  gentle  reader,  you  are  spend- 
ing your  summer  leisure  in  the  North 
woods.  Enchanted  with  the  views  which 
abound,  you  are  determined  to  get  them 
'  to  have  and  to  hold'  from  that  time  on. 
Accordingly,  at  night,  by  the  light  of 
your  ruby  lamp  (if  in  the  day-time,  you 
adjourn  to  some  dark  cellar,  or  rig  a 
small  and  light-tight  tent  of  blankets), 
you  transfer  half  a  dozen  plates  from 
one  of  the  boxes  to  the  plate-holders. 
Stepping  into  your  canoe  in  the  morn- 
ing— the  early  part  of  the  day  is  prefer- 
able— you  row,  or  a  guide  rows  you,  to 
a  spot  of  the  right  sort  ;  you  go  ashore, 
set  up  the  camera  in  a  twinkling,  focus 
upon  the  scene  you  admire  until  it  is 
clearly  defined  upon  the  screen,  then 
you  put  its  small  cap  upon  the  lens,  in- 
sert the  diaphragm  in  its  place,  draw 
the  slide  of  the  plate-holder,  remove  the 

7 


caj),  deliberately  count  three  (or  more 
or  less,  according  to  conditions),  replace 
the  cap,  thrust  the  slide  to  its  place  in 
the  plate-holder,  and  you  have  that 
scene.  This  operation  you  repeat  in 
various  localities  until  you  have  ex- 
hausted your  supply  of  plates,  which  are 
returned  to  their  boxes,  and  when  your 
vacation  is  over  you  go  home  with  about 
the  best  part  of  it  in  your  carpet-bag. 

When  you  have  leisure — there  need  be 
no  hurry ;  any  time  will  answer  except 
the  30th  of  February — you  go  into  a 
dark  closet  with  your  plates,  and  your 
'  developer,'  and  a  pitcher  of  water, 
liglit  the  ruby  lamp  and  lock  the  door, 
take  a  plate  from  a  box,  put  it  in  the 
developing  pan,  pour  the  compound  fer- 
ous  oxalate  over  it,  gently  wave  the  fluid 
to  and  fro  over  the  plate,  and  shortly 
the     beautiful     summer    scene    which 


j    charmed  you  grows  out  on  that  plate  : 
as  by  magic,  the   familiar  trees,  lakes, 
mountains  and  camps,  distinct  even  to  a 
leaf,  are  there  before  you.     The  process 
of  '  fixing'  follows,    and  is  simple  ;  and 
afterward  the   printing  from  the  nega- 
tive.  Taken  altogether,  that  is  an  amuse 
I    ment  fit  for  the  nineteenth  century  !    It 
I    gives  abundant  opportunity  for  the  cul- 
I    tivation  of  artistic  taste  ;    it  stimulates 
I    the  faculty  of  observation  ;  and  it  gives 
you  a  most  graphic  record  of  your  vaca- 
tion days.  Moreover,  it  is  very  inexpen- 
sive. 

You  will  probably  make  some  mis- 
takes at  first ;  but  if  you  begin  in  the 
right  way,  carefully  following  the  printed 
directions,  they  will  be  few. 

The  writer  hopes  that  some  of  the 
readers  of  this  magazine  will  find  as 
much,  or  half  as  much,  genuine  recrea- 
tion and  enjoyment  in  amateur  land- 
scape photography  as  he  has  had,  and  he 
will  feel  sure  he  has  helped  somebody  a 
little. — Christian,  Union. 


The  foreman  of  a  Montreal  paper  is 
in  trouble.  In  making  up  his  forms,  he 
mixed  an  article  on  Catholic  advances  in 
Africa  with  a  receipt  for  making  tomato 
catsup,  and  the  following  is  the  com- 
bination :  '  The  Roman  Catholics  claim 
to  be  making  material  advances  in  Africa, 
particularly  in  Algeria,  where  they  have 
one  hundred  and  eighty-five  thousand 
adherents  and  a  missionary  society  for 
Central  Africa.  During  the  past  three 
years,  they  have  obtained  a  firm  footing 


322 


BOOK  REVIEWS, 


in  the  interior  of  the  continent,  and  have 
sent  forth  several  missionaries  into  the 
etjuatorial  regions.  They  are  accustomed 
to  begin  their  work  by  buying  heatlien 
children  and  educating  them.  The 
easiest  and  best  way  to  prepare  them 
ia  to  first  wipe  them  with  a  clean  towel, 


then  place  them  in  dripping-pans  and 
bake  them  till  they  are  tender.  Then 
you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  rubbing 
them  through  a  sieve,  and  will  save 
them  by  not  being  obliged  to  cut  them 
in  slices  and  cook  for  several  hours.' 


BOOK   EEYIEWS. 


studies  in  the  Life  of  Christ.  By  the 
Rev.  A.  M.  Faiebairn,  D.D.,  Princi- 
pal of  Airedale  College,  Bradford. 
New  York  :  D.  Appleton  ;  Toronto  : 
K  Ure  &  Co.,  1882. 

IT  is,  unfortunately,  so  rare  to  find  in 
a  volume  of  Sermons  anything  pos- 
sessing the  slightest  literary  or  phil- 
osophical value,  that  we  are  apt  to  for- 
get, what  is,  nevertheless,  perfectly 
true,  the  paramount  importance  to 
our  literature  of  a  few  great  sermon- 
writers.  It  is  true  that  these  may 
be  counted  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand  ; 
but  with  John  Henry  Newman,  for 
beauty  of  diction  and  charm  of  logi- 
cal force  ;  with  Robertson,  of  Brighton, 
and  Dean  Stanley,  for  broad  human 
sympathies,  and  a  spirit  of  fair  play  to 
opponents,  we  are  disposed  to  rank  the 
author  of  this  very  remarkable  book. 
The  object  of  these  sermons,  or  rather 
philosophical  essays,  is  to  enable  us  to 
see  Christ  as  others  saw  Him  during  His 
human  life  on  earth.  The  conditions  of 
that  life  are  fully  investigated,  and  the 
true  position  of  the  various  sects  or  par- 
ties which  then  entered  into  the  national 
life  of  JudcX^a  are  expressed  in  terms  of 
modern  thought,  with  vivid  picturesqiTe- 
ness,  but  always  in  a  manner  earnest, 
loving,  and  reverent.  The  author  shows 
the  marvellousness  of  the  Central  Figure 
in  the  Gospel,  and  argues  that  none  of 
the  conditions  or  surroundings  of  His 
time  or  people  can  in  any  way  account 
for  this.  The  reasoning  is  convincing, 
it  has  been  urged  by  Canon  Liddon,  in 
his  Bampton  Lectures,  and  is  applied 
with  mvich  force,  and  with  the   fittest 


variety  of  illustration,  in  the  volume  be- 
fore us. 

Principal  Fairbairn  is  well  versed  in 
German  theology  of  the  sceptical  and 
rationalistic  schools,  whose  arguments 
he  handles  in  a  spirit  of  fair-play,  and 
with  an  appreciative,  philosophic  insight 
only  too  rare  in  orthodox  writers.  For 
Dr.  Fairbairn  is  orthodox  ;  he  sees  that 
Christianity  cannot  be  rationalized  by 
paring  away  here  and  there  a  prophecy 
or  a  miracle;  that  it  must  stand  or  fall 
with  its  central  miracle  of  the  Resur- 
rection. 

The  Life  of  the  Founder  of  Christian- 
ity, he  shows  to  be  too  profoundly  hu- 
man to  be  sublimated  into  a  myth  ;  he 
proves  also  that  it  is  an  essentially  super- 
natural life,  not  that  of  a  mere  dead 
Prophet,  on  whose  grave  the  Syrian 
stars  look  down.  Assuming,  what  Strauss 
and  Renan  grant,  that  '  never  man  spake 
like  this  Man,'  that  in  Jesus  Christ  we 
possess  the  supreme  religious  ideal,  Dr. 
Fairbairn  reasons  that  none  of  the  con- 
ditions under  which  Jesus  lived  are  ade- 
quate to  explain  the  mystery  of  His 
character  and  His  teaching.  We  quote 
a  passage  from  the  Sermon  on  the  His- 
torical Condition. 

'  Contrast  Christ's  day  with  ours.  We 
are  free,  the  children  of  a  land  where  a 
man  can  speak  the  thing  he  will,  but  He 
was  without  freedom,  the  Son  of  a  peo- 
ple enslaved  and  oppressed.  We  are  edu- 
cated, enlightened  by  the  best  thought 
of  the  past,  the  surest  knowledge  of  the 
present ;  but  His  were  an  uneducated 
people,  hardly  knew  the  schoolmaster, 
and  when  they  did,  received  from  him 
instruction  that  stunted  rather  than  de- 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


323 


vcloped.  We  live  iii  a  present  that 
knows  the  past,  and  is  enriched  with  all 
its  mental  wealth,  the  treasures  of  India, 
from  its  earliest  Vedic  to  its  latest 
Puranic  age — of  China,  of  Egypt,  of 
Persia,  of  Assyria  ;  the  classic  treasures 
of  Greece  and  Rome,  the  wondrous  stores 
accumulated  by  the  Hebrews  themselves 
and  deposited  in  their  Scriptures — all 
are  ours,  at  our  feet,  in  our  heads,  there 
to  make  the  new  wealth  old  wealth  never 
fails  to  create.  But  Jesus  lived  in  a  pre- 
sent closed  to  all  the  past,  save  the  past 
of  His  own  people.' 

We  greet  these  sermons  as  a  valuable 
contribution  to  literature  as  well  as  to 
theology.  In  Canada,  there  is  no  dis- 
guising the  fact  of  a  growing  alienation 
between  pew  and  pulpit,  especially  in  a 
Church  in  which,  as  a  rule,  the  priest- 
hood, magnifying  the  thaumaturgical 
functions  of  their  office,  care  little  about 
the  humbler,  but  to  the  laity  more  im- 
portant, work  of  pulpit  efficiency.  It 
was  different  in  the  old  Evangelical  days, 
it  is  diflFerent  now  with  the  Broad  Church 
minority.  But  in  general  it  may  be  said 
that  the  clergy  of  the  Episcopalian  de- 
nomination are  no  exceptions  to  the  law 
that  intellectual  excellence  is  in  inverse 
ratio  to  the  growth  of  ecclesiasticism.  It 
were  devoutly  to  be  wished  that,  instead 
of  the  dismal  and  often  second-hand 
pietistic  dulness  dealt  out  to  us  from 
certain  pulpits,  a  good  reader,  lay  or 
cleric,  could  be  induced  to  read  to  one 
of  our  city  congregations  such  sermons 
as  those  of  Dr.  Fairbairn.  The  proposal 
is,  it  is  true,  as  old  as  Sir  Roger  de  Cov- 
erley,  but  it  is  one  which  the  laity,  at 
least,  would  approve. 


Mary  Stuart :  a  Tragedy.  By  Algernon 
C.  Swinburne.  New  York  :  R. 
Worthington  ;  Toronto  :  Willing  & 
Williamson. 

In  this  the  concluding  drama  of  the 
series  of  three  in  which,  after  the  model 
of  Greek  tragedy,  Swinburne  has  treated 
the  story  of  Mary  Stuart,  the  poet 
rises  to  an  elevation  of  tragic  power  and 
to  a  well-developed  ascending  series  of 
dramatic  situations  which  he  jfias  not  at- 
tained in  either  of  the  former  dramas, 
rich  as  they  were  in  poetic  beauty.  In 
Chastdard,  he  had  described  the  court  of 
Mary  Stuart  in  the  full  moon  of  its  vo- 


j  luptuous  indulgence.  Chastelard,  the  no- 
ble French  knight  and  poet,  is  won  from 
his  allegiance  to  the  Queen  by  the  truth 
and  purity  of  Mary  Beaton's  love.  He 
dies  on  the  scaffold,  Mary  Beaton  pray- 
ing that  his  blood  may  not  be  unavenged. 
In  Bothivell  the  tragedy  of  Mary  Stuart's 
life  deepens.  The  death  of  Rizzio  is  fol- 
lowed by  the  murder  at  the  Kirk  i'  the 
Fields,  the  dark  clouds  cling  heavily  over 
the  sunshine.  Mary  Stuart  begins  with 
the  conspiracy  of  Babington,  with  the^ 
discovery  of  Mary  Stuart's  implication 
therein  by  the  evidence  of  her  secretaries 
under  the  torture.  Meanwhile,  Eliza- 
beth, dreading  the  effect  on  public  sen- 
timent of  the  fall  of  a  royal  head  on  the 
scaffiild,  hesitates  to  execute  her  rival, 
and  unsuccessfully  endeavours  to  get  Sir 
Amyas  Paulet  to  connive  at  assassina- 
tion. Meanwhile,  in  a  scene  of  striking 
power,  Mary  Beaton  who  all  those  years 
had  followed  the  Queen's  fortunes,  is  so 
stung  by  the  exceeding  heartlessness 
with  which  Mary  Stuart  speaks  of  the 
dead  Chastelard,  that  she  half  resolves 
to  send  to  Elizabeth  a  letter  in  Mary's 
handwriting  in  which  the  virgin  Queen's 
flirtations  are  roughly  handled.  Mary 
Beaton  then  sings  a  song — it  is  a  French 
ballade,  exquisite  as  any  lyric  of  De 
Musset  or  Victor  Hugo,  which  Chastelard 
wrote  in  the  days  when  he  loved  Mary 
Stuart.  But  the  selfish  Queen  had  for- 
gotten the  very  name  of  the  writer.  So 
the  fatal  letter  is  sent  to  Elizabeth.  The 
result  is,  of  course,  the  execution  at  Foth- 
eringay,  which  is  described  in  a  scene, 
the  power  and  pathos  of  which,  we  think 
has  been  surpassed  in  no  English  drama, 
not  excepting  the  last  scene  of  the  Cenci. 
But  not  the  least  remarkable  in  this 
work  is  the  care  with  which  a  great  poet 
has  investigated  the  historical  character 
both  of  Mary  Stuart  and  Elizabeth.  All 
the  details  of  Elizabeth's  unchastity,  as 
described  in  the  fatal  letter,  are  fully 
borne  out  by  the  account  lately  made 
public  in  an  article  in  '  Les  projets  de 
Mariaye  d'liae  Reine  d'Angleterre,'  by  M. 
de  La  Ferriere,  in  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Maudes. 

In  the  last  scene  when  the  better  side 
of  Mary's  nature  is  revealed,  Mr.  Swin- 
burne has  given  us  a  rendering  of  some 
beautiful  Latin  verses  which  Mary  Stuart 
composed  at  the  time.  We  quote  from 
an  old  collection  of  Latin  hymns  this 
poem,  a  gem  of  pure  lyrical  genius,  of 
'  Maria,  Regina  Scotorum,' 


324 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


O  Domine  Ueus 

Speravi  in  Te  ! 
O  care  mi  Jesu  ! 

Nunc  libera  me  ! 

O  Lord  my  God 

I  liave  trusted  in  Thee  ! 
O  Jesus,  my  dearest  One,     . 

Now  set  me  free. 

In  durii  catena,  in  miserapsensl " 
Gemendo,  petendo  et  genuflectendo 
Adoro,  implorOj  ut  liberes  me  ! 


In  direst  oppression,  in  sorrow's 
I  adore  thee,  I  implore  thee, 
Peliverthou  me. 


TliA  Concepts  and  Theories  of  Modern 
Physics.  By  J.  B.  Stallo.  The  In- 
ternational Scientific  Series.  New 
York  :  Appleton  &  Co.  ;  Toronto : 
N.  Ure  &  Co.     1882. 

This  work  is  a  two-fold  criticism,  from 
the  point  of  view  first  of  physics,  then  of 
metaphysics,  of  what  the  author  calls  the 
Mechanical  Theory  of  the  Universe.  It 
is  thus  an  attack  on  the  first  principles 
of  the  modern  evolution  philosophy, 
which,  in  the  part  t  f  the  book  devoted  to 
physical  science,  is  <  f  a  kind  to  be  fully 
appreciated  only  by  scip'<tific  experts. 
When  the  physical  speculation  is  such  as 
to  be  within  the  scope  of  ordinary  ob- 
servation, we  fail  to  find  Professor  Stal- 
lo's  reasoning  conclusive.  For  instance, 
when  he  argues  that  the  '  mechanical 
theory  '  must  necessarily  regard  the  ele- 
mentary unit  of  a  mass  as  inelastic,  '  be- 
cause elasticity  involves  motion  of  parts,' 
and  then  proceeds  from  the  Kinetic 
theory  of  gasses  (/.  e.,  the  theory  that 
gas'consists  of  innumerable  solid  particles 
whose  velocities  and  directions  are 
changed  by  mutual  encounters)  to  argue 
that  the  atoms  must  be  elastic.  Surely 
elasticity  does  not  in  its  simplest  form 
*  involve  '  the  motion  of  parts.  Elas- 
ticity is  potential  motion,  and,  one  would 
think,  must  be  regarded  as  an  inalien- 
able attribute  of  the  primitive  atoms  by 
the  advocates  of  the  '  mechanical  theory. ' 
In  a  similar  manner  Professor  Stallo  at- 
tacks every  point  in  the  evolution  sys- 
tem, especially  the  atomic  cosmical  theo- 
ry, and  Laplace's,  or  rather  Kant's, 
Theory  of  the  Heavens.  The  second  por- 
tion of  Professor  Stallo's  work  is  more 
available  for  the  non-scientist.  The 
author  accuses  the  mechanical  theory  of 
being  a  revival  of  medijevaA  realism,  of 


putting  thoughts  for  things,  of  mistaking 
concepts  for  realities.  He  reasons  from 
the  on-all-sides  admitted  relativity  of 
human  thought  against  evolutionists, 
who,  he  asserts,  unintelligibly,  we  must 
confess,  to  us,  hold  the  cognizability  of 
the  absolute.  We  always  thought  the 
reverse,  remembering  Spencer's  remarks 
on  that  subject  in  his  '  First  Principles.' 
There  is  an  interesting  chapter  on  that 
strangest  phase  of  mathematics,  '  tran- 
scendental geometry,'  which  tells  of  the 
finiteness  of  space  and  the  universe,  of  a 
point  at  which  parallel  lines,  if  pro- 
duced, meet,  Euclid  to  the  contrary  not- 
withstanding ;  and  of  beings  with  more 
than  these  three  dimensions.  The  animals 
we  know,  have  fliree  dimensions  onlj-, 
length,  breadth,  and  thickness ;  and 
some  of  these  '  beings  '  of  three  dimen- 
sions are  quite  as  much  as  we  can  managt . 
A  being  of  four  dimensions  might  bo 
awkward  as  a  partner  in  business  or  in 
matrimony,  and  we  are  thankful  that 
these  are  banished  to  a  land  where  the 
propositions  of  Euclidare  untrustworthy 
and  where  parallel  lines  meet. 


The  Poetical  IVorks  of  Mrs.  Leprohou  (Miss 
R.  E.  MuLLiNs),  1  vol.  12mo.  Mon- 
treal :  John  Lovell  &  Son. 

To  many  of  the  older  readers  of  Cana- 
dian periodical  literature,  Mrs.  Lepro- 
hon's  name  must  be  well  and  favourably 
known.  She  was  a  valued  contributor  to 
the  Literary  Garland,  the  pioneer  maga- 
zine of  Canada,  which  was  owned  and 
published  by  Messrs  Lovell  &  Gibson, 
Parliamentary  Printers,  and  edited  by 
Mr.  John  Gibson,  of  that  long-familiar 
firm.  The  collection  before  us  is  pub- 
lished as  a  memorial  volume  of  a  gifted 
and  patriotic  woman,  who  did  much 
in  her  day  to  aid  the  intellectual  life 
in  Montreal  circles,  and  to  promote  the 
love  of  letters  thoughout  the  country. 
Mrs.  Leprohon  was  of  Irish  birth,  and 
had  all  the  qualities  of  head  and  heart 
that  give  distinction  to  Irishwomen  of 
culture,  and  which  so  frequently  find  ex 
pression  in  song.  Montreal,  in  Mrs.  Le- 
prohon, Isidore  G.  Ascher,  Thomas 
D'Arcy  McGee,  Charles  Heavysege,  and 
John  Reade,  has  had  representatives  of 
the  muse  of  more  than  local  fame,  and 
whose  productions  the  chief  city  of  Can- 
ada would  be  ungrateful  indeed  were  she 
readily  to  let  die.  In  this  beaiitif ul  little 


BOOK  REVIEW!^. 


320 


volume  there  are  many  national  themes 
treated  -which  should  be  more  widely 
known  by  Canadians  of  the  present  day, 
and  whose  hearty,  patriotic  ring  we  have 
much  need,  in  this  matter-of-fact- age,  to 
stop  and  listen  to.  Would  that  the  na- 
tional ear  was  more  fain  to  catch  their 
rhythmic  sounds,  and  to  respond  to  the 
heart-beats  which  gave  them  birth  ! 
There  is  a  charming  local  colour  also 
about  many  of  Mrs.  Leprohon's  poems, 
which  must  endear  them  to  every  Cana- 
dian, and  a  sweetness  of  expression  and 
melodious  rhythm  which  will  commend 
them  to  every  attuned  ear.  In  candour, 
we  must  add,  that  there  is  not  a  little  in 
the  volume  which,  from  a  literary  point 
of  view,  had  better  have  been  left  out. 
But  as  the  collection  is  a  posthumous 
one,-  we  suppose  this  defect  must  be 
lightly  dealt  with.  Much,  however,  re- 
mains to  entitle  Mrs.Leprohon  to  favour- 
able notice,  when  the  history  of  Cana- 
dian poetry  comes  to  be  written. 


Seneca  and  Kani  ;  By  Rev.  W.  T. 
Jackson,  Ph.  D.,  Dayton,  Ohio.  Uni- 
ted Brethren  Publishing  Room,  1881 . 

It  is  exactly  a  hundred  years  since 
German  Philosophy,  led  by  Emmanuel 
Kant,  invaded  and  conquered  all  previ- 
ous forces  of  European  thought.  That 
philosophy  came  into  the  field  with 
wholly  new  tactics,  strange  and  compli- 
cated movements,  and  arms  of  precision 
in  the  use  of  metaphysical  terms  un- 
known before.  Eleven  years  previous 
to  the  publication  of  Kant's  great  work, 
the  '  Critique  of  Pure  lleason,'  that 
sensualist  materialism  which  had  been 
developing  itself  for  two  centuries  in 
England  and  France,  had  said  its  last 
word  in  the  publication  of  the  Systeme 
de  la  Nature  of  Baron  Holbach,  of  1770. 
Belief  in  God  was  henceforth  to  be  ban- 
ished from  the  horizon  of  human 
thought ;  Consciousness  and  Ideas  were 
as  much  products  of  the  brain  tissues 
as  bile  was  of  the  cells  of  the  liver  ! 
Kant  tells  us  ii>  vv  he  was  led  to  see  the 
necessity  of  a  revolution  in  the  methods 
of  Philosophy,  in  language  whose  dignity 
fits  the  subjktct.  As  Copernicus  had 
seen  that  the  phenomena  of  astronomy 
could  not  be  accounted  for  on  th6  old 
theory  that  the  sun  and  stars  move 
round  the  eaith,  and  thence  was  led  to 
construct  a  new  theory  of  the  heavens. 


So  Kant  had  found  that  the  doctrine  of 
all  our  knowledge  being  traceable  to  ejj.^ 
perience,  does  not  account  for  the  phen- 
omena of  human  thought.  He  was 
thence  led  to  his  '  Critical  Examination 
of  the  Reason, 'which  he  considered  made 
three  aspects,  each  determined  by  the 
ideas  \v  icu  are  its  F.v.'uject  matter  :  The 
Sense-Faculty  (he  called  it  the  a?sthetic), 
theUnderstanding  which  takes  cognizance 
of  the  ideas  supplied  by  the  sense  faculty, 
and  the  Pure  Reason,  which  considers 
ideas  transcending,or  going  into  a  higher 
region  than  these,  as  God,  Immortality 
and  Duty.  In  criticising  the  contents 
of  the  Sense  Faculty  and  of  the  Under- 
standing, he  shewed  the  existence  of 
certain  necessary  forms,  such  as  space 
and  time,  which  are  siipplied  by  the 
mind  itself,  and  are  not  given  by  expe- 
rience. These,  which  he  called  in  his 
strange  and  repellant  terminology,  'Syn- 
thetic Judgments  a  2)riori/  Avere  con- 
ceived by  man  as  necessary  and  univer- 
sally true,  and  this  Kant  pro\  ed  by  the 
self  evident  truth  of  the  pure  ma- 
thematics. Whether  or  not  we  are  jus- 
tified in  saying  that  these  judgments, 
true  to  our  reason,  are  also  true  to  the 
reason  of  other  possibly  existent  beings, 
Kant  does  not  appear  to  determine  :  and 
herein,  according  to  many  thinkers,  is  a 
weak  point  in  his  system.  But  at  least 
to  us,  as  we  reason,  and  to  all  our  possi- 
bilities of  thought  and  science,  these 
'  Synthetic  Judgments  '  a  priori  are 
valid. 

Another  weak  point  in  Kant's  Philo- 
sophy, according  to  some  recent  expon- 
ents, notably  Dr.  Noah  Porter,  in  a  lu- 
cid and  most  readable  essay  on  the 
Kantian  Centennial  (Princeton  Review, 
Nov.  1881,)  is  his  apparent  denial  of  the 
possibility  of  our  cognition  of  the  nou- 
menon  as  a  '  thing  in  itself.'  By  i^heno- 
menon  are  meant  the  transitory,  the  un- 
certain, the  contingent,  the  apparent  : 
by  noumenon,  the  permanent,  the  uni- 
versal, the  true.  In  its  highest  form  the 
noumenon  is  equivalent  to  the  absolute, 
to  the  idea  of  God  ;  and  the  relation  of 
this  thought  to  mere  phenomenon  is 
nobly  expressed  in  a  passage  in  St.  Au- 
gustine's Confessions,  '  The  Unchanging, 
Thou  changest  all  things  ;  with  Thee  of 
all  things  unstable  the  stable  causes  ex- 
ist, and  of  all  things  mutable  and  tran- 
sitory, the  immutable  caiises  abide.'  But 
Kant  was  unable  to  see  ground  for  belief 
in  the  noumenon  as  God  in  the  specula- 
tive reason,  although  he  claimed   that 


326 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


we  possess  such  ground  in  the  moi'al  or 
practical  reason. 

Noinnenon  considered  as  the  consci- 
ous soul,  it  seems  strange  that  Kant 
should  have  denied  our  right  to  predi- 
cate existence.  Does  not  his  whole  sys- 
tem pre-suppose  our  power  to  judge  of 
Reason  as  a  reality  immediately  known 
to  us  ]  The  ethical  side  only  of  Kant's 
philosophy  was  made  known  in  England 
by  Coleridge  and  Carlyle.  Its  pure  and 
lofty  tone  had  a  great  influence  with  the 
earlier  generations  of  Liberal  and  Broad 
Churchmen  whose  leaders  wereKingsley 
and  Frederic  Dennison  Maurice.  As  a 
philosophical  system,  the  Kantian  me- 
taphysics have  been  evolved  in  various 
directions  by  Schilling,  Fichte,  and 
Hegel ;  and  by  Mansel  and  Hamilton 
in  England.  At  present  there  seems  to 
be  in  England  and  America  a  tendency 
to  return  to  and  re-interpret  Kant,  with 
perhaps  a  leaning  to  the  development  of 
his  system  known  as  Absolute  Idealism, 
as  against  the  denial  of  the  knowabil- 
ity  of  the  Absolute,  by  Herbert  Spencer. 
Of  this  school,  the  work  on  Kant  by 
Professor  Watson,  of  Kingston,  lately 
reviewed  in  these  columns,  is  an  exam- 
ple which  deserves,  and  has  already 
commanded,  attention. 

To  the  earnest  student  of  Metaphy- 
sics, the  position  of  Kant  among  the 
supreme  thinkers  of  Europe  will  always 
furnish  a  reason  for  at  least  attempting 
to  form  some  idea  of  his  system  as  set 
fortli,  not  by  commentators,  but  by  him- 
self. The  translation  in  Bohn's  library 
gives  some  help  in  the  notes,  but  it  may 
be  safely  maintained  to  be  impossible  for 
any  student  to  understand  the  text  un- 
aided by  an  expert  or  by  ample  notes. 
The  difficulty  of  understanding  Kant  is 
no  doubt  in  part  due  to  the  inherent 
difficulty  of  the  subject.  But  all  recent 
commentators  seem  agreed  that  it  is 
still  more  owing  to  the  strange  termin- 
ology which  Kant  borrowed  from  Wolf 
and  his  predecessors,  who  derived  it 
from  the  scholastic  writers  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages.  And  to  this  terminology  Kant 
assigned  new  meanings  of  his  own, 
which  was  gradually  adopted  during  the 
twenty  years  in  which  this  Sphinx  of 
Metaphysics  meditated  over  the  riddles 
given  to  the  world  in  1 781.  Again,  it  is 
fully  admitted  that  Kant  himself  got 
at  times  confused  and  involved.  Also, 
the  German  language  of  a  century  ago 


was  in  a  chaotic  state  as  regards  clear- 
ness of  style,  which  put  Kant  at  a  great 
disadvantage.  He  was  at  times  a  forci- 
ble, clear,  and  even  eloquent  writer  ; 
witness  his  account  alluded  to  above, 
of  the  origin  of  his  'Critique  of  Pure 
Reason  ; '  also  his  marvellous  anticipa- 
tion of  modern  evolution  in  his  Theory 
of  the  Heavenly  Bodies,  which,  by  the 
way,  has  been  erroneously  ascribed  to 
Laplace.  But  the  'Critique'  needs  not  so 
much  to  be  commented  on  by  commen- 
tators who  have  generally  pet  theories  of 
their  own,  as  to  be  re- written  before  it 
can  be  understood  by  the  English  reader. 
With  the  exception  of  Locke,  modern 
philosophical  writers  in  our  language 
have  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  a  clear 
and  intelligible  style,  and  this  is  emin- 
ently true  of  Mill  and  Spencer,  whose 
speculations,  treating  as  they  do  of  the 
most  recondite  questions  of  Thought, 
and  involving  complex  detail  of  illustra- 
tion, have  a  terminology  that  explains 
itself,  and  can  be  readily  understood  by 
any  educated  reader,  even  if  untrained 
in  Metaphysics.  Kant's  work  should  be 
not  simply  rendered  into  boldly  literal 
English,  but  translated  in  the  same 
spii'it  of  free  yet  faithful  rendering  by 
which  the  French  version  of  Dumont 
made  Jeremy  Bentham  intelligible. 

Kant  is  pre-eminently  a  writer  whom 
modern  Thought  cannot  afford  to  ne- 
glect .  It  is  very  remarkable  to  what  an 
extent  he  anticipated,  a  century  ago, 
several  of  the  leading  ideas  of  our  own 
age.  In  his  book  on  '  The  Philosophy 
of  the  Heavens,'  Kant  promulgates  the 
theory  as  to  the  genesis  of  the  stellar 
universe,  which,  fifty  years  afterwards, 
was  preposed  in  a  modified  form  by  La- 
place. In  the  same  work  Kant  gave  the 
explanation  more  currently  received,  of 
the  rings  of  Saturn.  He  also  distinctly 
anticipated  the  Darwinian  theory.  Mr. 
Jackson's  little  book  takes  too  arbitrary 
a  title  when  it  professes  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  the  '  Philosophy  of  Kant.'  Mr. 
Jackson  only  treats  of  '  Kant's  System  of 
Ethics  ' — the  simplest  and  easiest  part 
of  Kant's  system.  Of  the  more  difficult 
and  more  important  metaphysical  inves- 
tigations in  the  Kantian  Metaphysics, 
Mr.  Jackson  tells  us  nothing  whatever. 
But  on  the  merely  ethical  question  his 
brochure  is  well  put  together,  and  de- 
serves a  good  word. 


liRicA-nnAa. 


327 


BEIC-A-BRAC. 


TO  KATE  SEYMOUR  MACLEAN.* 

BY   jrRS.  A.  MAC  GILLIS,  WINNIPEG,  MANITOBA. 

Sweet  Singer,  would  I  had  the  power 
To  write  but  one  verse  worthy  thee  ; 

To  thy  bright  garland  add  one  flower, 
To  thank  thee  for  thy  minstrelsy. 

Thy  songs  are  music  in  the  night, 

Or  earnest  thoughts  for  solemn  hours  ; 

Or,  when  our  hearts  are  gay  and  light. 
Thy  graceful  verses  seem  like  flowers 

Of  the  bright  Spring,  or  sunny  June, 
When  Nature  all  an  anthem  sings  ; 

So  fresh  and  pure,  so  sweet  the  tune, 
No  chiming  bell  more  softly  rings. 

Like  murmur  of  a  summer  brook 
Melodious  -v\-inding  through  the  glen. 

The  rhythmic  pages  of  thy  book 

Flow  in  sweet  numbers  from  thy  pen. 

We  cannot  choose  but  weep  with  thee. 
With  thee  rejoice  when  thou  art  glad. 

Our  hearts  go  out  in  sjonpathy. 
One  moment  gay,  the  next  wne  sad. 

God  bless  thee.  Singer,  give  thee  grace 
To  warble  till  He  calls  thee  home, 

Then,  may  the  shining  of  His  face, 
Light  the  dark  valley's  gathering  gloom ; 

And,  when  earth's  sounds  grow  faint  and 
dim. 

Angelic  voices  greet  thine  ear. 
And  bear  a  sister  seraphim 

To  sing  in  Heaven  from  singing  here. 

Some  visitors  were  going  through  a 
great  house  recently,  and  at  length 
paused  before  a  fine  painting  repre- 
senting a  handsome,  black-bearded  man 
clad  in  gorgeous  attire.  One  of  them 
inquired  of  their  guide  whose  portrait 
it  might  be.  '  Well,  sir,'  replied  the 
housekeeper,  '  I  don't  rightly  know  ;  but 
I  believe  it  is  the  Dowager  Venus  !  ' 
'  But,'  said  the  visitor,  '  I  scarcely  think 
that  the  Dowager  Venus  would  be  re- 
presented with  a  beard.  Perhaps  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  look  in  the  cata- 
logue ? '  She  did  so,  and  the  Dowager 
Venus  proved  to  be  the  Doge  of  Venice. 


*  Author  of  'The  Coming  of  the  Princess,  and 
other  Poem3.'    Toronto  :  Hunter,  iiose  &  Co. 


People  without  tact  do  a  great  deal  of 
mischief.  They  seem  actually  merciless 
at  times.  They  never  know  what  is  best 
to  say  or  do.  They  tread  upon  people's 
toes,  and  open  the  closet  where  family 
skeletons  are  kept  so  often  that  they  earn 
the  reputation  of  being  spiteful.  They 
ask  over  and  over  again  questions  which 
are  obviously  unpleasant  to  answer,  and 
make  remarks  that  are  seen  at  once  by 
all  save  themselves  to  be  oflfensive. 

An  English  judge  used  to  say  that,  in 
his  opinion,  the  very  best  thing  ever  said 
by  a  witness  to  a  counsel  was  the  reply 
given  to  Missing,  the  barrister,  at  that 
time  leader  of  his  circuit.  He  was  de- 
fending a  prisoner  charged  with  stealing 
a  donkey.  The  prosecutor  had  left  the 
animal  tied  up  to  a  gate,  and  when  he 
returned  it  was  gone.  Missing  was  very 
severe  in  his  examination  of  the  witness. 
'  Do  you  mean  to  say,  witness,  the  don- 
key was  stolen  from  the  gate  V  'I  mean 
to  say,  sir,'  giving  the  judge  and  then 
the  jury  a  sly  look,  '  the  ass  was  Miss- 


A  parish  in  the  county  of  Fife  had  for 
a  minister  a  good  man,  remarkable  for 
his  benevolent  disposition.  Meeting 
one  of  his  parishioners  one  day,  he  said, 
'  Jeanie,  what  way  do  I  never  see  you  in 
the  kirk  ? '  '  Weel,  sir,'  replied  Jeanie, 
'  to  be  plain  wi'  ye,  I  haena  a  pair  p' 
shoon  to  gang  wi.'  'A  pair  o'  shoon, 
Jeanie  !  Jeanie,  I'll  no  let  ye  stap  at 
hame  for  that ;  what  would  a  pair  cost  ? ' 
'  About  four  shillings,  sir.'  Putting  his 
hand  into  his  pocket,  he  gave  Jeanie  the 
money,  and  went  his  way.  Some  time 
after,  meeting  her  again,  he  said,  '  Dear 
me,  Jeanie,  I've  never  seen  ye  in  the 
kirk  yet.  What  way  is  that  ? '  '  Weel, 
sir,'  replied  Jeanie,  '  to  be  plain  wi'  ye, 
when  the  weather  is  guid,  and  I  hae 
time,  I  prefer  gaun  to  Dumfarlin'  to  hear 
Mr.  Gillespie.'  'Oh,  indeed,  Jeanie, 
lass,  that's  the  way  o't,  is't  ]  Ye  might 
hae  gi'en  me  the  first  day  o'  the  shoon, 
ony  way,  d'ye  no  chink  T 


328 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


FOR  SOME  ONE. 

BY  CECIL  GWTNNE,  MONCTON,  NEW  SRU^SWICK, 

Oh  heart  that  is  bruised  and  wounded, 
And  aching  with  hopes  and  fears  ; 

Oh  hands  that  are  empty  and  helpless. 
Through  the  barren  and  dreary  years. 

The  years  that  have  brought  no  blessing, 
But  are  bearing  thy  youth  away, 

Faded,  and  withered,  and  useless, 
Like  leaves  on  an  autumn  day. 

Sit  not  by  the  roadside  idle, 
Grasp  something  before  it  goes  by  ! 

Better  to  struggle  and  suffer 

Than  helplessly  sink  down  and  die. 

The  way  has  been  rough  and  stony, 
And  the  journey  seemed  all  up-hill ; 

But  there's  One  who  is  near  in  the  darkness, 
Whose  hand  shall  uphold  thee  still. 

And  some  time  in  the  dim  hereafter, 
Some  time  in  the  years  to  come, 

Thou  shaft  lay  down  thy  weapons  forever, 
At  rest,  in  -^y  hard  won  Home. 


Charity  taken  in  its  largest  extent  is 
nothing  else  but  the  sincere  love  of  God 
and  our  neighbour. 

Whatever  you  have  to  do,  do  it  with 
all  your  might.  Many  a  lawyer  has 
made  his  fortune  by  simply  working  with 
a  will. 

'  Don't  stand  on  ceremony  ;  come  in, 
said  a  lady  to  an  old  farmer,  as  she 
opened  the  door.  '  Why,  my  goodness  ! 
Excuse  me,  ma'am.  I  thought  all  along 
I  was  standin'  on  the  door  mat. ' 

Two  bees — a  honey  and  a  drone-— 
alighted,  towards  sunset,  upon  the 
trunk  of  a  tree.  Muttered  the  drone  to 
the  busy*  bee,  which  was  laden  with 
honey,  '  I  have  been  looking  for  you  all 
over  the  place.  I  am  starving,  and  you 
might  help  me  with  a  little  of  your  sub- 
stance.' 'Why  so?'  asked  the  other. 
'  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  toiling  all 
the  day  for  it.  Add  the  virtue  of  inde- 
pendence to  the  dignity  of  labour,  and 
gather  for  yourself .'  'Say  you  so,'  re- 
joined the  drone,  '  then  I  must  take  it 
by  force.'  But  as  the  drone  had  n> 
sting,  the  struggle  was  vain  ;  and  lie 
soon  lay  legs  uppermost,  a  helpless  ..t- 
bit  for  a  watchful  robin.  Moral. — The 
lazy  and  the  '  loafing '  will  waste  as  much 
time  and  energy  over  scheming  '  how 
not  to  do  it '  as  would  suffice  to  gain  an 
honest  living,  and  come  to  a  troublesome 
end  for  their  pains. 


A  PASSING  THOUGHT. 

C".    E.   M.,   MONTREAL. 

Every  life  has  its  December, 

Full  of  sad  repining, 
Yet  December's  darkest  heaven 

Hides  a  silver  lining. 

May  will  bring,  on  some  sweet  morrow. 

Rosy  light  and  laughter  ; 
Longest  grief  must  have  an  ending. 

If  not  here,  hereafter. 


Old  party — '  What  d'ye  mane  bysnow- 
balling  o'  me,  yer  young  wagabonos  1 
Ain't  yer  got.  a  father  o'  yer  own  to 
snowball  ? ' 

A  well-fed  hog  rose  up  in  his  sty  and 
dropped  a  regretful  tear.  '  The  beauti- 
ful snow  has  come,'  he  said,  '  and  slaying 
will  soon  be  here. ' 

'  How  do  I  look,  doctor  ? '  asked  a 
painted  young  lady  of  the  family  phy- 
sician. '  I  can't  tell,  madam,  till  you 
uncocer  your  face,'  was  the  cutting  reply. 

Mrs.  Maloney— '  That's  a  foine  child 
ov  yours,  Mrs.  Murphy.  How  ould  is 
he  1 '  Mrs.  Murphy.  — '  He'll  be  two 
years  old  to-morrow.  He  was  born  on 
the  same  day  as  his  father.' 

An  enterprising  American  firm,  to  pre- 
vent the  destruction  of  their  cheeses  by 
rats  in  their  transit  to  England,  packed 
them  in  iron  safes.  It  is  stated  that  the 
rats  eat  their  way  through  the  safes,  but 
found  the  cheeses  too  much  for  them. 

REVELATION. 

I  trod  the  rustling  carpet  of  the  earth. 

When  wdnter  ^vinds  had  bared  the  forest 
trees ; 
Hushed  were  the  mjriad  sounds  of   insect 
mirth. 
That  erst  had  floated  on  the  summer  breeze. 
No  voice  of  bird  was  heard  in  warblings  sweet, 
No  pleasant  murmur  of  the  growing  leaves. 
'  Death,  death,'  I  said,  '  on  every  side  I  meet; 
And   Nature  for  her  Inids  and  blossoms 
grieves. ' 

Anon  I  saw  the  earth  apparelled  new  ; 
Greenness  and  growth  did  everywhere 
abound  ; 
The  skies  bent  over  all  the  simimer  blue. 
And  grand  old  hills  with  bounteousness 
were  crowned. 
The  air  was  stirred  with  waves  of  happy 
strife. 
Where'er  I  turned,  I  saw  the  eternal  seal. 
'Life  follows  death,'  I  said  ;  'through  de.ath 
to  life, 
Doth  nature  thus  the  spirit's  law  reveal.' 


EOSE-BELFOED'S 


Can^adian"  Monthly 


AITD    NATIMsTAL    EEYIEW. 


APRIL,    1882. 


THE   ISLAND   OF   CAPE   BRETOX 


THE  "  LONG  WHARF  "  OF  THE  DOMINION. 


BY    JOHN    GEORGE    BOURINOT,  F.S.S.,    THE    CLERK    OF    THE    HOUSE    OF  COMMONS. 


IN  choosing  as  the  subject  of  my 
Papei-  an  important  island  on 
the  Atlantic  coast  of  Canada,  I  feel 
that  I  am  assisting  to  carry  out  the 
praiseworthy  object  the  Geograph- 
ical Society  has  in  view.  The  second 
article  of  the  Constitution  expressly 
informs  me,  a  new  membei',  that  the 
society  desires  above  all  things  :  '  To 
study  and  make  known  our  country 
in  relation  to  its  productive  forces ; 
especially  to  bring  into  notice  its  agri- 
cultural, forest,  maritime,  industrial 
and  commercial  resources,  with  a  view 
to  augment  its  riches  and  the  well- 
being  of  its  population.'  A  great  so- 
ciety like  that  in  London  may  appro- 
priately, as  the  parent  and  prototype 
of  all  similar  associations  elsewhere, 
follow  the  explorer  into  Arctic  seas  or 


*  A  Paper  read  before  the  Geographical 
"Society  of  Quebec. 


tropical  jungles,  and  search  the  wide 
globe  for  fresh  accessions  to  the  trea- 
sures of  knowledge  which  have  been 
amassed  under  its  auspices.  Ours 
necessarily  must  be  a  more  humble 
task  in  the  early  days  of  this  associa- 
tion ;  but  while  it  may  be  less  ambi- 
tious, it  cannot  be  said  to  be  less  use- 
ful, from  a  Canadian  point  of  view. 
A  country  like  ours,  embracing  the 
greater  part  of  a  Continent,  contain- 
ing resources  still  in  the  infancy  of 
their  development,  affords  a  fruitful 
field  of  research  for  the  earnest  stu- 
dent desirous  of  furnishing  his  quota 
of  geographical  lore.  Amid  the  bleak 
regions  of  Hudson's  Bay,  or  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  mountains  that  bar  the 
road  to  the  Pacific  coast,  there  is  yet 
much  to  attract  the  adventurous  tra- 
veller and  explorer.  Even  in  the  older 
sections  of  this  wide  Dominion,  there 
are  '  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new  '  to 


830 


THE  IHLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


be  brought  •within  the  ken  of  those 
anxious  to  inform  themselves  of 
the  topographical  features  and  natural 
resources  of  this  country,  now  an  ener- 
getic competitor  for  emigration  fi-om 
the  Old  World.  Only  fourteen  years 
have  passed  away  since  the  different 
provinces  of  British  America  formed 
themselves  into  a  Confederation,  and 
it  cannot  be  said  that  all  sections  are 
even  yet  as  well  informed  as  they 
should  be  of  the  respective  character- 
istics of  each  other.  The  name  of  the 
island  of  which  I  propose  to  give  you 
a  brief  sketch  to-night  is  quite  fami- 
liar to  your  ears,  and  all  of  you  re- 
member how  important  a  jiart  it  has 
played  in  the  early  history  of  this  Con- 
tinent ;  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  quite 
safe  to  assert  that  its  natui-al  features 
are  still  comparatively  unknown  to 
the  majority  of  persons  residing  in  old 
Canada.  Yet  in  the  days  of  the  French 
regime,  the  possession  of  Cape  Breton 
was  considered  indispensable  in  the 
accomplishment  of  that  grand  scheme 
of  French  aggrandisement  which  em- 
braced the  acquisition  of  this  whole 
Continent.  Louisbourg  was  for  years 
a  menace  to  England,  and  promised  to 
be  a  place  of  as  great  importance  in 
a  commercial  and  national  point  of 
view  as  the  ancient  capital  itself.  But 
with  the  disappearance  of  French  do- 
minion, the  grass  soon  won  possession 
of  the  dismantled  walls  of  Louisbourg, 
and  the  fisherman's  shallop  became  the 
only  tenant  of  the  noble  harbour 
M-here  the  fleur-de-lys  once  floated  from 
many  a  stately  frigate  in  those  memor- 
able days  of  last  century,  when  an  am- 
bitious town  looked  out  on  the  broad 
Atlantic.  From  the  day  when  Wolfe 
and  Boscawen  won  the  fortress,  (^ape 
Breton  fell  into  obscurity,  whilst  Que- 
bec still  continued  to  fill  no  unim- 
portant place  in  the  fulfilment  of  the 
destinies  of  Canada.  There  the  tourist 
in  search  of  the  picturesque,  or  the  his- 
torical student  desirous  of  discovering 
memorials  of  the  past,  has  always 
found  attraction.  Here  statesmen 
have   met   in    council    and   laid    the 


foundations  of  the  liberal  system  of 
representative  government  that  we 
now  enjoy.  Here  commerce  has  flour- 
ished, and  the  shipping  of  all  nations 
has  floated  on  the  waters  of  the  noble 
river  which  carries  to  the  great  ocean 
beyond  the  tribute  of  the  West.  But 
for  Louisbourg  there  has  only  been, 
during  a  century  and  more,  neglect 
and  desolation.  The  history  of  Cap& 
Breton  has  been  one  of  placid  rest,, 
only  disturbed  by  insignificant  politi- 
cal contests  which  have  not  seriously 
ruffled  the  great  body  politic,  or  dis- 
turbed the  social  foundations  of  Bri- 
tish North  America. 

As  the  Island  of  Vancouver  in  the 
west  guards  the  approaches  to  the 
Pacific  coast  of  the  Dominion,  so  the 
Island  of  Cape  Breton  on  the  eastern 
shores  stands  like  a  sentinel  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence. 
Both  these  islands  must  necessarily, 
from  the  vantage  ground  they  occupy, 
exercise  an  important  influence  on  the 
commercial  and  national  future  of 
these  dependencies  of  the  Empire;  but 
of  the  two,  Cape  Breton  is  vastly  the 
more  important  in  point  of  area,  popu- 
lation, and  capabilities.  By  reference  to 
a  map  you  will  see  that  Cape  Breton  is 
an  island  of  very  irregular  form,  lying 
between  the  parallels  of  45°  27'  and 
47°  3'  north,  and  the  meridians  59°  47' 
and  61°  32' west,  and  is  bounded  on  the 
north-east  and  south-east  by  the  At- 
lantic Ocean,  on  the  south-west  by 
St.  George's  Bay  and  the  Gut  of  Canso, 
and  on  the  north-west  by  the  Gulf  of 
St.  Lawrence.  Its  total  length  from 
north  to  south  is  about  one  hundred 
and  ten  miles,  and  its  total  width, 
from  east  to  west,  eighty-seven  miles. 
The  Gut  of  Canso,  or  Fronsac,  as  it 
was  first  known,  when  Acadie  was  a 
French  colony,  separates  the  island 
from  the  peninsula  of  Nova  Scotia, 
and  is  navigable  for  the  largest  class 
of  vessels — its  length  being  some  fif- 
teen miles,  and  its  average  width 
about  a  mile. 

The  island  is  naturally  separated 
into  two  great  divisions  by  the  Bras 


I 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


D'Or  Lake,  to  which  I  shall  make 
fuller  reference  further  on.  These  two 
divisions  are  also  remarkable  for  certain 
natural  features  which  give  to  each 
a  distinctive  character.  The  western 
division  extends  from  Cape  St.  Law- 
rence to  St.  Peter's  on  the  south,  and 
is  noteworthy  for  its  ranges  of  hills 
and  bold  scenery.  All  the  high  lands 
in  this  division  consist  of  syenite, 
gneiss,  mica  slate,  and  other  metamor- 
Y^hic  rocks  of  old  date,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  southern  end  of  the  range 
lying  between  the  Gut  of  Canso  and 
the  valley  of  the  River  of  the  Inhabit- 
ants. The  valleys  and  low  country 
generally  between  the  hills,  are  made 
up  of  sandstone,  shale,  limestone  and 
gypsum,  of  the  lower  carboniferous 
.system.  Beds  of  the  carboniferous 
system  occur  between  Margarie  and 
Port  Hood,  and  between  the  Gut  of 
Canso  and  St.  Peter's,  but  in  the 
latter  district  they  appear  to  be  of 
small  value.  There  are  few  harbours 
of  importance  on  the  coasts  of  this 
division — from  Cape  St.  Lawrence  in 
tlie  north  to  the  extreme  end  of  this 
division  on  the  south.  Port  Hood,  Port 
Hawkesbury,  and  Arichat  are  navig- 
able on  the  western  side ;  on  the 
north-east  are  St.  Ann's  and  the 
great  entrances  of  the  Bras  D'Or.  The 
scenery  around  St.  Ann's  and  Inganish 
is  particularly  grand,  lofty  precipices, 
rocky  gorges  and  ravines  meeting  the 
eye  in  every  direction.  On  parts  of 
the  coast,  as  far  as  Cape  North,  rocky 
precipices  rise  abruptly  from  the  sea, 
to  heights  varying  from  six  to  twelve 
hundred  feet. 

The  eastern  division,  which  is  bound- 
ed by  the  Bras  D'Or  and  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  is  remarkable  for  its  valuable 
mines  of  coal  and  the  fine  harbours  of 
Sydney  and  Louisbourg.  It  contains 
only  two  ranges  of  hills  of  consider- 
able elevation,  consisting  of  syenite, 
granite,  and  metamorphic  rocks.  The 
land  on  the  coast  nowhere  reaches  a 
greater  elevation  than  three  hundred 
feet,  except  at  the  head  of  Gabarus 
Bay.     The  low  hills  on  the  coast  con- 


SSI 

sist  chiefly  of  metamorphosed  Devon-^ 
ian  and  Upper  Silurian   rocks;    the 
l)w  country    in   the  interior,    as  we 
have    said,   are    of    sxndstone,    shale 
and    limestone   of  the    carboniferous 
system.     Oflf  the  Atlantic  coast,    on 
the    south-east,    lies    the    Island    of 
Scatari,  whose  shores  are  strewn  with- 
the  wrecks  of  vessels  of  every  clasS' 
Its  coast  consists  alternately  of  rocky 
headlands  and  sand  or  gravel  beaches, 
guarded  by  reefs  and  inclosing  ponds. 
Small   fishing  hamlets   nestle    in   the 
coves,    thronged   during    summer    by 
fishermen   from    all   the   surrounding 
country  ;  but  not  more  than  eight  or 
ten  families  spend  the  winter  in  this 
lonely  spot,  against  which  the  waves 
of  the  Atlantic  fret  and  foam  without 
ceasing.     Some  of  the  bays,  Gabarus 
especially,  on  the  eastern  division  of 
Cape  Breton,  ai-e  conspicuous  for  splen- 
did beaches  of  the  finest  sand,  where 
the  surf,  as  it  rushes  up  tumultuously, 
presents  occasionally    a    spectacle  of 
great   sublimity.     The    total   area  of 
Cape  Breton  is  put  down  by  the  best 
authorities  at   2,650,000  acres,  exclu- 
sive of  the  Bras  D'Or  Lakes.     It  is 
estimated  that  about  one-half  of  this 
area  is  fit  for  cultivation,  the  richest 
soil  being  found  on  the  alluvial  lands 
watered  by  the  largest  rivers.     The 
varieties  of  trees  common  to  such  lati- 
tudes grow  upon  the  island,  but  the 
spruce   prevails,   and   the   vegetation 
near  the  coast  is  for  the  most  part 
stunted,  and  very  little  building  tim- 
ber of  value  can  now  be  cut.  Apples, 
plums,  pears,  and  other  hardy  fruits 
flourish  well  in  favoured  spots,  and 
ordinary  field  crops  are  grown  without 
ditficulty.     But  it  is  from  its  coal  de- 
posits that  the  island  must  always  de- 
rive the  chief  part  of  its  prosperity. 
The  rocks  of  the  carboniferous  system 
cover  about  one  half  of  the  whole  area 
of    the    island  ;     the    other   half,   so 
far  as  known,  consisting  of  igneous, 
metamorphic  and  Silurian  rock.     The 
Sydney  coal  field  is  the  most  extensive 
and  valuable  portion  of  the  carboni- 
ferous area  of  the  island.     It  extends 


33: 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


from  Mira  Bay  on  the  east  to  Cape 
Dauphin  on  the  west,  a  distance  of 
thirty-one  miles.  It  is  bounded  on 
the  north  by  the  sea-coast,  and  on  the 
south  by  the  Millstone  Grit  formation. 
This  tract  of  country  occupies  an  area 
of  about  two  hundred  square  miles, 
and  is  intersected  or  indented  by  seve- 
ral bays  and  harbours,  where  we  see 
exposed  sections  of  the  coal  measures 
in  the  cliffs,  which,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  sand  beaches,  extend  along 
the  whole  coast  from  Mira  Bay  to 
Cape  Dauphin.  The  total  thickness 
of  the  Sydney  coal  measures  is  not  yet 
ascertained  to  a  certainty,  but  so  care- 
ful an  observer  as  Mr.  Brown,  for 
many  years  connected  with  the  Min- 
ing Association,  a  gentleman  of  high 
scientific  attainments  and  pi-actical 
knowledge,  concludes  in  a  work  on  the 
subject  that  from  Burnt  Head,  near 
Glace  Bay,  where  the  highest  known 
bed  occurs,  down  to  the  Millstone  Grit, 
it  is  not  much  under  1,000  feet. 

No  section  of  the  Dominion  of  Can- 
ada presents  more  varied  scenes  of  na- 
tural beauty,  attaining  true  grandeur 
in  many  localities,  than  this  island, 
with  its  imposing  hills  and  precipices, 
its  smiling  valleys  and  rocky  coasts,  its 
noble  harbours,  where  all  the  navies 
of  the  world  may  safely  anchor,  its 
calm  rivers  and  oft  storm-swept  bays, 
whence  the  great  ocean,  in  all  its  sub- 
limity, stretches  without  a  break  to  the 
shores  of  other  continents.  The  vast 
plateau,  or  table  land,  which  extends 
from  Margarie  and  St.  Ann's  to  Cape 
St.  Lawrence,  the  most  northern  ex- 
tremity of  the  island,  is  elevated  in 
some  places  between  1,000  and  1,500 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  is 
bounded  by  lofty  cliffs  and  precipices, 
affording  a  magnificent  panorama  of 
land  and  water.  There  are  numerous 
rivers  running  through  the  island  :  the 
Margarie,  the  Bedeque,  the  Wagama- 
tacook,  the  Inhabitants,  Mabou,  and 
the  Denys,  water  the  western  division ; 
while  the  Sydney  or  Spanish  River, 
the  Mira,  and  the  Grand  River  flow 
into  the  ocean  through  the  eastern  sec- 


tion. Of  all  these  rivers,  however, 
Spanish  River  is  by  far  the  most  im- 
portant, as  it  runs  through  a  fertile 
district  of  the  most  important  country, 
and  discharges  itself  at  last  into  Syd- 
ney harbour,  which  in  expansiveness 
and  safety  has  no  superior,  if  indeed 
an  equal,  among  the  many  magnifi- 
cent harbours  of  this  Continent. 

Fresh  water  lakes  are  very  numer- 
ous in  the  island,  the  largest  being 
Ainslie  Lake,  which  covers  an  area  of 
twenty  five  square  miles,  and  forms 
the  source  of  the  southern  branch  of 
the  Margarie  River.  But  the  most  re- 
markable natui-al  feature  of  the  island 
is  what  is  commonly  called  the  Bras 
D'Or  Lake,  which  is  in  reality  a  Medi- 
terranean Sea  in  miniature.  This  lake, 
which  is  actually  divided  into  two 
stretches  of  water,  called  the  Great 
Bras  D'Or  and  the  Little  Bras  D'Or, 
is  connected  with  the  Atlantic  Ocean 
by  two  straits,  one  of  which  admits 
the  passage  of  the  largest  ships.  These 
lakes  occupy  an  area  of  some  450 
square  miles  in  the  heart  of  the  island, 
and  are  fed  by  several  rivers,  besides 
abounding  in  picturesque  islands.  One 
of  these,  of  considerable  size,  called  after 
the  Marquis  de  la  Boularderie,  is  situ- 
ated at  the  entrance,  and  it  is  on  either 
side  of  this  island  that  vessels  now  find 
their  way  from  the  east  into  the  splen- 
did sheet  of  water  which  gives  such 
unrivalled  facilities  for  trade  to  the 
people  of  Cape  Breton. 

The  Bras  D'Or  Lakes  occupy  deep 
basins,  excavated  in  soft  carboniferous 
sti-ata,  encompassed  by  hills  of  syenite 
and  other  pre  Silurian  rocks,  flanked 
here  and  there  by  newer  sediments. 
They  are  connected  with  each  other 
by  Barra  Strait,  generally  known  to 
the  people  as  the  Grand  Narrows, 
and  find  an  outlet  to  the  sea  at  St. 
Peter's,  on  the  southern  coast,  by  a 
fine  ship  canal,  which  has  been  at  last 
completed  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
people  of  the  island,  who  commenced 
agitating  for  the  work  many  years  pre- 
vious to  Confederation.  The  maximum 
depth  of  the  smaller  lake  is  fifty -four. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


333 


that  of  the  larger  forty-six  fathoms  ; 
the  extreme  length  of  the  Great  Bras 
D'Or  Lake  is  forty-four  miles ;  its 
width  from  Portage  Creek  to  Soldier 
Cove,  twenty-one  miles. 

For  variety  of  beautiful  scenery  this 
inland  sea  cannot  be  sxirpassed  in  Bri- 
tish America.  The  stranger  who 
wishes  to  follow  the  most  attractive 
route  through  the  island  should  pass 
through  the  Little  Bras  D'Or,  which 
is  very  narrow  in  many  places,  and  re- 
sembles a  beautiful  river.  It  is  full  of 
the  most  delightful  surprises,  for  you 
think  youi-self  perfectly  land-locked, 
when  suddenly  yon  come  to  a  little 
opening  and  tind  yourself,  in  less  than 
a  minute,  shooting  into  a  large  bay. 
The  banks  are  wooded  to  the  very 
water's  edge,  whilst  shady  roads  wind 
down,  in  most  per2:)lexing  fashion,  to 
some  rude  wharf,  where  you  will  al- 
ways find  mooi-ed  a  fisherman's  boat 
or  coasting  schooner.  Fine  farms  are 
to  be  seen  on  every  side,  and  now  and 
then  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  tall 
white  spire.  We  pass  within  reach  of 
wooded  islets  and  anon  shoot  out  into 
the  Gi-eat  Bras  D'Or  itself,  where  the 
land  at  last  becomes  quite  indistinct. 
Far  to  the  northward  we  catch  glimp- 
ses of  thfe  highlands  which  tei-minate 
in  the  promontories  of  Capes  North 
and  St.  Lawrence.  It  is  not  the  height 
and  grandeur  of  the  hills,  nor  the  wide 
expanse  of  water,  that  gives  to  these 
lakes  and  their  surroundings  their  pe- 
culiar charm,  but  the  countless  combi- 
nations of  land  and  water,  which  af- 
ford new  scenes  of  bestuty  at  every 
turn.  Variety  is  everywhere  found 
in  the  irregular  shore  ;  in  the  bold, 
rocky  head-lands  which  roll  back  the 
lazy  waves  ;  and  in  the  long,  graceful 
outlinesof  the  sand  and  shingle  beaches 
up  which  they  sparkle,  until  they  break 
into  white  quivering  lines  of  surf  upon 
the  shore.  There  the  restless  motion 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  the  thunder  of 
the  waves  that  encircle  the  island,  are 
unknown  ;  and  in  the  sheltered  bays, 
on  a  calm  day,  the  whole  surface  is 
alive  with  brisflit-coloured  meduste  and 


jelly  fishes  of  every  size,  expanding 
and  contracting  their  umbrella-shaped 
discs  as  they  move  in  search  of  food 
on  the  warm,  tranquil  water.  Cod 
and  mackerel,  herring,  skate  and  hali- 
but are  caught  on  the  banks  and 
shoals;  oysters  of  excellent  quality 
are  found  in  the  bay  sand  ponds  ;  and 
in  the  brooks  which  flow  into  them  on 
every  side,  salmon,  trout,  smelt  and 
gaspereaux  abound. 

For  some  years  a  steamer  called  at 
Whycocomagh  or  at  West  Bay,  at  the 
head  of  the  lakes,  and  the  tourist 
found  his  way  over  land  to  the  Strait 
of  Canso  or  the  Gulf  Shore,  whence 
he  was  conveyed  to  Pictou.  Now 
the  opening  of  the  St.  Peter's  Canal, 
and  the  completion  of  a  railway  to  the 
Strait,  opposite  Poi't  Hawkesbury,will 
largely  add  to  the  facilities  for  travel 
thi-ough  the  island.  But  the  visitor  who 
desires  to  see  something  of  the  most 
picturesque  section  of  Cape  Breton, 
should  go  to  Whycocomagh,  and  drive 
to  the  sea-coast  at  Port  Hood.  He 
will,  in  all  probability,  have  to  be  satis- 
fied with  a  very  primitive  vehicle,  but 
he  will  soon  forget  the  absence  of  easy 
springs  and  soft  cushions  in  view  of 
the  exquisite  scenery  that  meets  the 
eye  wherever  it  wanders.  Those  who 
have  travelled  over  Scotland  cannot 
fail  to  notice  the  striking  resemblance 
that  the  scenery  of  this  part  of  Cape 
Breton  bears  to  that  of  the  Highlands. 
Indeed,  the  country  is  chiefly  inhabit- 
ed by  the  Scotch  who,  as  a  rule  in  this 
district,  are  a  well-to-do  class.  Some 
of  the  best  farms  in  the  Province 
are  here  to  be  seen,  proving  conclu- 
sively the  fine  agricultural  capabilities 
of  this  section  of  the  island.  As  we 
pass  along  the  mountain  side  we  over- 
look a  beautiful  valley,  whei^e  one  of 
the  branches  of  the  Mabou  River  pur- 
sues its  devious  way,  looking  like  a 
silver  thread  thi'own  upon  a  carpet 
of  the  deepest  green.  Every  now  and 
then  we  pass  groups  of  beautiful  elms, 
rising  amid  the  wide  expanse  of  mea- 
dows. No  portion  of  the  landscape  is 
tame  or  monotonous,  but  all  is  remark- 


S3-t 


THE  INLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


ably  diversified.  The  eye  can  linger 
in  exquisite  sylvan  nooks,  or  lose  it- 
self amid  the  hills  that  rise  away  be- 
yond until  they  disappear  in  the  pur- 
ple distance — 

Yo\a  should  have  seen  that  long  hill  range, 

With  gaps  of  brightness  riven, 
How, through  each  pass  and  hollow, streamed 

The  purpling  light  of  heaven. 

There  are  only  two  towns  of  im- 
portance on  the  island.  Arichat  is 
built  on  the  small  island  of  Madame, 
on  the  southern  coast  of  Cape  Breton, 
and  contains  several  important  fishing 
establishments  owned  by  Acadian 
or  Jersey  merchants.  It  is  the  chief 
town  of  the  County  of  Richmond,  and 
the  majority  of  the  population  are 
French  Catholics,who  have  established 
a  convent,  where  a  good  education  can 
be  obtained.  Sydney  is  the  important 
town  of  the  island,  and  is  situated  on 
the  harb-our  to  which  reference  has 
previously  been  made.  The  only  dis- 
advantage that  attaches  to  this  re- 
markably fine  port  is  the  fact  that  it 
is  frequently  ice-bound  during  the 
winter  months.  The  mines  of  the 
Mining  Association  of  London  are  at 
the  entrance  of  the  harbour,  and  are 
connected  by  rail  with  the  place  of 
shipment  which  is,  in  local  parlance, 
known  as  '  the  Bar  ' — quite  an  enter- 
prising place,  with  some  fine  shops 
and  churches.  Six  miles  further  up 
the  river  is  the  capital  of  the  island, 
the  old  town  of  Sydney,  which  is  built 
on  a  peninsula.  For  many  years  Syd- 
ney led  a  very  sluggish  existence.  In 
former  times  Cape  Breton  was  a  sepa- 
rate colony,  and  Sydney  had  a  resident 
Governor  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
a  seat  of  government.  Society  was  in 
a  constant  state  of  excitement  on  ac- 
count of  the  squabbles  between  the 
officials,  who  on  more  than  one  ooca- 
sion  called  out  and  shot  each  other  in 
the  most  approved  style  of  the  older 
communities  of  Europe.  A  company 
of  regular  troops  was  stationed 
there  for  many  years,  but  the  old  bar- 
racks are  now  the  only  evidence  that 
remains  of  those  gay  days  when  Her 


Majesty's  forces  enlivened  the  mono- 
tony of  the  ancient  town.  With  the 
disappearance  of  the  troops,  and  the 
decay  of  trade,  Sydney  for  year's  be- 
came one  of  the  dullest  places  in 
British  America.  Some  ten  or  eleven 
years  ago,  however,  additional  life  was 
given  to  the  town  by  the  expenditure 
of  considerable  capital  in  building  rail- 
ways, piers  and  other  works  necessary 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  coal 
trade,  which  suddenly  assumed  consider- 
able importance.  Sydney  is  situated  in 
the  centre  of  the  finest  carboniferous 
district  of  British  America.  English, 
American  and  Canadian  companies 
have  mines  in  operation  at  Cow  Bay, 
Glace  Bay,  Lingan  and  North  Sydney, 
and  had  we  reciprocity  in  coal  with 
the  United  States,  and  new  ave- 
nues of  trade  opened  up,  a  great  com- 
mercial impulse  would  necessarily  be 
given  to  the  old  town,  which  appears 
to  be  again  comparatively  at  a  stand 
still. 

Louisbourg,  which  is  some  twenty- 
four  miles  from  Sydney,  by  the  old 
carriage  road  that  crosses  the  beau- 
tiful Mira  Eiver  about  halfway,  will 
be  always  one  of  the  first  places  vis- 
ited by  the  tourist.  When  I  last  stood 
on  the  site  of  the  old  town,  some 
time  ago,  the  scene  was  one  of  per- 
fect desolation.  The  old  town  was 
built  on  a  tongue  of  land  near  the  en- 
trance of  the  harbour,  and  from  the 
formidable  character  of  its  fortifica- 
tions was  justly  considered  the  Dun- 
kirk of  America.  The  natural  advan- 
tages of  the  port  of  Louisbourg,  im- 
mediately on  the  Atlantic  coast,  very 
soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
French  in  those  days  when  they  en- 
tertained ambitious  designs  with  re- 
ference to  this  Continent.  As  an 
entrepot  for  vessels  sailing  between 
France  and  Canada,  and  for  the  large 
fleet  annually  engaged  in  the  New- 
foundland fisheries,  the  town  was  al- 
ways considered  of  great  importance 
by  French  statesmen.  Louisburgwas 
first  taken  by  Warren  and  Pepperell, 
the   latter  a   merchant  of  New  Eng- 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


33; 


land,  who  was  the  first  American  colo- 
nist to  receive  the  honour  of  a  baro- 
netcy in  recognition  of   his    eminent 
services.*    The  success  of  the  colonial 
troops  naturally  attracted  a  great  deal 
of  attention  throughout  England  and 
-was  achieved  very  opportunely  for  the 
Mother    Country.      At    the  time  the 
Colonists   were   gathering  laurels    at 
Louisbourg  the    British    troops  were 
being  beaten  on  the  Continent  of  Eu- 
rope.     '  "We  are  making  a  bonfire  for 
Cape  Breton  and  th undering  for  Genoa, ' 
wrote  that  old  gossip,  Horace  Walpole, 
■*  while  our  army  is  running   away  in 
Flanders.'     By  the  treaty  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  Cape  Breton  fell  once  more 
into  the  hands  of  the  French,  who  im- 
mediately renewed  the  fortifications  ef 
Louisbourg.     At  the  time  the  negoti- 
ations for  this  treaty  were  going  on, 
the  French  Court  instructed  its  envoy 
to  take  every  care  that  Cape  Breton 
was  restored  to  France,  so  important 
was  its  position  in  connection  with  the 
trade  of  Canada  and  Louisiana.   Peace 
between  France  and  England  was  not 
of  long  duration  in  those  times,    and 
among  the  great  events  of  the  war  that 
ensued  was  the  capture  of  Louisbourg. 
Great  were   the  rejoicings  when  the 
news  reached  England.    The  captured 
standards    were    borne    in    triumph 
through  the  streets  of  London  and  de- 
posited in  St.  Paul's  amidst  the  roar  of 
cannon    and    the    beating   of    kettle 
drums.     From  that  day  to  this.  Cape 
Breton  has  been  almost  entirely  for- 
gotten by  the  statesmen  and  people  of 
England.     Fifty  years  after  the  fall  of 
Louisbourg,  Lord    Bathurst   actually 
ordered  all  American  prisoners  to  be 
removed  from  Halifax  to  Louisbourg, 
as  a  place  of  safety.      He  was  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  soon  after  the 
capture  of  the  town,  its  fortifications 
were  razed  to  the  ground,  and  a  good 
deal  of  the  stone,  as  well  as  all  the 


*The  colonel  commanding  the  Connecticut 
regiment,  at  that  time  Speaker  of  the  Provin- 
cial House,  was  Andrew  Burr,  whose  direct 
descendant  is  Mr.  J.  B.  Plumb,  Member  for 
Niagara. 


implements  of  iron,  were  carried  to 
Halifax.  As  the  visitor  now  walks  over 
the  site,  he  can  form  a  very  accurate 
idea,  if  he  has  a  map  with  him,  of  the 
character  of  the  fortifications,  and  the 
large  space  occupied  by  the  town.  The 
form  of  the  batteries  is  easily  traced, 
although  covered  with  sod,  and  a 
number  of  relics,  in  the  shape  of 
shells  and  cannon  balls,  can  be  dug  up 
by  any  enterprising  explorer.  The 
Governor-General,  during  his  visit  of 
the  past  summer,  among  other  things, 
came  across  an  old  sword  which  he 
has  recently  presented  to  the  Geologi- 
cal Museum  just  opened  at  Ottawa. 

The  country  surrounding  the  har- 
bour is  extremely  barren  and  uninter- 
esting, from  the  absence  of  fine  trees 
and  the  lofty  hills  which  predominate 
in  the  north-western  section  of  the 
island.  As  one  wanders  over  the 
grassy  mounds  that  alone  illustrate  the 
historic  past,  one  is  overcome  by 
the  intense  loneliness  that  pervades 
the  surroundings.  Instead  of  spacious 
stone  mansions,  we  see  only  a  few 
fishermen's  huts.  A  collier  or  fishing 
boat,  or  wind-bound  coaster,  floats  in 
the  spacious  harbour,  where  the  fleets 
of  the  two  gi-eat  maritime  nations  of 
Europe  once  I'ode  at  anchor.  The  old 
grave-yard  of  the  French  is  a  feeding 
place  for  the  sheep  of  the  settlers. 
The  ruined  casemates,  the  piles  of 
stones,  the  bullets  that  lie  at  our  feet, 
are  the  sole  memorials  of  the  days 
when  France  and  England  contended 
for  the  possession  of  a  town  which  was 
an  ever-present  menace  to  New  Eng- 
land. As  we  stand  on  this  famous 
historic  spot — 

We  hear  the  jar 

Of  beaten  drums,   and  thunders  that  break 

forth 
From  cannon,  where  the  billow  sends 
Up  to  the  sight  long  files  of  armed  men, 
That  hurry  to  the  charge  through  flame  and 

smoke. 

The  harbour,  which  is  two  miles  in 
length  and  half  a  mile  in  width,  with  a 
depth  of  from  three  to  six  fathoms, 
communicates  with  the  open  ocean  by  a 


336 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


channel  only  half  a  mile  in  length  and 
one-third  of  a  mile  in  width,  with  a 
depth  of  from  six  to  ten  fathoms.  A  ves- 
sel arriving  on  the  coast  with  a  favour- 
able wind  can  reach  safe  anchorage  in 
a  few  minutes  after  passing  the  light- 
house.   This  easiness  of  access  in  sum- 
mer and  winter  without  any  interven- 
ing bay  or  roadstead,  was  probably  one 
of  the  principal   reasons  why  Louis- 
Viourg   was   chosen    in   preference    to 
other  harbours,  like  St,  Ann's  or  Syd- 
ney.    Vessels  can  ride  at  anchor  with 
safety  in  all  parts  of  the  harbour  when 
'the  rocky  coast  outside  and  the  islands 
at  the  entrance,  not  more  than  half  a 
mile  distant,  are  exposed  to  the   un- 
broken fury  of  the  waves,  and  enveloped 
in  immense  sheets   of  surging  foam. 
It  is  certainly  strange  that  Louisbourg, 
notwithstanding  its  great  advantages 
as  a  port,   should  have    remained  so 
many  years   in  obscurity  when  com- 
merce is  always  searching  out  the  most 
available  entrepots  for  traffic  between 
the  Old  and  New  World.    Since  the  re- 
vival in  the  coal  trade  of  Cape  Breton, 
a  railway  has  been  constructed  between 
Sydney  and  Louisbourg,  with  the  ob- 
ject of  making  the  latter  the  winter 
port  of  the  island.     The  consequence 
is  that  a  few  new  buildings  have  been 
erected  around  the  harbour,  and  prepa- 
rations made  for  considerable  traffic  in 
the  future.     Steamers  engaged  in  the 
European  trade  must  sooner  or  later 
make  the  old  port  a  stopping  place  for 
coal  and  passengers.     The  distance  of 
the  ocean  voyage  from  Louisbourg  to 
Liverpool  is  2,255  miles,  or  some  700 
miles  shorter  than  from  New  York  to 
Liverpool — a  great  advantage  in  the 
winter  season.     The  difference  of  time 
would  be  at  least  thirty  hours  in  fa- 
vour of  Louisbourg,  if  a  steamer  could 
connect  with  a  continuous  rail  route 
to  New  York.     It  would  also  take  be- 
tween seven  and  eight  days  to  reach 
Quebec  from  London  via  Louisbourg.* 
At  present  there  is  a  rail  connection 

*  Report  of  Committee  on  Shortest  E-oute 
to  Europe,  House  of  Commons  Journals,  1873, 
Appendix  u. 


from  Quebec  to  the  Strait  of  Canso^ 
and  the  only  line  that  has  to  be  con- 
structed is  one  from  the  Strait  ta 
Louisbourg — a  distance  of  some  eighty 
miles  over  a  country  which  offers  every 
facility  for  railway  construction.  The 
Strait  of  Canso  must  of  course  be 
cx'ossed  by  means  of  a  steam  ferry,  con- 
structed with  a  special  view  to  carry 
cars  and  combat  the  heavy  ice  which 
bars  the  passage  at  certain  times  of  the 
year.  Looking  then  at  the  advantage- 
ous position  of  Louisboui-g  on  the  At- 
lantic, and  its  accessibility  to  the  great 
coal  mines  of  the  island,  it  is  easy  to 
predict  that  the  time  is  not  far  dis- 
tant when  it  must  become  the  eastern 
terminus  of  the  Dominion  system  of 
railways,  and  one  of  the  most  flourish- 
ing cities  on  this  Continent. 

Wherever  you.  go  in  Cape  Breton 
you  come  vipon  traces  of  the  French 
occupation.  Many  of  the  old  names, 
are,  however,  becoming  rapidly  cor- 
rupted as  time  passes,  and  their  origin 
is  forgotten.  One  would  hardly  recog- 
nise in  '  Big  Loran  '  the  title  of  the 
haughty  house  of  Lorraine.  The  river 
Margarie,  remarkable  for  its  scenery 
and  the  finest  salmon  fishing  in  the 
Maritime  Provinces,  is  properly  the 
INIarguerite.  Mire  has  lost  its  accent 
and  become  Mira.  Inganish  was  ori- 
ginally Niganiche.  The  beautiful 
Bras  D'Or  still  retains  its  euphoneous 
and  appropriate  name,  and  so  does 
Boularderie  Island,  at  the  entrance  of 
the  lake.  Port  Toulouse  is  now  known 
as  St.  Peter's — the  terminus  of  the 
canal.  The  present  name  of  the  island 
is  itself  an  evidence  of  French  oc- 
cupation. Some  of  those  adventurous 
Basque  mariners  and  fishermen,  who 
have  been  visiting  the  waters  of  the 
Gulf  for  centuries,  first  gave  the  name 
of  Cape  Breton  to  the  eastern  point  of 
the  island,  after  *  Cape  Breton,'  near 
Bayonne. 

Many  interesting  relics  are  now  and 
then  turned  up  by  the  plough  in  the 
old  settlements.  I  remember  seeing 
some  years  ago,  a  fine  bell  which  was 
discovei'ed    at  Inganish,    and    which 


THE  ISLAND  OF  CAPE  BRETON. 


33- 


bore,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  in 
France,  the  following  inscription  : 
'  Pour  la  Faroisse  dc  Niyaniche  jay 
ete  nommie  Janne  Francoise par  Johan- 
iiis  Decarette  et  par  Francoisse  Vrail 
parain  et  maraine — la  fosse  Ilvet  de 
St.  Mala  ma  fait  An,  1729.' 

No  one  can  travel  for  any  length  of 
time  through  the  island  without  see- 
ing the  evidence  of  its  being  behind 
other  parts  of  British  America  in  pros- 
}>erity,  despite  the  many  elements  of 
wealth  that  exist  in  its  soil  and  sui'- 
lounding  waters.  As  a  rule  the  people 
are  by  no  means  enterprising.  The 
great  majority  are  Scotch  by  descent, 
and  many  of  them  exhibit  the  thrift 
and  industry  of  their  race.  Many 
of  the  younger  men  go  off  yearly 
to  the  United  States  and  those  of 
them  who  return  generally  come 
back  imbued  with  more  progressive 
ideas.  The  descendants  of  the  old 
French  population  are  an  indus- 
trious class,  chiefly  engaged  in  mari- 
time pursuits.  A  portion  of  the  inhabit- 
ants consists  of  the  descendants  of 
American  loyalists  and  the  original 
English  settlers  who  came  into  the 
country  after  the  capture  of  Louisbourg 
and  the  foundation  of  Sydney,  Agri- 
culture is  largely  followed  by  the 
people,  and  with  some  measure  of  suc- 
cess in  the  fertile  lands  watered  by 
Spanish,  Mire,  Bedeque,  Mabou  and 
other  rivers.  On  the  sea  coast  the 
fisheries  predominate,  though  all  the 
people  even  there,  more  or  less,  till 
small  farms.  The  collieries  absorb  a 
considerable  number  of  men  in  the 
county  of  Cape  Breton,  which  is  the 
most  prosperous  and  populous  section 
of  the  island.  A  good  many  persons 
are  engaged  in  the  coasting  trade,  es- 
pecially at  Sydney  and  Arichat,  though 
ship-building  has  never  been  pursiied 
to  any  extent — Sydney  in  this  respect 
oflfering  no  comparison  with  the  great 
ship-owning  towns  of  Yarmouth  and 
Hantsport  in  Nova  Scotia  pi-oper. 
The  island  is  divided  into  four  political 
divisions — Cape  Breton,  Richmond, 
Inverness  and  Victoria,  which  return 


five  members  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, besides  giving  three  senators  to 
the  Upper  House  of  Parliament. 

The  total  population  of  the  island 
may  be  estimated  at  ninety  thousand 
souls,  and  as  an  illustration  of  its 
trade.  I  may  add  that  last  year 
the  number  of  vessels  that  entered 
inwards  at  the  ports  of  Arichat  and 
Sydney  alone  was  nearly  1000 — 
the  great  majority  entering  at  the  lat- 
ter port  for  supplies  of  coal  and  com- 
prising many  steamers  and  craft  of 
large  tonnage. 

There  are  about  five  hundred  In- 
dians on  the  island,  all  belonging  to 
the  Micmac  tribe,  which  has  continued 
to  dwell  in  Nova  Scotia  since  the  days 
when  De  Monts  and  De  Poutrencourt 
landed  on  the  western  shore  of  Acadie 
and  founded  Port  Ptoyal.  The  majority 
now  live  at  Escasoni  in  a  very  pictur- 
esque section  of  Cape  Breton  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Bras  D'Or  Lake,  where 
they  have  some  fine  farms  and  wor- 
ship in  a  large  chapel. 

No  part  of  British  America  is  richer 
in  natural  resources,  and  in  all  those 
elements  necessary  to  create  wealth 
and  prosperity,  than  this  noble  island; 
but  unfortunately  its  progress  so  far 
has  been  retarded  by  the  want  of  ca- 
pital and  the  absence  of  speedy  com- 
munication with  the  rest  of  the  Conti- 
nent. The  collieries  are  numei-ous,  but 
the  output  of  coal  is  still  relatively  in- 
significant— over  500,000  tons  a  year 
— when  we  consider  the  wealth  they 
could  send  forth  were  there  a  larger 
market  open  to  this  great  source  of 
national  prosperity. 

The  island  stands  on  the  very 
threshold  of  the  finest  fishing  grounds 
of  the  world.  Quarries  of  marble, 
gypsum,  limestone  and  other  valuable 
stone  abound,  and  oil  is  also  known 
to  exist  in  the  Lake  Ainslie  district. 
The  natural  position  of  the  island  is 
remarkably  advantageous  for  trade 
of  every  kind.  It  stands  at  the 
gateway  of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence, 
a  splendid  entrepot  of  commerce  in 
times  of  peace,  and  an  invaluable  buU 


}88 


WET  RE  TO  MEET  AGAIN: 


•\vark  of  defence  in  the  days  of  war. 
Whether  we  consider  its  geographical 
relations  to  the  rest  of  Canada,  or  its 
prolific  natural  resources,  we  cannot 
but  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
tide  of  prosperity  which  is  now  flowing 
so  steadily  in  the  direction  of  all  parts 
of    this    Continent   Cannot    continue 


much  longer  to  pass  by  its  too  long- 
neglected  shores,  but  will  sooner  or 
later  lift  the  island  out  of  the  isola- 
tion and  obscurity  which  now  over- 
shadow its  progress,  and  enable  it  at 
last  to  take  its  proper  position  among 
the  industrial  communities  of  the 
Dominion. 


WE'EE  TO   MEET  AGAIN. 


"A  \  rE'RE  to  meet  again,  this  week  or  next, 

V  V        And  I'm  sorely  troubled,  my  dear ! 
To  know  hoiv  we'll  meet — for  we  parted — 
Well — somewhat  like  lovers  last  year. 

Since  you  have  written  no  letter 

/  could  not,  it  was  not  my  place  ; 
I  scarce  know  if  by  this  I'm  supplanted 

By  a  prettier  figure  and  face. 

I,  being  a  girl  and  more  constant, 

Thought  often  of  dropping  a  line 
To  inquire  of  your  health  and  enjoyments. 

And  ask — where  you  usually  dine  : 

If,  just  as  of  old,  on  your  Sundays 

You  go  to  the  Tompkins'  to  tea. 
And  dine  with  '  Old  Hector  and  Madame,' 

And  talk  of  the  dreadful  '  N.  R' : 

Get  up  late  in  the  mornings,  etc., — 

Well,  I  thought  I  would  write  of  these  things 
But  such  resolutions,  '  dear  Frederick,' 

Are  borne  on  the  flimsiest  wings  ! 


Miss  Jones,  your  old  love — what  about  her  ? 

Did  you  mind  her  engagement  with  Brown  ] 
I  heard  that  the  way  she  still  flirted, 

Was  the  talk  of  your  virtuous  town. 

I  wonder  how  I  shall  meet  you, 

If  y(ju  will  be  formal  and  stiff. 
You  are  very  often,  I've  noticed, 

And  then  if  you  are — dear  me  ! — if — 


'  1V£:'RE  TO  MEET  AGAIN.'  339 

If  you  are,  why  I  shall  be  likewise, 

And  mask  all  my  gladness — and  that, 
And  watch  you  sit  prim  in  the  parlour. 

And  twirl  your  moustache  and  your  hat. 

If  you're  stiff  I'll  be  stiff,  and  tell  you 

In  ladylike  fashion,  the  news, 
Be  sure  not  to  strike  on  old  chords, 

Which  might  all  our  manners  confuse, 

I'll  talk  of  the  latest  Receptions, 

And  touch  on  the  news  of  the  day, 
The  '  troubles  in  Ireland,'  then  '  Patience,' 

A  word  for  the  Opera  and  Play. 

Talk  like  this,  with  the  family  present, 

Will  sound  very  proper  and  nice, 
If  you're  stiff  and  cold,  my  'dear  Frederick,' 

I,  too,  can  be — veriest  ice. 

If  you're  formal.  Ah,  me,  I'll  be  sorry, 

I  vow  I  shall  cry  for  a  week, 
Look  aesthetic  and  pale  and  despondent, 

Not  a  word  to  a  soul  will  I  speak. 

I'll  read  *  Owen  Meredith's '  verses, 

I'll  languish,  pout,  probably  sigh. 
Till  I'd  wake  in  a  stone  even—  pity, 

And  afterwards,  most  likely  (1)  die, 

I'm  filled  with  despair  at  the  picture 

I've  drawn  of  the  close  of  my  life. 
How  different,  'dear  Frederick,'  it  might  be, 

If  you  came  to  our  house  for  a  '  wife.' 

You'd  find  me  all  smiles  and  all  blushes, 

Your  proposal  would  give  me  a — shock  1 
Yet  'twould  make  very  happy  a  maiden 

Who  abides  in  the  most  dismal  'Block.' 

I  should  not  appear  over  eager — 

Oh  no,  I  should  not  be  like  that, 
I — but  why  am  I  writing  this  rubbish. 

You'll  see  it  no  more  than  the  cat ! 

If  you  did,  it  might  alter  my  prospects, — 

However,  next  week  will  decide 
Whether  '  Frederick  '  ask  or  don't  ask  me 

To  be  '  Mr,  Smith's  '  '  blushing  Bride.' 

A.  L.  M. 


340 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


BY    '  ESPERAXCE,      YORKVILLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ELSIE  GRAEME  lay  on  the  low 
couch  before  the  blazing  hearth 
fire,  one  arm  thrown  above  her  head 
as  it  rested  on  the  back  of  the  couch. 
The  red  fire-light  fell  brightly  on  the 
wavy  dark-brown  hair,  and  the  brown 
eyes  were  full  of  quiet  thoughtfulness. 
She  was  singing  softly  to  herself  the 
old  love-song  of  *  Claribel,'  gazing 
thoughtfully  at  the  flames  meanwhile. 
*  I  am  content  to  be  living  in  the  sha- 
dow if  only  the  sunlight  fall  brightly 
o'er  thee,'  she  sang,  and  the  words  fell 
softly  from  her  lips.  Unperceived  by 
her  a  young  man  had  entered  the  room 
and  now  stood  watching  her,  perhaps 
admiring  the  pretty  picture  she  made 
— a  young  man  with  dark  eyes  very 
much  like  Elsie's  own,  and  clustering 
curls,  which  shone  in  the  firelight  and 
were  in  reality  of  a  golden  brown.  '  I 
believe  you  would  ! '  he  soliloquises,  as 
he  listened  to  Elsie's  song.  '  I  believe 
you  would,  wee  Elsie,  small  and  fi^a- 
gile  as  you  look  !  Not  at  all  formed 
for  winter  winds  and  storms,  but  I 
think  you  would  brave  them  if  it 
benefit  the  man  you  learn  to  love,  and 
I  do  not  think  you  would  mind  them 
so  much  if  only  he  was  not  buetted 
by  them — but  time  may  show  ! ' 

This  was  sober  thinking  for  Regin- 
ald EUerslie,  who  was  one  of  the  hap- 
piest and  best-hearted  fellows  in  the 
world — with  a  smile  ever  ready  on  his 
lips,  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his 
eyes,  and  a  step  that  told  of  utter  free- 
dom from  all  that  savoured  of  care  or 
trouble. 

'  Good  evening,  cousin  mine  ! '  he 
said  gaily,  as  he  advanced  to  the  fire. 


*  Reg  !  you  returned  !  When  did 
you  come  !  ' 

'  When  do  you  suppose,  ma'am  1  Was 
I  at  the  tea-table  1  It  isn't  so  long 
after  tea-time  now  !  ' 

*  I  mean,  have  you  just  come — you 
must  be  cold,  it  is  freezing  outside. 
Whew  !  it  makes  me  shiver  to  think  of 
it!' 

'  I  am  content  though  the  north 
wind  be  cruel ! '  sang  Reginald,  sug- 
gestively. 

'  Oh  Reg  !  were  you  listening  1 
What  a  spy  !  But  one  doesn't  always 
mean  what  one  sings  ! '  Nevertheless, 
the  pale  pink  deepened  in  her  cheek, 

'  Have  you  seen  aunt  and  uncle  ?  ^ 
she  continued  hastily. 

'  No  !  I  saw  the  glow  of  your  fire 
on  the  outside,  and  catching  a  glimpse 
of  what  looked  like  a  young  lady  on 
the  sofa  I  thought  I  would  come  in 
and  let  you  give  me  my  first  welcome 
home — but  a  si>y  deserved  death,  so  I 
suppose ' 

'  Sit  down  and  warm  yourself  while 
I  go  and  call  them  ! '  interrupted  the 
girl,  and  she  left  the  room. 

Reginald's  eyes  followed  her  to  the 
door,  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  mentally 
ejaculated  :  '  My  stars  !  she's  prettier 
than  ever — a  very  little  witcli !  ' 

Ere  long  a  lady  and  gentleman  en- 
tered the  room,  both  middle-aged,  the 
first  much  like  her  son,  with  the  same 
coloured  hair  and  eyes — the  latter  tall 
and  portly,  and  somewhat  dignified. 
Both  parents  gave  their  son  a  hearty 
welcome  home,  and  then  came  anxious 
inquiries  as  to  whether  he  was  not 
cold,  tired,  and  of  course  he  was  hun- 
gry ! '  And  so  the  bell  was  rung,  and 
tea  ordered  for  *  Master  Reginald.' 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


'  And  also  a  fire  in  my  bedroom, 
Martha,  please,'  added  Reginald,  of  his 
own  accord. 

First  he  I'elieved  himself  of  his  great 
coat  and  muffler,  and  deposited  both 
on  the  hall  rack  ;  then  he  came  back 
and  took  his  seat  again  at  the  fire, 
resting  his  feet  on  the  fender  to  warm 
them,  declaring  that  they  were  '  half- 
frozen  1 '  Of  course  sympathy  and 
consolation  were  showered  upon  him  ! 
What  less  could  doting  parents  do  for 
an  only  son  ?  But  Elsie  sat  demurely 
by  the  fire  and  smiled  to  herself.  Then 
tea  came  in,  and  Reginald  turned  to 
<liscuss  it  with  hungry  zest,  whilst 
Elsie  moved  to  the  table  to  pour  out 
his  tea. 

'■  Home  for  the  holidays  !'  exclaiaied 
Reginald  presently — '  Wont  we  have 
have  some  fun  now,  Elsie  1 ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  responded  that  im- 
perturbable maiden. 

'  Don't  know  ?  You  called  me  spy 
— beg  pardon,  madam,  but  I  must  re- 
turn the  compliment  by  calling  you 
ti'aitoress  !      Why,  /  am  here  ! ' 

'  What  diflference  will  that  make? ' 

'  What  difference  ?  A  great  diflfer- 
ence, ma  cousine.  I  am  Reginald  El- 
lerslie — and  Reginald  Ellerslie  is  some- 
body— at  least  in  his  own  opinion.' 

'  Ah  ! '     This  from  Elsie. 

'  Yes  ! '  continued  Reginald,  in  no- 
wise abashed,  '  and  moreover  some- 
body who  is  especially  partial  to  fun 
and  generally  finds  it ;  so  to-morrow, 
Miss  Doubtful,  we'll  begin  by  having 
a  skate — shall  we  1 ' 

'  Yes,  only — '  and  she  looked  comi- 
cally at  the  little  feet  resting  on  the 
rug — '  unfortunately  my  ambitious  feet 
have  grown  entirely  beyond  all  possi- 
bility of  fitting  into  my  sole  pair  of 
skates,  and — ' 

'  That  can  be  easily  arranged  ! '  in- 
terrupted Reginald.  *  We  can  get  a 
pair  on  our  way  to  the  rink.  Is  that 
your  only  objection] ' 

'  Yes  ;  thank  you.  I  have  been  in- 
tending to  get  a  pair  for  some  weeks 
past,  but  I  have  not,  for  I  have  had 
no  one  to  skate  with.' 


341 

'  No  one  to  skate  with  !  Where's 
Clair  ] ' 

'  Clair  Thorold  ?  Don't  you  know  1 
He  went  to  California  —  went  two 
weeks  ago  ! ' 

*  We7it  to  California  !  What  ever 
for  ?  '  And  Reginald's  tone  was  full 
of  astonishment. 

'  How  should  /  know  ! '  retorted  the 
girl,  so  peevishly,  that  both  her  aunt 
and  uncle  looked  up.  Reginald  looked 
keenly  at  her  as  she  poured  out  his 
third  cup  of  tea. 

'  When  did  he  go  ?  '    ho  asked. 

'  I  told  you — two  weeks  ago.  Won't 
you  have  anything  else,  Reginald  1 ' 

'  No,  thank  you,'  answered  the 
young  man,  but  he  was  wondering 
what  was  the  matter  between  these 
two — his  pretty  cousin  and  his  dearest 
friend,  his  friend  from  boyhood  and 
his  chosen  companion  when  at  home 
now.  'I  wondered  he  didn't  write  !'  he 
said  half  to  himself  after  a  long  pause, 
during  which  the  tea-tray  had  been 
removed . 

'  What  1  on  that  subject  still  1  ex- 
claimed Elsie.  '  Do  try  to  think  of 
something  else  !  Tell  me  of  your  col- 
lege-doings. Any  escapades  ?— any 
reprimands? — and  what  prizes  have 
you  won  ? ' 

'  No — to  the  first  two  questions — 
and  three  prizes  have  fallen  to  the 
share  of  your  obedient  servant,'  laugh- 
ingly responded  Reginald,  rousing 
himself  out  of  his  abstraction  and 
abandoning  the  former  subject  of  con- 
versation in  deference  to  his  cousin's 
evident  dislike  to  pursue  it ;  but  once 
alone  in  his  room,  he  thought  of  it 
again,  and  wondered  to  himself  what 
could  have  happened — Clair  to  be 
gone  and  Elsie  speaking  so  lightly  of 
it !  Did  they  understand  each  other  ? 
No — or  Elsie  would  not  have  been  so 
fretful.  There  was  something  the 
matter — that  was  certain — but  what 
was  it  ?  Well,  thinking  would  not 
mend  the  matter  to-night,  so  for  the 
present  to  bed ! '  and  Reginald  was 
not  long  in  falling  asleep  despite  his 
perplexity  and  curiosity 


342 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


One  week  after,  a  man,  not  OA^er 
twenty-tbree  or  four,  with  fair  clus- 
tering curls  and  clear  gray  eyes,  with 
a  broad  manly  figure  and  a  face  that 
would  win  one's  trust  at  first  sight, 
stands  in  the  open  doorway  of  one  of 
the  numerous  poor  impromptu  habita- 
tions on  the  gold-fields  of  California. 
In  his  hand  is  a  letter  which  he  is 
reading.  '  What  was  the  cause  of  my 
sudden  flight  ? '  'Why  did  I  go? '  he 
repeats  aloud.  '  Ah,  why  did  I  ? '  he 
exclaims,  dropping  the  letter,  and  look- 
ing up  at  the  rosy  sunset  clouds 
which  flood  the  sky  opposite  him  with 
crimson  light —  'Ah,  why  did  I, 
Elsie  1  Because  I  could  not  bear  to 
live  near  and  never  speak  to  you ! 
What  did  I  do,  dear  love,  that  you 
should  send  me  from  you  1 ' 

The  rosy  light  fades  and  dies  away, 
and  the  evening  shadows  steal  into 
the  skies,  but  Clair  still  stands  there, 
framed  in  the  low  broad  doorway, 
with  a  weary  look  in  the  honest  gray 
eyes  and  lines  of  pain  about  the  well- 
formed  mouth — lines  which  are  doomed 
to  deepen  and  grow  plainer  ere  the 
hand  of  returning  joy  shall  brush 
them  away  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CHRISTMAS  morning  broke, 
bright  and  sunny.  The  snow 
lay  thickly  on  the  winter  world,  but 
the  sky  sbove  was  dai'kly  blue  and  in 
the  naked  branches  of  the  maples  and 
amid  the  evergreen  foliage  of  the  firs, 
the  last  stray  robin  sang  a  gladsome 
welcome  to  the  birthday  of  the  Sav- 
iour of  mankind.  Peace  and  happi- 
ness were  abroad.  The  very  little 
beggar-children  joined  in  with  blither 
voices  to  wish  each  other  '  A  Merry 
Christmas  ! '  The  evening  before  had 
been  cloudy  and  snowy,  but  during 
the  night,  in  excited  preparation  for 
the  morn,  the  wind  had  brushed  the 
shadows  from  the  sky  and  left  it  glad 
and  smiling  for  the  coming  day.  Later 


on,  the  streets  were  thronged  with 
people  going  to  church  and  chapel — 
old  and  young,  men  and  women  and 
little  children — all  were  out  to-day, 
with  the  unity  born  of  one  common 
purpose,  one  common  joy.  Amid  the 
throng  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  EUerslie, 
their  son  and  niece.  Wrapped  up  in 
her  dark  furs  and  scarlet  cloud,  Elsie 
looked  a  veritable  robin — a  spot  of 
crimson  amidst  the  surrounding  white- 
ness. There  was  a  dull  pain  in  the 
girl's  head  and  heart  that  greatly 
damped  her  pleasure  — but  the  mere 
thought  of  the  reason  for  which  she 
had  sent  Clair  Thorold  away  on  that 
day  when  he  came  to  ask  her  the  ques- 
tion she  had  anticipated  with  such 
different  feeling  before,  roused  her 
wounded  pride  again,  and  made  her 
laugh  and  talk  to  hide  the  sore  pain 
of  insulted  love  which  was  burning  at 
her  heart.  Reginald  walked  beside 
her,  and  as  he  wondered  at  her 
strange  gaiety  and  indifference,  he 
felt  a  curious,  vague  feeling  of  half- 
pleasure  in  the  thought  that,  after  all, 
he  had  been  mistaken  in  thinking  she 
cared  fur  Clair.  He  looked  down  at 
the  little  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  was 
conscious  of  a  new  feeling  of  pride  and 
pleasure  in  having  his  little  cousin  by 
his  side.  Merrily,  merrily,  the  bells- 
rang  out,  and  just  as  the  last  echo 
died  away  upon  the  winter  air,  they 
reached  the  porch  and  went  in.  Then 
for  two  whole  hours  the  streets  were 
still  and  silent,  and  the  snowbirds  and 
the  robins  with  the  little  vagrants 
who  would  not  venture  inside  the 
gaily  decorated  churches,  all  dii'ty 
and  ragged  as  they  were,  had  them  all 
to  themselves.  But  at  last  the  crowd 
came  out  again,  and  the  crisp  snow 
crunched  and  crackled  baneath  the 
tread  of  many  feet ;  the  feet  of  those 
who  were  returning  to  warm  com- 
fortable homes  and  well-spread  tables, 
and  the  little  Arabs  watched  these 
more  happily-favoui'ed  fellow-mortals 
and  gazed  in  longing  awe  at  the  rich 
warm  fur  and  woollen  winter  dresses, 
and  wondered  where  each  one  lived 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


843 


and  what  he  or  she  was  returning  to. 
Elsie  had  been  comforted  by  the  ser- 
vice, and  she  felt  a  degree  of  quiet 
hopeful  happiness  to  which  she  had 
been  a  stranger  for  two  weeks  and 
more. 

*  Reginald,'  she  said,  as  they  walked 
home  together,  '  have  you  made  any 
plan  for  the  afternoon  1 

'No.     Why  do  you  ask?' 

'  Because  I  wish  you  would  go  with 
me  to  see  some  poor  people  I  always 
visit  on  Christmas  day.  I  know  you 
never  have  cared  for  such  visiting ; 
but  if  you  do  not  mind  very  much,  I 
would  like  you  to  go  with  me — will 
you  ? ' 

'  Why,  of  course  I  will,  little  Cou- 
sin!'  replied  Reginald, laughing  ;  'only 
don't  take  me  into  any  back  alleys  and 
by-lanes  where  one  is  almost  suffocated 
for  want  of  air  and  sunshine— pro- 
mise 1 ' 

'  No — because  I  must  go  into  one 
back  alley,  and  that's  just  where  I 
want  you  particularly  to  go  with  me  ! ' 

'  Ah  me  ! '  and  Reginald  resigned 
himself  to  his  fate  with  a  mock  groan. 
He  remembered  how  last  Christmas 
Clair  Thorold  had  dropped  in  for  the 
afternoon,  and  on  Reginald's  protest 
against  accompanying  his  cousin  on  her 
charitable  visiting,  had  eagerly  offered 
Ids  services  which  were  thankfully  ac- 
cepted. Elsie,  too,  remembered  this, 
and  in  her  inmost  heart  she  felt  a 
strange  pleasure  in  going  again  on  that 
day  to  the  same  places  he  had  gone 
to  with  her.  Luncheon  over,  for  din- 
ner was  always  late  on  Christmas  Day, 
Elsie  went  up  stairs  and  returned 
equipped  in  furs  and  muffler,  with  a 
basket  over  her  arm,  and  a  bundle  in 
her  hand,  of  both  of  which  Reginald 
took  possession,  and  then  the  two 
started  off.  First  they  went  to  see  an 
old  Scotchwoman  who  was  lame  and 
decrepit,  and  who  earned  her  living 
by  knitting  and  any  other  little  task 
she  could  obtain  from  the  families 
round  about.  To  her  Elsie  read  and 
talked,  and  on  her  departure  left  be- 
hind gifts  which  drew  down  blessings 


on  her  '  bonnie  head  '  from  the  pleased 
old  woman.  Many  other  cottages  were 
visited,  when  at  last  Elsie  turned  to 
Reginald  and  said  : 

•  Now  I  am  going  to  that  back  alley 
— will  you  come  1 ' 

'  Lead  on,  I  follow! '  replied  the  young 
man  in  a  martyr  tone ;  and  Elsie 
led  on — down  a  narrow,  rather  dirty 
street,  into  a  still  narrower  and  very 
dirty  alley,  with  three  or  four  storied 
houses  on  either  side  to  obstruct  the 
sunshine,  a  dirty  pavement  under  foot, 
and  all  around  the  snow  lying  black 
and  stained  with  refuse  and  ashes. 
Reginald  picked  his  way  in  a  gingerly 
manner  over  the  pavement,  whilst  his- 
whole  face  expressed  something  very 
like  disgust.  Elsie  looked  up  at  him 
and  felt  rather  sorry  she  had  asked 
him  to  come  with  her. 

'  I  could  not  come  here  alone,  you 
know,'  she  said  apologetically  ;  '  I  am 
sorry  it  is  so  bad,  but  I  could  not  pass 
poor  Annie  by  ;  she  needs  help  and 
comfort  more  than  any  one  of  the 
others ! ' 

'  0, 1  don't  mind  ! '  And  Reginald 
assumed  a  more  pleasing  expression^ 
and  manfully  walked  straight  on  for 
the  rest  of  the  way  without  picking 
and  choosing  his  steps.  At  last  they 
reached  a  house,  if  possible,  more  dirty 
and  dingy  than  its  neighbours.  Elsie 
knocked,  and  the  door  was  opened 
by  a  broad-shouldered,  slovenly,  but 
rather  good-natured  looking  woman, 
who,  in  answer  to  Elsie's  inquiry  as 
to  whether  she  might  see  Annie  Burns, 
replied  :  '  Yes,  to  be  sure  ye  may  I 
walk  right  up  !  >She's  been  very  bad 
the  night,  but  she's  easier  now.  I 
don't  guess  as  she  can  last  long  though, 
anyhow  !  ' 

In  obedience  to  this  permission  Elsie 
ascended  the  dirty  uncarpeted  stairs, 
Reginald  following.  Reaching  the 
upper  landing  she  turned  into  a  door- 
way and  then  ascended  a  second  flight 
which  led  up  to  a  large,  roomy  attic^ 
lighted  by  a  dirty,  fly-stained  window, 
in  the  sloping  roof,  and  save  a  bed. 
two  chairs,  and  a  ricketty  table,  void 


2U 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


of  all  furniture.  Here  lay  the  object 
of  their  visit— a  girl  with  a  thin,  em- 
aciated face,  and  large,  dark  eyes  which 
shone  with  an  unnatural  brilliancy. 
Her  long,  unkempt  hair  strayed  in 
disorder  over  the  coverless  pillow,  and 
the  one  hand  which  was  flung  out  upon 
the  coverlet  was  little  more  than  skin 
and  bone.  She  tried  to  raise  herself 
in  her  eagerness  to  see  Elsie,  but  fell 
back  again  from  sheer  inability.  Elsie 
hastened  forward. 

'  Annie,  Annie,  you  should  not  try 
that  ! '  she  said,  kindly.  '  How  are 
toAlay  1  Your  hand  is  hot — do  you 
feel  too  warm  % ' 

*  It  is  one  of  my  bad  days,  Miss 
Elsie,  and  the  pain  and  weakness  makes 
me  feverish,'  answered  the  sick  girl. 
*  But,'  she  said,  bi-eaking  off,  '  who  is 
that  ? '  and  she  feebly  raised  her  finger 
towards  Reginald  as  he  stood  at  the 
small,  dark,  window  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs. 

'  That  is  my  cousin — Mr.  Ellerslie,' 
iinswered  Elsie.'  '  He  came  with  me 
because  I  asked  him.' 

The  girl  looked  up  at  her  curiously. 

*  I  suppose  he  would  go  pretty  near 
any  where  you  asked  him,  wouldn't 
he  ? '  she  said  quietly. 

'  He  ?  O  no  !  he  is  very  fond  of  his 
own  way,  Annie ;  you  don't  know 
him ! '  replied  Elsie,  laughing  and 
blushing. 

'  No  1 '  said  Annie,  looking  over  at 
Reginald,  and  Elsie  thought  she  read 
in  the  look  and  tone  a  wish  on  the  sick 
girl's  pai-t  to  speak  to  her  other  visitor, 
so  she  said,  '  shall  I  tell  him  to  come 
here  % ' 

*  If  he  will,'  was  the  answer. 

'  Reg  ! '  said  Elsie,  raising  her  voice, 
*  won't  you  come  and  take  this  other 
chair  ?  It  will  tire  you  to  stand  there.' 

Reginald  turned  and  came  towards 
the  bed. 

'  This  is  Annie  Burns,'  said  Elsie, 
'  whom  I  told  you  I  was  coming  to 
see.' 

"Wonder,  and  a  strange  compassion- 
ate tenderness,  were  in  Reginald's  heart 
as  he  took  the  hand  the  sick  girl  held 


out  to  him — wonder  that  there  could 
be  such  wretchedness  and  suffering  in 
a  world  which  had  ever  been  to  him  so 
bright  and  sunny,  and  a  deep  tender- 
ness and  compassion  for  this  poor  deso- 
late invalid  girl,   whose  home  was  a 
cold,  cheerless  garret,  almost  void  of 
furniture,  and  under  the  roof  of  o"ne  by 
whom  she  was  valued  only  for  the  sake 
of  the  rent  paid  for  her  room  by  a  kind- 
hearted  friend.      Where  were  all  the 
comforts  which    his    home    afforded  ? 
Where  th^  care  and  loving  attention 
which   had  always    surrounded  him  ? 
In  that  moment,  Pi.eginald  felt  more 
truly   thankful   for    all    his   blessings 
I   than  he  had  ever  felt  in  his  life  before. 
'  I  am  sorry  you  are  so  ill  ! '  he  said 
I   earnestly,  and  he  meant  it ! ' 
I        '  You  are  kind— and  good-hearted,' 
I    added  the  girl  after  a  moment's  pause 
— '  I  am  glad  you  are,  because  I  want 
f   to  like  all  her  friends — she  is  so  good, 
{   good  to  me,  sir,  so  very  good  !  ' 
j        Reginald  looked  at  his  cousin. 
j        *  Then  she  had  been  a  little  home- 
missionary  all  this  time,  and  he  had 
not  known  it  !  ' 

A  tinge  of  remorse  came  over  him 

j    as  he  thought  how  he  had  refused,  or 

almost  refused  to  accompany  her  on 

j   visits  just  a  year  ago  to-day. 

{        '  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  worthy  of 

I    your  praise,'  he  said,  '  nor  yet  worthy 

to  be  your  kind  friend's  cousin.    I  am 

not  in  the  least  good  to  any  one,  I 

assure  you.' 

A  rare  smile  lighted  up  the  sick 
girl's  face  as  she  said  : 

'  You  must  not  say  that !  You  were 
good  to  me,  just  now.  A  kind  word 
is  worth  a  good  deal,  I  can  tell  you, 
sir,  to  one  who  has  so  few  friends  ;  ' 
and  the  smile  died  away  as  her  tone 
became  more  earnest.  Then  she  turned 
to  her  other  visitor.  '  Ah,  Miss  Elsie,' 
she  said,  '  it  is  indeed  a  loss  to  such 
as  I  am  to  lose  so  good  a  friend  as 
Mr.  Clair — I  don't  know  what  I  shall 
do  without  him — he  always  came  once 
a  week  to  see  me,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
the  whole  world  was  changed  whilst 
he  was  here.     It  was  one  of  my  great- 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


845 


est  pleasures  to  look  forward  to  his 
next  visit.  He  and  you  are  my  dearest 
friends  on  earth,  and  now  I  only  have 
you  ! ' 

Elsie  was  silent. 

*  I  remember,'  said  the  sick  girl, 
presently  after  a  pause,  during  which 
she  had  been  looking  at  Elsie  curiously, 
*■  I  remember  the  last  time  he  came, 
just  before  he  went  away.  The  time 
before  that  he  had  brought  me  these 
two  beautiful  blankets,  and  O,  I  was 
so  cold  before  that  !  Now  I  am  al- 
ways warm.  As  he  came  up  the  last 
time,  he  said,  "  Well  Annie,  how  are 
you  ■? "  "  I'm  feeling  so  well  to-day  sir," 
I  answered,  "  and  O,  you  don't  know 
how  warm  these  blankets  make  me  !  " 
"I'm  glad^of  that,"  he  said  quietly,  and 
then  he  sat  without  speaking  for  a 
long  time,  until  at  last  I  ventui-ed  to 
say  :  "  Mr.  Clair,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 
"  I  am  going  away,  Annie,"  he  said 
gravely. 

"  Going  away  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  and  I 
almost  rose  up  in  bed  in  my  excite- 
ment. "Annie,  Annie, thatwaswrong!" 
he  said,  as  he  rose  and  bent  over  me 
to  arrange  the  blankets  again — he  was 
as  tender  and  thoughtful  as  a  woman 
in  anything'of  that  kind.  Then  he  sat 
■down  in  the  chair  again  and  bent  his 
head  upon  his  hands.  "  0  Annie!"  he 
said,  so  hoarsely  I  ^hardly  heard  his 
voice — "  pray  for  me,  for  I  need  it 
sorely  !  Do  you  know,"  he  exclaimed, 
and  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  at 
me,  "  sometimes  I  am  tempted  to 
think  that  there  is  no  God  !  or  if 
there  is  why  does  He  let  His  crea- 
tures suffer  so  ? " 

'  I  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 
He  who  had  taught  me  all  that  I 
know  of  God  and  Heaven  to  speak  in 
this  way  !  "0,  sir  !  "  I  said,  "  please 
don't  speak  so  !  You  make  me  feel  as 
if  something  dreadful  was  going  to 
happen?"  He  was  calm  and  quiet 
again  directly.  "  Forgive  me  Annie," 
he  said,  "J  was  wrong  to  speak  so  un- 
der any  circumstances,  but  especially 
before  you— may  God  foi-give  me  for 
my  wickedness  and  distrust  !  Bat 
9 


it  is  gone  now,  Annie,  only  it  is  very 
hard  to  bear  !"  "What  is  1  Won't  you 
tell  me,  Mr.  Clair  !  " 

"  I  cannot,  Annie,"  he  said,  "  only  I 
must  go  away,  and  it  is  what  has  made 
me  determine  to  go  that  is  so  hard. 
But  now  let  us  speak  of  something  else, 
because  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  see 
you  ere  I  go."  He  stayed  for  an  hour 
after  that,  until  it  began  to  grow  dusk, 
and  then  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Good-bye,  Annie,"  he  said,  "I  may 
never  see  you  again  on  earth,  so  it  is 
a  long  good-bye  !  Only  one  thing  can 
bring  me  back  again  and  there  seems 
no  hope  of  that  ever  happening  !  If  it 
does  I  shall  come  back.  Pray  that  it 
may  come  to  pass,  Annie.  Good-bye  ! " 
and  he  was  gone.  O,  Miss  Elsie,  all 
that  was  worth  living  for  seemed  to 
go  with  him  !  all  the  light,  and  life, 
and  kindness  in  the  world  !  What  can 
it  be  ? ' — and  tears  were  rolling  fast 
down  the  thin  cheeks  by  this  time — 
'  What  can  it  be  that  has  taken  him 
away.  Miss  Elsie — do  you  know  ? ' 

What  a  question  for  Elsie  to  be 
asked  !  The  colour  rushed  to  her 
cheeks  which  had  grown  deathly  pale 
during  thepreceding  recital,  butshere- 
mained  silent.  The  sick  girl  miscon- 
strued her  ■  silence. 

'  Ah,  I  am  wrong  to  ask,'  she  said, 
*  when  he  would  not  tell  me  himself  ! 
'Forgive  me.  Miss.'  And  Elsie  was 
glad  to  let  the  matter  rest  so.  It  was 
growing  quite  dusky  in  the  poorly- 
lighted  attic  now  and  she  rose  to  go. 
'Good-bye,' she  said,  trying  to  steady 
her  voice,  '  I  shall  come  again  soon. 
Annie.' 

'  Good-bye ;'  replied  Annie.  '  It  has 
done  me  good  to  see  you.  I  did  not 
know  whether  you  would  come,  and  it 
seemed  lonesome  on  Christmas  day  to 
see  no  friendly  face.  Good-bye,  sir, 
thank-you  for  coming — it  was  very 
kind  ! '  She  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said  :  '  No  doubt  you  know 
Mr.  Clair,  sir,  as  you  are  Miss  Elsie's 
cousin  ;  perhaps  you  write  to  him. 
It  would  please  me  much  to  hear  about 
him  sometimes.     Is  it  too  much  I'm 


S46 

asking,  sir,  that  wlien  you  hear  from 
him  you'll  tell  Miss  Elsie  how  he  is  1 
and  then  you'll  tell  me  when  you  come, 
won't  you,  Miss  Elsie  ? ' 

Elsie  gave  a  confused  promise  and 
then,  after  bidding  a  second  good-bye, 
she  followed  her  cousin  down  both 
flights  of  stairs  and  out  into  the  nar- 
row dirty  street.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  until  they  gained  the  road 
leading  towards  home.  A  wild  conflict 
was  raging  in  Elsie's  heart.  A  great 
yearning  to  recall  him — this  man  who 
seemed  so  broken-hearted  by  her  rejec- 
tion of  him — came  over  her.  '  Yet  if 
he  felt  it  so — if  he  loved  her  why  had 
he —  ! '  But  here  she  stopped.  Not 
even  to  herself  could  Elsie  bear  to 
mention  that  which  had  awakened  her 
from  the  brightest  day-dream  she  had 
ever  known.  Once  more  she  cast  all 
softer  feelings  from  her  mind  and 
thought  only  of  the  'terrible  deception' 
he  had  carried  on,  of  '  the  cruel  way' 
she  said  to  herself  '  in  which  her  trust- 
ing love  had  been  abused.  Knowing 
what  she  did,  having  seen  what  she 
had,  she  could  not  believe,  for  any 
length  of  time,  that  it  was  sorrow  at 
her  rejection  of  him  which  had  made 
him  speak  so  sorrowfully  to  Annie 
Burns — or  at  least  his  sorrow  was  not 
caused  by  love  for  her!  How  could 
he  love  her  and  —  1  O  what  could 
have  been  his  purpose  in  feigning  for 
her  an  affectioa  which  he  could  not 
have  felt  1  What  had  been  the  plans 
the  failure  of  which  had  so  vexed  and 
distressed  him  1 '  Elsie's  anger  rose 
at  the  thought  that  she  had  been  made 
a  dupe  of— that  she  had  ever  by  word 
or  deed  shown  this  man,  who  may 
have  despised  her  for  the  very  fact 
that  she  loved  him— ay,  with  all  her 
heart  and  soul! '  *"  Pray  that  it  may 
be  so  ?  ■'  Yes,  of  course,'  thought  the 
girl,  '  pray — O  what  blasphemy  ! — 
that  all  might  come  right  again  for  his 
scheme  (whatever  it  was).  It  was 
because  he  had  been  foiled  that  he 
had  gone  away.  And  yet' — Ah,  wo- 
man's excuses!  born  of  a  woman's 
love  1 — 'and  yet  every  one*  thought 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


him  SO  good  and  kind,  so  noble  and 
worthy  of  respect !  Instance  Annie 
Burns  and  his  kindness  to  her.'  But 
reason  as  she  would,  Elsie  could  not 
find  an  honourable  solution  of  the  af- 
fair which  had  so  changed  her  opinion 
of  Clair  Thorold.  At  last  she  gave 
up  the  struggle  to  do  so.  It  must 
stay  as  it  was,  she  thought,  a  mys- 
tery she  could  not  fathom.  She  must 
leave  it  for  time  to  unravel,  and  mean- 
while, (ah,  meanwhile  !)  she  must 
tear  his  image  from  her  heart,  she 
must  forget  him  as  he  had  forgotten, 
or  at  least  deserted  her  !  A  brave 
and  wise  resolution,  no  doubt,  this 
was !  Nevertheless,  the  little  heart 
was  strangely  sore  and  sad  as  Elsie, 
without  speaking,  trudged  along  by 
Reginald's  side,  until  they  turned  the 
corner  leading  to  the  Grange,  then 
Reginald  broke  the  silence  with  : 

'  Elsie,  if  any  one  knows  why  Clair 
Thorold  went  away,  you  do  !  Why  did 
he,  won't  you  tell  me  1 ' 

Elsie  stopped,  and  placing  both  her 
hands  on  her  Cousin's  arm,  said  coldly  : 

'  Reginald,  I  know  you  will  never 
give  me  any  peace  until  I  have  told 
you,  so  I  may  as  well  do  so  at  once. 
This  is  why  Clair  Thorold  went  away, 
or  at  least  I  presume  so  :  he  asked 
me  three  weeks  ago  to  be  his  wife  and 
I  i-efused  him.  Now  may  I  ask  that 
you  will  drop  that  subject  for  ever, 
and  his  name  with  it ! '  And  Reginald 
did  so.  From  that  day,  until  Elsie 
herself  broke  the  compact,  Clair  Thor- 
old's  name  was  never  mentioned  be- 
tween them.  To  himself,  Reginald 
wondered  why  Elsie  felt  so  keenly  on 
the  subject.  '  She  might  feel  sorrow 
and  pity  for  the  man  whose  life,  for  a 
time  at  least,  she  had  made  dark,  but 
why  speak  so  sternly  about  the  mat- 
ter 1  and  why  wish  his  name  to  be 
dropped  in  this  manner  1 '  And  for 
Elsie,  she  thought  :  'I  will  never  tell 
one  man  how  shamefully  another  has 
treated  me.  He  will  do  as  I  ask  him, 
be  silent,  and  perhaps — peihaps  I  shall 
get  over  it  in  time  ! '  But  a  quick- 
drawn  breath,  which  might  have  been. 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


347 


a  sob  had  it  been  allowed  development, 
showed  that  the  wound  was  far  from 
being  healed  yet.  Two  weeks  after, 
Reginald,  sitting  in  his  college-room, 
received  an  answer  to  his  letter  to 
Clair  Thorold.  Descriptions  of  Cali- 
fornia life  and  scenery  occupied  the 
first  i^art  of  the  letter,  but  at  the 
last,  as  if  reluctant  to  speak  upon  the 
subject,  Clair  wrote  :  '  You  ask  me 
why  I  left  U— ?  I  will  tell  you,  Regi- 
nald, if  ever  man  loved  woman  I 
loved  your  cousin  Elsie.  I  never 
dreamt  that  my  love  was  not  returned! 
Open  and  guileless  as  a  child,  Elsie 
(foi'give  me  that  I  still  call  her  so) 
never  attempted  to  conceal  her  affec- 
tion for  me.  I  have  rejoiced  to  see 
the  glad  light  spring  into  her  eyes  at 
my  approach  !  It  has  sent  my  pulse 
throbbing  to  feel  her  little  hand  laid 
confidingly  in  mine  !  And  yet,  when 
one  evening  I  went  to  the  Grange  and 
asked  her  to  be  my  wife,  she  said,  No  ! 
But  that  is  not  all.  If  she  had  said  it 
kindly  I  should  have  been  astonished, 
for  I  always  thought  that  she  liked 
me,  but  I  should  have  concluded  that 
I  had  been  mistaken,  and  tnat  she  did 
not  care  for  me  after  all — not  in  that 
way,  I  mean  ;  but  she  refused  me 
scornfully,  angrily — and  when  I  sought 
a  reason  for  her  conduct,  she  said 
that  "  I  needed  no  explanation,  or  at 
least  I  ought  not!  Did  I  think  she 
was  willing  to  be  made  a  toy,  a  play- 
thing of  by  any  man  ? "  I  was  more  than 
ever  puzzled  ;  I  almost  for  the  moment 
thought  that  some  great  excitement 
had  turned  her  brain,  but  finally  I 
became  convinced  that  she  really  had 
some  reason  for  her  angry  rejection  of 
my  suit.  I  pleaded  with  her  for  an 
explanation.  "  How  have  I  made  you 
a  toy  or  a  plaything,  Elsie,  1  "  I  asked, 
"  What  have  I  done  to  merit  this  ac- 
cusation and  your  anger  ]  "  But  she 
looked  at  me  in  utter  scorn  as  she 
said  :  "  You  are  a  clever  actor,  Mr. 
Thorold,  an  adept  in  the  profession. 
But  I  have  learnt  too  much  to  be 
again  deceived  !  You  may  as  well 
spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  pleading 


your  cause  further  !  Once" — and  I 
am  positive  her  voice  trembled  as  she 
said,  "  Once  I  deemed  you  the  soul  of 
honour;  I  have  been  mercifully  un- 
deceived before  it  was  too  late  !  "  All 
further  entreaties  on  my  part  were 
useless.  At  last  she  stamped  her  little 
foot  and  said  :  "  Go  !  every  moment 
you  stay  is  an  insult  !  "  I  went,  Regi- 
nald, and  one  week  after  I  left  the 
town.  That  I  am  entirely  innocent 
of  all  she  believes  me  guilty  is  m/ 
only  comfort,  for  some  day  or  other 
my  innocence  must  be  proved  !  Of  one 
thing  I  am  positive  :  she  did  like  me 
before  she  heard,  as  she  must  have, 
that  which  made  her  so  angry  with 
me.  Reginald,  her  conduct  on  that 
day  did  not  anger  me.   I  never  dreamt 

j  of  blaming  the  woman  I  loved  better 
than  all  else  on  earth  !  She  had  a 
rt^ason — that  reason  if  I  knew  it, 
would,  I  know,  justify  her  conduct  in 
my  eyes.  But  as  I  left  the  house,  bit- 
ter anger  was  in  my  heart  at  the  hard 
fate  which  had  been  portioned  to  me, 
at  the  cruel  mistake,  whatever  it  was, 
which  was  to  blight  my  whole  future 
life— for  I  knew  not  how  to  set  it 
right.  But  time  brought  a  calmer 
frame  of  mind.  I  learnt  to  bow  to 
that  which  in  mine  anger  I  had  called 

j  fate,  but  which  was  really  the  will  of 
God.  But,  nevertheless,  I  did  not 
swerve  from  my  determination  to 
leave  the  town,  for  I  could  not  bear 
to  remain  and  never  see  her,  Regi- 
nald :  life  is  very  dark  to  me  without 
seeing  or  speaking  to  her  !  I  shall 
never  love  another  woman — I  never 
can.  Take  care  of  her,  old  boy,  for 
you  are  always  near  her  and  can ;  and 
pray  for  me,  Reg.,  that  my  trouble 
may  be  righted  at  last.  Yours  in 
love,  Clair  Thorold.' 

Reginald  threw  down  the  letter 
when  he  reached  the  end.  '  Stars  ! 
but  it's  all  a  mystery  1 '  he  exclaimed, 
'  Clair's  innocent,  that  I'll  wager !  But 
Elsie  doesn't  think  so.  I'd  show  her 
this  letter  only  for  that  promise  and 
the  fact  that  it  wouldn't  alter  her 
opinion  of  him  in    the  least,  for  she 


34-8 

heard  enough  from  that  sick  girl ,  and 
she  was  not  at  all  softened,  judging 
by  her  words  afterwards.  If  I  thought 
she  would  tell  me  I  would  ask  her  the 
reason  of  her  cruelty  to  that  poor 
fellow,  but  that  she  wouldn't  is  cer- 
tain, or  she  would  have  told  me  then. 
Time  only  can  right  the  wrong,  I 
suppose.  Poor  Clair  !  I  will  take 
care  of  her — for  you, — old  boy.' 

Why  did  Keginald  hesitate  at  the 
«  for  you  V  Why  did  a  feeling  of  disap- 
jwintment  at  the  conviction  which 
forced  itself  upon  his  mind  :  that  after 
all  he  had  been  right  in  thinking  Elsie 
liked  Clair,  come  over  him  1  Ah,  why  1 
Reginald  did  not  care  to  answer  these 
questions — the  answer  seemed  so  trait- 
orous to  Clair's  trust.  But  this  is 
anticipating  !  Keginald  had  returned 
to  College  when  he  got  Clair  Thorold's 
letter,  and  when  we  left  him  before 
that  he  was  on  his  way  home  from 
Annie  Burns's  with  Elsie.  New  Year's 
Day  came  and  went.  On  New  Year's 
Eve,  Elsie  and  Reginald  stood  together 
on  the  yeranda  of  the  Grange,  Elsie 
mutfled  in  a  shawl  which  defied  the 
biting  frost  that  set  her  cheeks  tingling 
and  glowing  with  its  breath.  Not  the 
whisper  of  a  breeze  was  abroad  in  the 
winter  night.  The  stars  hung  their 
silver  lamps  low  in  space,  whilst  above 
them,  the  sky  was  deeply,  darkly  blue. 
The  world  was  one  high-vaulted  cham- 
ber, carpeted  in  white,  with  the  moon- 
lit heavens  for  a  roof.  Suddenly  from 
a  dozen  steeples  the  mingled  chimes 
rang  out — O  such  a  gladsome  peal  to 
usher  the  New  Year  in  !  but  0  !  by  far 
too  glad  a  peal  considering  that  the 
poor  Old  Y^ear  was  dying — would  soon 
be  dead  !  The  old  year  with  all  its 
sorrows,  with  all  its  joys,  its  tender 
memories  and  hopes — and  who  could 
say  what  the  New  Year  would  give  to 
all  1  Who  could  say  that  its  gifts 
would  be  as  welcome,  its  deeds  as  kind, 
as  those  of  the  Old  Year  had  been  1 
But  still,  fickle  as  the  hearts  which 
cuided  the  hands  that  rung  them, 
the  bells  rang  on,  and  finally  the  mid- 
night chimes  joined  in  and  the  New 


ELLEESLIE  ORANGE. 


Year  had  forever  taken  the  place  of 
the  Old.  The  bells  gradually  died 
away  into  silence  and  then  Reginald 
turned  and  caught  both  his  Cousin's 
hands  in  his,  and  said:  'A  Happy  New 
Year  to  you.  Cousin  mine,  and  many, 
many  of   them,  too  ! ' 

*  Thank  you  ! '  answered  the  girl 
laughing;  but  somehow  the  laugh 
seemed  strangely  forced  and  con- 
strained !  As  the  bells  were  ringing, 
her  thoughts  had  flown  to  another 
place  where  it  was  also  New  Year's 
Eve,  and  where  because  of  her,  one 
heart  was  daik  and  lonely  when  all 
the  world  beside  was  making  glad.  El- 
sie had  softened  moments  sometimes 
— moments  when  the  old,  wild  love 
came  uppermost  and  swept  away  all 
other  feelings,  or  if  rebellious  pride 
and  anger  did  assert  their  claims,  their 
voices  were  drowned  for  the  time  being 
in  the  tempestuous  rush  of  tender 
recollection.  Such  a  moment  was 
that  in  which  Reginald  found  her, 
coiled  upon  the  sofa,  singing  softly  to 
herself  before  the  tire.  Such  a  moment 
as  this  to-night  had  brought  the  tears  to 
her  eyes  and  made  her  heart  yearn 
strangely  after  the  absent  wanderer. 
'  What  if  she  had  been  mistaken  !  If 
after  all  she  had  blighted  his  life  and 
her  own  for  nothing  !  *  And  then  she 
felt  her  hands  imprisoned  and  heard 
Reginald  wishing  her  a  '  Happy  New 
Year  ! '  and  so  she  turned  to  answer 
him. 

'  Thank  you  ! '  she  said,  '  the  same 
to  you  ! ' 

'  I  am  wondering  if  the  New  Year 
will  bring  me  what  I  want,'  said  the 
young  man,  looking  down  at  the  little 
figure  before  him. 

'  And  what  is  that  ? '  asked  Elsie, 
feeling  compelled  to  say  something. 

'  Oh,  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  but  I 
will  some  day — if  it  is  right  to  do  so, 
that  is  ! '  he  added  cautiously. 

Elsie  did  not  press  the  matter  fur- 
ther, she  had  hai'dly  listened  to  his 
words,  and  now  she  let  them  pass  and 
forgot  them.  But  by  the  time  the 
girl  laid  her  head  upon  her  pillow  at 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


349 


night  all  the  softer  actions  of  the  even- 
ing had  given  place  to  a  feeling  of 
angry  pain  that  he  could  have  acted 
so — he  whom  she  had  deemed  a  king 
among  men,  too  noble  to  be  mean,  too 
good  to  do  evil — and  in  her  loneliness 
and  grief,  Elsie  sobbed  herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  months  fled  by  after  Reginald 
went  back  to  College.  Easter 
came  and  he  with  it,  and  then  a  se- 
cond leaving  home,  and  again  the 
months  fled  by,  until  at  last,  one  fair 
evening  in  the  latter  part  of  June, 
Reginald,  springing  from  the  cab 
which  had  brought  him  from  the  sta- 
tion, caught  his  Cousin's  hands  in  his 
as  she  stood  on  the  veranda  to  wel- 
come him  and  exclaimed  :  '  Three  de- 
licious months  of  freedom.  Cousin 
mine  !  Give  me  joy  of  my  emancipa- 
tion, little  Dot !  Aren't  you  glad  to  see 
me?' 

Elsie  smiled  as  she  said  :  '  Glad  ?  of 
course  I  am.  I  have  watched  for  you 
since  noon  —  I  thought  you  might 
come  by  the  midday  train.' 

'And  I  disappointed  you.  That 
was  too  l)ad  !  Well,  I  am  glad  you 
looked  for  me  ;  it  is  nice  to  be  wel- 
comed so.'  And  Reginald  kept  thelittle 
hands  in  his  and  watched  the  rosy  sun- 
set hues  tinting  the  wavy  dark-brown 
hair,  and  painting  a  pink  flush  on 
either  dusky  cheek.  Elsie  wondered 
that  he  did  not  stoop  to  kiss  her  as 
had  been  his  wont  at  every  coming-  { 
home  and  going-away.  '  He  had  not  1 
done  it  at  Easter  ! '  she  remembered  ;  { 
perhaps  he  thought  she  was  growing  too  | 
old  for  such  demonstrations  of  affec- 
tion !  Yet  she  was  only  his  cousin, 
so  that  could  not  be  !  Perhaps  he  ex- 
pected her  to  kiss  him  first  !  so,  with- 
out a  second  thought,  Elsie  lifted  up 
her  face  towards  Reginald's  in  the  old- 
time  style,  and  was  fully  confirmed  in 
her  opinion  that  he  had  waited  for  her 
when  he  let  go  one  of  her  hands  to 


draw  her  to  him  and  press  an  ear- 
nest kiss  upon  her  upturned  face. 

Elsie  laughed  heartily  when  he  I'e- 
leased  her,  and  said :  *  Now  it's 
Auntie's  turn  !  She  and  Uncle  are  in 
the  garden.  Shall  we  go  and  find 
them  ? ' 

Together  they  went  round  the  house 
to  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  garden. 
Dr.  Ellerslie  saw  them  approaching. 

'  Maggie,'  he  said,  '  here  is  Regi- 
nald !  Look,  wife,  aren't  they  a  hand 
same  couple  1  I  do  wish  they  would 
make  a  match  and  settle  down  before 
we  have  to  leave  them  ! ' 

'  Don't  set  your  heart  upon  it,  Dick,' 
answered  his  wife  ;  '  to  all  present  ap- 
pearances such  a  thought  has  never 
entered  either  of  their  heads.' 

And  then  Reginald  and  Elsie  came 
up  to  them.  Very  swiftly  the  golden 
summer  days  passed  by  to  Reginald — 
very  swiftly  and  happily  until  the 
holidays  were  almost  over,  and  each 
day  was  precious  because  there  were 
so  few  to  come.  But  before  Reginald 
went  back  to  College  again  he  had 
made  his  parents'  hearts  happier  by 
the  announcement  that  he  had  asked 
Elsie  to  be  his  wife  and  she  had  said 
him  'Yes.'     So  she  had — but  why  1 

When  Reginald  had  asked  her  the 
question  she  had  put  out  her  hands 
before  her  with  a  quick  ciy  of  pain  : 
'  0,  no  !  O,  no  ! '  she  had  exclaimed. 

'  Elsie,  Elsie  !  what  do  you  mean  '? ' 
was  Reginald's  cry  of  disappointment 

'  O,  I  don't  know  !  Not  what  I 
said  !     Give  me  time  to  think  ! ' 

'  Do  you  need  time  1 '  It  was  sor- 
rowfully said,  and  Elsie's  answer  was 
pleadingly  apologetic. 

'  Only  a  week — just  a  week  !  It  is 
a  serious  question.  Cousin  Reginald.' 

And  Reginald  was  obliged  to  be 
content.  So  Elsie  had  shut  herself 
up  in  her  bed-room  and  fought  a  bat- 
tle between  love  and  sympathy.  'Could 
she  cut  off  thus  all  possibility — if  there 
was  any — of  future  happiness  1  But 
was  there  any  1  Seven  long  months, 
and  not  a  word  or  sign  from  Clair  ! 
He  had  given  her  up  easily,  and  then, 


350 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


besides,  of  course  he  could,  he  ought 
to  be  nothing  to  her  after  that.  And, 
again,  why  should  poor  Reginald's 
life  be  made  miserable  because  hers 
was  1  Two  lives  instead  of  one  ? '  And 
so  Elsie  did  not  wait  her  week,  but 
went  straight  down  into  the  hall,  as 
she  heard  Reginald  coming  in,  and, 
going  up  to  him,  she  gave  him  both 
her  hands,  saying  :  '  I  do  not  need  a 
week  ;  I  will  do  as  you  ask  me,  dear,' 
And  Reginald,  not  noticing  the  quiet 
sadness  of  her  tone,  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her,  and  rejoiced  in 
his  gi-eat  good-fortune.  In  that  mo- 
ment he  forgot  his  mental  acceptation 
of  Clair  Thorold's  trust,  but  even  had 
he  remembered  it,  he  would  not  have 
deemed  that  he  was  acting  in  treachery 
to  tliat  trust.  Long  ago  he  had  de- 
cided that  either  Elsie  had  never  cared 
for  Clair  or  that,  whatever  the  reason 
for  which  she  had  sent  him  away,  it 
had  been  sufficient  to  destroy  any  love 
she  might  once  have  entertained  for 
him.  For  Elsie  was  not  one  to  '  wear 
her  heart  upon  her  sleeve  ; '  on  the 
contrary,  she  strove  to  appear  gayer 
and  more  light-hearted  than  before, 
that  none  might  guess  the  secret 
pain  and  wounded  pride.  '  How  could 
Ibear,'  she  thought,  'that  people  should 
deem  me  suffering  from  disappointed 
affection  1  No,  if  they  have  noticed 
anything  at  all  about  the  matter, 
they  shall  believe  now,  if  1  can  teach 
them,  that  he  is  the  sufferer,  not  I ! 
But  never,  never  shall  they  suspect 
how  the  matter  really  stands  ! '  And 
so  she  laughed  and  talked  gaily  until 
Reginald,  as  well  as  every  one  else, 
came  to  believe  that  she  had  never 
cared  for  Clair  Thorold,  and  ^o  pity 
him  for  his  ill-fortune.  *  Why,' thought 
Reginald,  when  his  friend's  words 
came  back  to  him  that  night,  '  why,  if 
she  likes  me,  should  I  cloud  her  life 
and  my  own  because  I  am  the  friend 
of  a  man  whom  she  rejected  ?  Clair 
cannot  expect  that  much  of  me  1  If 
she  had  liked  him  I  would  have  given 
her  up  to  him  without  a  word,  con- 
sidering only  her  happiness.  If  she  liked 


him  still,  I  would  do  the  same;  but 
since  she  chooses  me,  her  happiness  is 
involved  in  mine.  If  he  loves  her  he 
must  wish  any  one  to  do  whatever 
would  contribute  to  it.  '  So  Clair, 
old  boy,'  he  said,  crossing  to  the 
mantelpiece,  over  which  hung  a  por- 
trait of  his  friend,  '  do  not  blame  me 
for  acting  as  I  have  !  I  would  not  have 
asked  her  had  there  been  the  slightest 
hope  for  you,  but  there  is  not,  poor 
boy,  and  you  would  not  blast  her  life 
because  she  has  blasted  yours  !  I 
know  you,  and  how  perfectly  you  can 
love,  too  well,  poor  Clair !  ' 

The  next  morning  another  stood  be- 
foi'e  that  small  hanging  photograph. 
After  Reginald  had  gone  down  town 
on  business  of  his  own,  Elsie  stole  up 
stairs  and  into  her  cousin's  bedroom. 
She  went  up  to  the  fireplace  and,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  upon  the  mantelpiece, 
looked  with  hungry,  yearning  eyes  at 
the  pictured  face.  But  as  she  looked 
it  seemed  to  her  excited  fancy  that  the 
frank,  honest  eyes  gazed  down  at  her 
with  sad  reproach.  That  instead  of  the 
old  half-smile  which  used  to  be  about 
the  mouth,  there  had  settled  a  hard, 
pained  expression  which  it  wrung  her 
very  heart  to  see.  *  O,  Clair,  Clair,' 
she  cried,  and  she  raised  her  clasped 
hands  beseechingly,  '  it  is  all  your  own 
fault !  I  would  not  have  sent  you 
away  if  you  had  been  as  true  to  me 
as  I  was  to  you.  0,  why  did  you  do 
it,  love ;  why  did  you  ? '  And  the 
apologetic  appeal  ended  in  a  wailing 
moan  that  trembled  into  silence  like 
the  sobbing  of  the  wind  among  the 
trees. 

'  I  do  not  love  him,'  she  sobbed, 
with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands  upon 
the  mantel,  *  and  I  never  can !  O, 
Clair,  Clair ; '  and  she  looked  up  again 
at  the  photograph,  '  why  did  you  teach 
me  to  love  you  so,  and  then  treat  me 
so  deceitfully,  so  cruelly  ?  And  now 
I  have  pledged  my  word  to  another, 
and  all  the  heart  I  ever  had  to  give  is 
yours  ! ' 

Very  long  the  girl  stood  there.  So 
long  that  her  aunt  missed  her,  and 


BUDS  AND  BABIES. 


851 


-called  her  from  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs.  Hastily  Elsie  brushed  away 
the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  answered, 

'  Yes,  Aunt,  I  am  coming ;  in  two 
minutes  I  shall  be  down.' 

She  went  to  her  own  room  and 
bathed  her  eyes  in  cold  water,  but 
even  then  they  were  still  red  when  she 
entered  the  dining-room,  where  her 
A.unt  was  standing,  bending  over  a 
stand  of  flowers  which  filled  the 
recess  of  a  bay-window,  so  occupied 
that  she  did  not  look  up  when  her 
niece  entered  the  room. 

'  Elsie,'  she  said,  without  pausing  in 
her  work  of  clipping  and  pruning,  '  do 
you  know  where  the  small  watering 
can  is  ?  I  have  searched,  and  cannot 
find  it.' 

*  It  is  in  the  greenhouse,  Aunt,'  an- 
swered the  girl,  *  I  will  go  and  get  it.' 

She  hurried  from  the  room,  glad  to 
escape  observation.  She  did  not  re- 
turn to  the  dining-room  for  some 
minutes,  for  she  went  to  a  side  door 
and  let  the  air  blow  upon  her  eyelids 
■until  they  felt  cool  again,  then  she 
went  back  to  her  Aunt,  with  the  can. 
But  in  the  hall  she  encountered  Regi- 
nald. 

'  What,  home  again  1 '  she  said, 
■*you  have  not  been  long.' 

'Why,  Elsie,  mine,'  he  answered, 
gaily,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his, 


and  looking  down  at  her  from  his  su- 
perior height  of  a  foot  or  more,  '  I  have 
been  three  whole  hours !  Don't  you 
call  that  long  ?  I  thought  you  would 
be  looking  for  me.  What  have  you 
been  doing  with  yourself^  Your  cheeks 
are  as  pale  as  such  gipsy-cheeks  could 
be,  and  your  eyes  look  heavy,  my 
darling.  You  must  take  more  exer- 
cise ;  I,  your  doctor,  say  so.' 

But  at  his  words  such  a  quick  tide 
of  colour  flushed  into  Elsie's  cheeks 
that  Reginald  laughed  and  said — 

'  Why,  you  have  missed  me,  too. 
Your  cheeks  are  tell-tales.  Miss  Elsie, 
despite  your  distraught  manner.'  And, 
taking  the  can  from  her,  he  went 
with  her  into  the  dining-room,  and 
delivered  his  light  burden  to  his  mo- 
ther. One  week  after  this  Reginald 
bid  good-bye  to  his  home  once  more, 
and  went  back  to  College,  and  then, 
as  time  passed,  the  flowers  in  the 
Grange  began  to  fade,  and  the  grass 
to  wither  and  grow  sere ;  and  later 
still  the  grim  old  sentinel  elms  that 
kept  watch  and  ward  at  the  gate, 
swayed  their  naked  branches  with  a 
wailing  moan  over  the  leafy  crowns 
that  had  fallen  fi'om  them,  and  which 
now  lay  in  withered  fragments  at 
their  feet. 

{To  he  continued.) 


BUDS   AND   BABIES. 


A  MILLION  buds  are  born  that  never  blow, 
That  sweet  with  promise  lift  a  pretty  head, 
To  blush  and  wither  on  a  barren  bed. 
And  leave  no  fruit  to  show. 


Sweet,  unfulfilled.  Yet  have  I  understood 
One  joy,  by  their  fragility  made  plain  : 
Nothing  was  ever  beautiful  in  vain, 

Or  all  in  vain  was  good. 


852 


PEYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


PHYSICS   AND  METAPHYSICS.* 


BY  W.  D.  LE  SUEUR. 


IN  a  work  the  full  title  of  whicli  is 
given  below,  Mr.  Stallo,  of  Cin- 
cinnati, a  lawyer  by  profession,  but, 
nevertheless,  an  accomplished  physi- 
cist, as  we  are  given  to  understand, 
has  undertaken  the  serious  task  of 
proving  that  modern  science  is  still 
largely  in  bondage  to  metaphysics,  and 
that  tlie  materialism  which  '  claims  to 
be  a  presentation  of  conclusions  from 
the  facts  and  principles  established  in 
the  several  departments  of  physical 
science '  is  wholly  a  product  of  mis- 
conception as  to  '  the  true  logical  and 
psychological  premisses  of  science.' 
The  words  we  have  quoted  are  taken 
from  the  preface  of  the  book,  and  set 
forth  pi'etty  clearly  its  main  object  and 
purpose.  The  interest  and  importance 
of  Mr.  Stallo's  undertaking  are  mani- 
fest at  a  glance.  Whatever  vitiates 
scientific  enquiry  will,  more  or  less, 
pervert  the  whole  course  of  thought ; 
and  it  behoves  us,  therefore,  to  pay 
an  eai-nest  heed  to  any  one  of  pre- 
sumable competency  who  comes  for- 
ward to  assert  that  errors  of  a  serious 
character  are  inherent  in  some  of  our 
fundamental  scientific  conceptions. 

Mr.  Stallo  finds  what  he  calls  a 
*  materialistic  theory  of  the  universe ' 
in  tolerably  firm,  if  not  really  secure, 
possession  of  the  larger  part  of  the 
scientific  world.  He  quotes  no  autho- 
rities as  pronouncing  against  such  a 
theory,  and  he  quotes  many  as  pro- 
nouncing for  it,  amongst  them  such 
names  as  Kirchofi",  Helmholtz,  Clerk 
Maxwell,  Wundt,  Haeckel,  Da  Bois- 


«  The  Concepts  and  Theories  of  Modern 
Physics,  by  J.  B.  Stallo.  International 
Scientific  Series.  Vol.  xxxviii.  New  York  : 
D.  Appleton  &  Co. 


Reymond,  and  Huxley.*  The  follow- 
ing passage  from  a  recent  lecture  of 
Prof.  Du  Bois-Pteymond  is  quoted  as 
a  particvilarly  lucid  and  complete  ex- 
position of  the  aims  of  modern  science 
and,  indirectly,  of  the  theoxy  now  in 
question  : — 'Natural  science — more 
accurately  expressed,  scientific  cogni- 
tion of  nature — is  a  reduction  of  the 
changes  in  the  niaterial  world  to 
motions  of  atoms  caused  by  central 
forces  independent  of  time,  or  a  reso- 
lution of  the  phenomena  of  nature  in- 
to atomic  mechanics.  It  is  a  fact  of 
psychological  experience  that  when- 
ever such  a  reduction  is  successfully 
eflfected,  our  craving  for  causality  is, 
for  the  time  being,  wholly  satisfied. 
The  propositions  of  mechanics  are  re- 
ducible to  mathematical  form,  and 
carry  with  them  the  same  apodictic 
certainty  which  belongs  to  the  propo- 
sitions of  mathematics.  When  the 
changes  in  the  material  world  have 
been  reduced  to  a  constant  sum  of 
potential  and  kinetic  energy,  inherent 
in  a  constant  mass  of  matter,  there  is 
nothing  left  in  these  changes  for  ex- 
planation.' In  the  words  of  our  au- 
thor, '  The  mechanical  theory  of  th& 
universe  undertakes  to  account  for  all 
physical  phenomena  by  describing 
them  as  variances  in  the  structure  or 
configuration  of  material  systems.  It 
strives  to  apprehend  all  phenomenal 

*  Some  of  these  names  have  been  used 
by  the  author  rather  at  random.  One  would 
judge  that  he  regarded  them  all  as  in  bond- 
age to  an  unphilosophical  materialism, 
whereas  most  of  them  only  countenance 
materialism  in  so  far  as  it  furnishes  a  con- 
venient mode  of  representing  the  ser^uence 
of  phenomena, — not  at  all  as  affording  a. 
final  explanation  of  the  univei'se. 


PHYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


ooS 


diversities  in  the  material  world  as 
varieties  in  the  grouping  of  primor- 
dial units  of  mass,  to  recognise  all 
phenomenal  changes  as  movements  of 
unchangeable  elements,  and  thus  to 
exhibit  all  apparent  qualitative  hete- 
rogeneity as  quantitative  difference.' 
This  theory,  Mr.  Stallo  holds,  should 
not  be  accepted  without  a  careful  ex- 
amination of  its  proofs  ;  and  he  there- 
fore proceeds  to  enquire  how  far  '  it 
is  consistent  with  itself,  and  with  the 
facts  for  the  explanation  of  which  it  is 
])ropounded.'  The  chapters  in  which 
this  enquiry  is  conducted  form  a  very 
interesting — to  the  majority  of  read- 
ers, probably,  the  most  interesting — 
portion  of  the  book  ;  but  the  fact 
should  be  noted  that  they  are  not  vital 
to  the  author's  purpose,  as  announced 
in  the  preface.  What  that  purpose  is 
we  have  already  seen.  It  is  to  show 
that  there  are  flaws  in  the  logical  and 
psychological  premisses  of  the  most 
widely-accepted  constructions  of  mod- 
ern physics.  What  we  have  in  the 
chapters  referred  to  is  a  demonstra- 
tion, or  an  attempted  demonstration, 
that  some  of  the  working  theories  of 
modern  physics  do  7iot  work,  that  they 
have  no  true  interpi-etative  power, 
and  that  in  many  cases  their  alleged 
explanations  are  more  in  need  of  ex- 
planation than  the  original  facts.  All 
this  might  be  admitted,  and  yet  '  the 
shallow  and  sciolistic  materialism ' 
which  the  author  has  it  at  heart  to 
confute  might  continue  to  assert  itself. 
Something  further  is,  therefore,  ne- 
cessary to  make  good  the  thesis  of  the 
work  ;  and  this  is  supplied  in  chapter 
ix,  dealing  with  '  The  Relations  of 
Thoughts  to  Things,'  and  chapters  x., 
xL  and  xii.,  which  undertake  to  show 
how  '  the  mechanical  theory  of  the 
universe  '  exemplifies  certain  radical 
metaphysical  errors.  The  true  centre 
of  gravity  of  the  work  lies  here  ;  but 
before  examining  our  author's  argu- 
ment at  this  vital  point,  it  may  be 
well  to  glance  rapidly  at  the  results 
claimed  to  have  been  established  by 
the  earlier  chapters. 


The  mechanical  theory  of  the  uni- 
vei'se  may  be  said  to  repose  in  these 
days  upon  an  assumed  atomic  theory, 
which  undertakes  to  lay  down  what 
may  be  called  the  necessary  modes  of 
existence  of  the  ultimate  particles  of 
matter.  It  advances  the  proposition 
that  these  ultimate  particles,  or  as 
they  ai'e  here  called  '  elementary  units 
of  mass,'  are  equal.  It  further  pos- 
]  tulates  that  they  are  absolutely  hard 
i  and  inelastic ;  and,  again,  that  they 
are  absolutely  inert.  Mr.  Stallo  con- 
tends that  not  one  of  these  proposi- 
tions affords  us  any  real  intellectual 
help  ;  that  if  at  one  moment  they  seem 
to  clear  up  a  difficulty,  at  the  next 
they  will  be  seen  to  create  one  no  less 
formidable,  and  that,  in  the  end,  they 
leave  us  moi-e  perplexed  than  if  we 
had  never  called  them  to  our  aid.  The 
first  proposition,  for  example,  that  the 
elementary  units  of  mass  are  equal,  is 
convenient  enough  when  we  are  simply 
studying  the  action  of  gravity,  but 
when  we  pass  to  chemistry,  it  directly 
conflicts  with  the  whole  theory  of 
atomic  weights — a  theoiy  no  less  es- 
sential to  chemistry  than  gravitation 
is  to  mechanics.  The  chemist  cannot 
interpret,  or  in  any  way  represent  to 
himself,  the  phenomena  of  chemical 
combination,  unless  he  is  allowed  to 
assume  that  atoms  are  of  difterent 
weights.  Thus  the  very  science  which, 
more  than  any  other,  involves  the 
consideration  of  atoms  rises  up  in  pro- 
test against  the  assumption  necessary 
to  the  integrity  of  the  mechanical 
theory  of  the  universe  that  all  atoms 
must  be  equal  and  equivalent.  To 
abandon  the  position  so  long  occupied 
by  chemistry  on  this  point  would,  '  in 
the  opinion  of  the  most  distinguished 
chemists  of  the  day,  throw  the  mass 
of  chemical  facts  laboriously  ascer- 
tained by  experiment  and  observation 
into  a  state  of  hopeless,  pre-scieutific 
confusion.' 

The  proposition  that  the  elementary 
units  must  be  absolutely  hard  and. 
inelastic  comes  similarly  into  conflict 
with  the  most  pressing  theoretical  re- 


354 


PHYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


quirements  both  of  chemistry  and  phy- 
sics. In  the  name  of  physical  science, 
Sir  William  Thomson  postulates  not 
only  elastic  units  but  perfectly  elastic 
units ;  and  a  great  deal  of  ingenuity 
has  been  expended  in  attempts  to  de- 
duce the  elasticity  which  observed  phe- 
nomena require  from  the  inelasticity 
which  the  mechanical  theory  demands. 
Chapter  iv.  gives  an  account  of  some 
of  these  attempts,  none  of  which,  in 
the  opinion  of  the  author,  meet  the 
difficulty.  '  There  is  no  method  known 
to  physical  science,'  says  Mr.  Stallo, 
'  which  enables  it  to  renounce  the  as- 
sumption of  the  perfect  elasticity  of 
the  particles  whereof  ponderable  bodies 
are  said  to  be  composed,  however  clear- 
ly this  assumption  conflicts  with  one 
of  the  essential  requirements  of  the 
mechanical  theory.' 

Chapter  v.,  which  deals  with  the 
physical  doctrine  of  the  inertia  of  mat- 
ter, shows  how  hopelessly  that  doctrine 
is  in  conflict  with  the  fact  of  gravita- 
tion, and  how  vain  have  been  all  ef- 
forts to  explain  gravitation  in  such  a 
way  as  to  save  the  credit  of  the  theory 
that  all  force  must  be  force  of  impact 
or  vis  a  tergo.  '  Once  more,  then,'  ob- 
serves Mr.  Stallo,  '  science  is  in  irre- 
concilable conflict  with  one  of  the  fun- 
damental postulates  of  the  mechanical 
theory.  Action  at  a  distance,  the  im- 
possibility of  which  the  theory  is  con- 
strained to  assert,  proves  to  be  an  ul- 
timate fact  .  .  .  the  foundation  of 
the  most  magnificent  theoretical  struc- 
ture which  science  has  ever  erected — 
a  foundation  deepening  with  every 
new  reach  of  our  telescopic  vision,  and 
broadening  with  every  further  stretch 
of  mathematical  analysis.'  (Page  65.) 

We  must  pass  over  our  author's  dis- 
cussion of  the  doctrine  of  the  '  con- 
servation of  energy,'  and  his  special 
criticism  of  the  atomic  theory  as  a 
whole,  and  of  the  '  kinetic  theory  of 
gases.'  The  line  of  argument  is  every- 
where the  same — that  these  theories 
simply  land  us  in  contradictions,  as, 
whenever  they  seem  to  explain  one  set 
of  phenomena,   they  do  it  at  the  ex- 


pense of  rendering  another  set  abso- 
lutely unintelligible.  These  objections, 
if  adequately  sustained,  would  cer- 
tainly go  far  towards  proving  that  all 
the  hypotheses  in  question  were  in 
their  nature  illegitimate.  In  the  suc- 
ceeding chapters  direct  proof  of  their 
illegitimacy  is  proffered,  and  to  this 
portion  of  the  argument  we  now  ad- 
dress ourselves. 

'  It  is  generally  agreed,'  says  Mr. 
Stallo,  '  that  thought  in  its  most  com- 
prehensive sense  is  the  establishment 
or  recognition  of  relations  between 
phenomena.'  All  perception  is  of  dif- 
ference ;  and  two  objects,  therefore, 
are  the  smallest  number  requisite  to 
constitute  consciousness.  On  the  other 
hand,  objects  are  conceived  as  identical 
by  an  attention  to  their  points  of 
agreement ;  though  concejjtion  may 
also  be  regarded  as  perception  applied 
to  a  group  of  objects,  so  as  to  bring 
before  the  mind  its  class  characteris- 
tics ;  the  word  well  expressing  the 
gathering  into  one  of  the  several  qual- 
ities or  properties  by  which  the  group 
is  distinguished  fi'om  other  groups. 
Conception  is,  therefore,  the  source  of 
ideas,  and  the  word  concept  expresses 
the  union  effected  in  the  mind  of  those 
attributes  or  properties  under  which 
a  given  object  is  at  any  moment  re- 
cognised. In  other  words,  it  is  '  the 
complement  of  pi'operties  characteris- 
tic of  a  particular  class.'  If  the  class 
be  a  very  special  one  the  concept  will 
apply  to  but  few  individuals  ;  but  the 
complement  of  properties  which  it  will 
connote,  will  be  a  very  comprehensive 
one.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  class 
be  a  very  wide  or  general  one,  the 
concept  will  apply  to  a  much  larger 
number  of  individuals,  but  it  will  com- 
prehend fewer  attributes  or  proper- 
ties. As  application  widens,  meaning 
narrows ;  until  from  an  infiraa  species, 
or  in  English  a  group  of  the  most  spe- 
cial kind,  we  rise  to  a  summum  genus, 
or  a  class  in  which  only  such  proper- 
ties remain  as  are  absolutely  essential 
to   thought.     The  process  by  which 


PHYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


355 


this  is  done  is  the  process  of  abstrac- 
tion, which  consists  in  dismissing  from 
consideration  all  properties  not  essen- 
tial to  the  particular  class  which  we 
may  wish  to  form.  Objects  are  known, 
it  is  further  to  be  remarked,  '  only- 
through  their  relations  to  other  ob- 
jects,' and  each  individual  object  only 
*  as  a  complex  of  such  relations.'  No 
operation  of  thought,  however,  '  in- 
volves the  entire  complement  of  the 
known  or  knowable  properties  (or  re- 
lations) of  a  given  object.  In  mechan- 
ics a  body  is  considered  simply  as  a 
mass  of  determinate  weight  or  volume, 
without  reference  to  its  other  physical 
or  chemical  pi-operties ; '  and,  in  like 
manner,  every  other  department  of 
knowledge  only  takes  account  of  that 
aspect  of  the  object  which  it  is  neces- 
sary for  the  purpose  in  hand  to  study. 
The  mind  cannot  completely  represent 
to  itself  at  any  one  time  all  the  pro- 
perties or  relations  of  an  object  ;  nor 
is  it  necessai-y  that  it  should  do  so,  as 
they  cannot  possibly  all  be  relevant  to 
the  same  intellectual  operation.  Our 
thoughts  of  things  ai-e  thxi^  symbolical, 
because  what  is  present  to  the  mind 
at  a  given  moment  is  not  the  object 
in  the  totality  of  its  relations,  but  a 
symbol  framed  for  the  occasion,  and 
embracing  just  those  relations  under 
which  the  object  is  to  be  considered. 
A  concept  in  which  all  the  relations 
of  an  object  should  be  embraced  is  an 
obvious  impossibility.  We  cannot 
stand  all  round  a  thing  all  at  once ; 
we  must  choose  our  side  or,  in  other 
words,  fix  upon  our  point  of  view. 

The  above  line  of  thought  will  be 
familiar  to  all  students  of  philosophy, 
and  particularly  to  those  acquainted 
with  the  writings  of  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer.  For  some  reason  or  other, 
however,  Mr.  Stallo  abstains,  not  only 
here  but  generally  throughout  his 
book,  from  any  mention  of  the  rela- 
tion of  his  philosophical  views  to  those 
of  other  writers.  He  does  not  give  us 
his  bearings,  so  to  speak,  but  leaves 
us  to  discover  them  for  ourselves. 
We   cannot  think  this  policy  a  good 


one.  To  the  general  reader  it  is  not 
helpful,  as  it  may  lead  him  to  form  an 
exaggerated  idea  of  the  originality  of 
the  views  contained  in  the  volume — 
a  result,  we  are  sure,  at  which  the 
author  would  not  consciously  aim. 
Some  special  illustrations  of  what  we 
are  now  remarking  upon  may  present 
themselves  before  we  close. 

'All  metaphysical  or  ontological  spe- 
culation is  based  upon  a  disregard  of 
some  or  all  of  the  truths  above  set 
forth.  Metaphysical  thinking  is  an 
attempt  to  deduce  the  true  nature  of 
things  from  our  concepts  of  them.' 
The  last  sentence  presents  us  with  a 
definition  of  admirable  terseness  and 
force  stating  as  it  does  the  whole  case 
against  metaphysics  in  a  dozen  words. 
For  purposes  of  thought  we  analyze 
and  abstract ;  but  not  content  with 
deriving  from  these  operations  the 
logical  aid  they  are  calculated  to  af- 
ford, we  fly  olTto  the  conclusion  that 
what  we  have  done  in  the  realm  of 
thought  holds  good  outside  of  thought 
or  absolutely.  To  apply  this  to  the 
matter  in  hand  :  where  the  *  mechani- 
cal theory  of  the  universe'  asserts  mass 
and  motion  to  be  the  '  absolutely  real 
and  indestructible  elements  of  all 
physical  existence,'  it  overlooks  the 
fact  that  mass  and  motion  by  them- 
selves are  really  elements  of  nothing 
but  thought,  and  are  simply  a  kind  of 
mental  residuum  after  all  the  more 
special  properties  of  objects  have,  by 
successively  wider  generalizations  (as 
before  explained)  been  mentally  ab- 
stracted. As  our  author  puts  it,  '  They 
are  ultimate  products  of  generalization, 
the  intellectual  vanishing-points  of  the 
lines  of  abstraction  which  proceed 
from  the  infinue  specks  of  sensible  ex- 
perience. Matter  is  the  summum  genus 
of  the  classification  of  bodies  on  the 
basis  of  their  physical  and  chemical  pi-o- 
perties.  Of  this  concept  matter,  mass 
and  motion  are  the  inseparable  consti- 
tuents. The  mechanical  theory  there- 
fore takes  not  only  the  ideal  concept  mat- 
ter, but  its  two  inseparable  constituent 
attributes,  and  assumes  each  of  them 


850 


PHYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


to  be  a  distinct  and  real  entity.'  Mr. 
Stalio  sees  in  this  a  survival  of  mediae- 
val realism ;  but  it  is  really  nothing 
else  than  the  opinion  of  the  multi- 
tude, now  and  in  all  ages,  elevated  to 
the  rank  of  a  philosophical  doctrine. 
Men  in  general  are  materialists  who 
temper  their  materialism  to  themselves 
bv  a  supplementary  belief  in  spiritual 
existences. 

Not  only  is  the  mind  prone  to  be- 
lieve that  its  concepts  ai-e  truly  repre- 
sentative of  external  realities,  but  it 
readily  assumes  also  that  the  order  of 
^iccession  in  the  world  of  thought 
must  be  the  order  of  development  in 
tie  external  world.  The  effect  of  the 
litter  illusion  is  completely  to  invert 
the  order  of  reality.  '  The  summa 
(/e?zem  of  abstraction— the  highest  con- 
cepts— are  deemed  the  most,  and  the 
data  of  sensible  experience  the  least 
real  of  all  forms  of  existence.'  Be- 
cause we  arrive  at  the  concept  matter 
by  leaving  out  of  consideration  all  the 
properties  that  differentiate  one  form 
of  matter  from  another,  and  because 
matter  thus  divested  of  its  special  pro- 
perties forms  a  kind  of  rock-bed  of 
thought,  we  conclude  that  similarly 
undifferentiated  matter  must  form  the 
rock-bed,  or,  to  vary  the  figure,  the 
original  raw  material,  of  the  objective 
universe.  But  manifestly,  in  the  scale 
of  reality,  the  highest  place  must  be 
given  to  things  as  they  are,  to  indi- 
vidual objects  with  their  full  comple- 
ment of  properties,  and  successively 
lower  places  to  such  objects  robbed  by 
abstraction  of  one  after  another  of 
their  essential  attributes.  When  we 
come  to  matter,  we  have  just  enough 
left  to  think  abovit  and  no  moi'e.  The 
logical  faculty,  however,  goes  further, 
and  performs  the  tremendous  feat  of 
sundering  the  elements,  mass  and 
force,  the  conjunction  of  which  alone 
renders  matter  a  possible  object  of 
thought  ;  whence  arise  endless  dis- 
cussions as  to  whether  motion  is  a 
function  of  matter  or  matter  a  func- 
tion of  motion.  The  first  opinion  is 
known  as  the  mechanical  or  corpuscular 


theory  of  matter,  and  the  latter  as  the 
dynamical.  The  true  answer  to  these 
intellectual  puzzles  is  that  we  have  no 
biisiness  dealing  with  the  mere  ele- 
ments of  thouglit  as  if  they  n'ere  ele- 
ments of  tilings,  and  that  so  long  as 
we  do  so  we  shall  only  succeed  in 
landing  ourselves  in  what  Mr.  Spencer 
calls  'alternative  impossibilities  of 
thought.' 

The  notion  of  the  inertia  of  matter 
is  similarly  a  product  of  abstraction, 
and  by  no  means  a  representation  of 
fact.  Our  author's  explanation  (page 
163)  is  as  follows  : — '  When  a  body 
is  considered  by  itself — conceptually 
detached  from  the  relations  which  give 
rise  to  its  attributes — it  is  indeed  inert, 
and  all  its  action  comes  from  without. 
But  this  isolated  instance  of  a  body  is 
a  pure  fiction  of  the  intellect.  Bodies 
exist  solely  in  virtue  of  their  relations  ', 
their  reality  lies  in  their  mutual  ac- 
tion. Inert  matter,  in  the  sense  of  the 
mechanical  theory,  is  as  unknown  to 
experience  as  it  is  inconceivable  in 
thought.  Every  particle  of  matter  of 
which  we  have  any  knowledge  attracts 
every  other  particle  in  conformity  with 
the  laws  of  gravitation  ;  and  every 
matei'ial  element  exerts  chemical,  elec- 
trical and  other  force  upon  other  ele- 
ments which,  in  respect  of  such  force, 
are  its  correlates.  A  body  cannot  in- 
deed move  itself ;  but  this  is  true  for 
the  same  reason  that  it  cannot  exist  in 
and  by  itself.  The  very  presence  of  a 
body  in  space  and  time,  as  well  as  its 
motion,  implies  interaction  with  other 
bodies,  and  therefore  actio  in  clislnns  ; 
consequently  all  attempts  to  reduce 
gravitation  or  chemical  action  to  mere 
iuipact  are  aimless  and  absurd.' 

This  whole  passage  is  so  completely 
on  the  lines  of  the  Positive  Philosophy, 
that  to  us  it  seems  singular  that  the 
author  could  have  penned  it  without 
making  some  reference  to  the  precisely 
similar  views  of  Auguste  Comte,  views 
which  the  scientific  world  in  general  has 
largely  disregarded  or  ignoi'ed.  '  Did 
the  material  molecules,'  says  Comte 
(Philosophie  Positive,  Vol.  i.  p.  550)^ 


PHYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


*  present  to  our  observation  no  other 
property  than  weight,  that  would  suf- 
tice  to  prevent  any  physicist  from  re- 
garding them  as  essentially  passive.  It 
would  be  of  no  avail  to  argue  that, 
even  in  the  possession  of  weight,  they 
were  entirely  passive,  inasmuch  as 
they  simply  yielded  to  the  attraction 
of  the  globe.  Were  this  correct,  the 
■dithculty  would  only  be  shifted  ;  the 
earth  as  a  whole  would  then  be  credit- 
ed with  an  activity  denied  to  separated 
portions  of  it.  It  is,  however,  evident 
that  in  its  fall  towards  the  centre  of 
the  earth,  the  falling  body  is  just  as 
active  as  the  earth  itself,  since  it  is 
proved  that  each  molecule  of  the  body 
in  question  attracts  an  equivalent  pox'- 
tion  of  the  earth  quite  as  much  as  it 
is  itself  attracted,  though  owing  to 
the  enormous  preponderance  of  the 
earth's  attraction,  its  action  alone  is 
perceptible.  Finally,  in  regard  to  a 
host  of  other  phenomena  of  equal  uni- 
versality, thermal,  electric,  and  chemi- 
cal, matter  plainly  presents  a  very 
varied  spontaneous  activity  of  which 
it  is  impossible  for  us  henceforth  to 
regard  it  as  destitute.  ...  It  is  be- 
yond all  question  that  the  purely  pas- 
sive state  in  which  bodies  are  con- 
ceived to  be  when  studied  from  the 
point  of  view  of  abstract  mechanics 
becomes  under  the  physical  point  of 
view  a  complete  absurdity.*  Nearly 
sixty  years  have  elapsed  since  this  was 
written  ;  and  yet,  as  Mr.  Stallo's  book 
proves,  there  is  a  necessity  for  repeat- 
ing and  re-enforcing  it  to-day.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  the  doctrine  that 
all  our  knowledge  of  objective  reality 
-depends  upon  the  establishment  and 
recognition  of  relations  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  that  the  properties  of  things  by 
which  we  know  them  are  their  rela- 
tions to  other  things.  This  doctrine  lies 
at  the  very  foundation,  not  only  of  the 
Positive  Philosophy,  but  of  all  true 
philosophy,  and  yet,  according  to  the 
statement  of  our  author,  it  has  been 
'  almost  wholly  ignox-ed  by  men  of  sci- 
ence, as  well  as  by  metaphysicians,  who 
constantly  put  forward  the  view  that 


357 

whatever  is  real  must  exist  absolutely;' 
or,  in  other  words,  that  nothing  which 
does  not  exist  absolutely  can  be  real. 
Hence  have  arisen  the  endless  discus- 
sions as  to  absolute  motion  and  i-est. 
That  motion  could  be  real,  and  yet 
only  relative,  has  seemed,  even  to  such 
eminent  thinkex-s  as  Newton,  Leibnitz, 
and  Descartes,  wholly  impossible;  yet 
far  from  there  being  any  impossibility 
in  the  matter,  the  truth  is  that  it  xs 
only  relative  motion  that  can  have  to 
our  apprehension  the  character  of 
x-eality.  Absolute  motion  could  in  no 
way  be  distinguished  from  absolute  rest. 
Mx\  Stallo  has  expended  much  in- 
genuity in  combating  the  views  of 
those  who,  to  use  his  expression,  reify 
space,  and  who  devote  all  the  powers 
of  mathematical  analysis  to  determin- 
ing the  sevex-al  modes  in  which  space 
can  exist.  The  whole  structure  of  so- 
called  tx-anscendental  geometry  he  re- 
gards as  purely  illusoxy.  Instead  of 
crediting  space  with  a  fourth  dimen- 
sion, he  does  not  allow  it  so  much  as 
one.  Dimensions  are  properties  of 
bodies,  and  if  we  seem  able,  mentally, 
to  apply  measurements  to  space,  it  is 
because  the  mind  has  acquired,  by 
long  practice,  the  power  of  thinking 
of  the  dimensions  of  bodies  without 
taking  into  account  their  solidity. 
Our  author  explains  the  matter  well  : 
'  Space  is  a  concept,  a  px'oduct  of  ab- 
straction. All  objects  of  our  sensible 
expei-ience  present  the  featux-e  of  ex- 
tension in  conjunction  with  a  number 
of  different  and  variable  qualities  at- 
tested by  sensation  ;  and,  when  we 
have  successively  abstracted  these  vari- 
ous sensations,  we  finally  arrive  at  the 
abstx-act  or  concept  of  a  form  of  spa- 
tial extension.'  A  similar  explanation 
is  given  in  the  Philosophie  Positive 
(Vol.  i.,  p.  353),  where  the  conception 
of  space  is  spoken  of  as  x-esulting 
from  one  of  the  eai'liest  efforts  at  ab- 
stx-action  made  by  the  human  mind  ; 
its  formation  having,  in  all  probability, 
been  greatly  facilitated  by  the  fact 
that  the  impress  of  any  material  ob- 
ject affords  the  same  means  of  reason- 


358 

ing  about  its  size  and  figure  as  the  ob- 
ject itself. 

In  Chapter  xv.  Mr.  Stallo  touches 
upon  the  discussion  as  to  the  finitude 
or  infinitude  of  the  material  universe, 
and  shows  its  unreal  character.  '  We 
cannot,'  he  says,  '  deal  with  the  In- 
finite as  with  a  physically  real  thing, 
because  definite  physical  reality  is  co- 
extensive with  action  and  reaction ; 
and  physical  laws  cannot  be  applied  to 
it,  because  they  are  determinations  of 
the  modes  of  interaction  between  dis- 
tinct finite  bodies.  The  universe,  so 
caUed,  is  not  a  distinct  body,  and  there 
are  no  bodies  without  it  with  which  it 
could  interact.'  The  following  is  also 
well  put,  and  would  have  been  warmly- 
applauded  by  the  author  of  the  Posi- 
tive Philosophy  : — 'The  only  question 
to  which  a  series  or  group  of  pheno- 
mena gives  legitimate  rise  relates  to 
their  filiation  and  interdependence ; 
and  the  attempt  to  transcend  the  limits 
of  this  filiation  and  interdependence — 
to  determine  the  conditions  of  the 
emergence  of  physical  phenomena  be- 
vond  the  bounds  of  space  and  the  limits 
of  time — are  as  futile  (to  use  the  happy 
simile  of  Sir  William  Hamilton)  as 
the  attempt  of  the  eagle  to  outsoar  the 
atmosphere  in  which  he  floats.'  We 
have  in  the  same  chapter  an  interest- 
ing discussion  and  criticism  of  the 
Nebular  Hypothesis  considered  as  a 
cosmological  theory.  As  applied  to 
the  solar  system,  Mr.  Stallo  is  not  dis- 
posed to  question  the  scientific  legiti- 
macy of  the  hypothesis,  though  he  calls 
attention  forcibly  to  the  difticulties  by 
which  it  is  embarrassed.  As  applied 
to  the  universe  at  large,  it  becomes 
unmeaning. 

In  his  concluding  chapter,  Mr. 
Stallo  tells  us  that  while  the  atomo- 
mechanical  theory  cannot  be,  if  his 
reasonings  are  correct,  the  true  basis 
of  modern  physics,  he  is  far  from  de- 
nying the,  at  least  partial,  usefulness 
of  the  theory  considered  as  an  aid  to 
investigation.  '  The  steps  to  scienti- 
fic, as  well  as  to  other  knowledge,'  he 
observes,   '  consist  in  a  series  of  logi- 


PHYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


cal  fictions  which  ai'e  as  legitimate  as 
they  are  indispensable  in  the  opera- 
tions of  thought,  but  whose  relations 
to  the  phenomena  whereof  they  are  the 
partial,  and  not  unfrequently  merely 
symbolical,  representations,  must  never 
be  lost  sight  of.'  In  this  way  the  cir- 
cumference of  a  circle  may  be  con- 
sidered as  made  up  of  an  infinite 
number  of  straight  lines ;  and  this 
hypothesis  will  serve  for  the  deter- 
mination of  the  area  of  the  circle  ; 
while  at  the  sauie  time  we  know  that 
the  circumference  and  the  diameter 
are  radically  incommensurable.  In 
like  manner  the  astronomer,  no  matter 
what  bodies  he  may  be  dealing  with, 
always  considei's  the  action  of  gravity 
as  taking  place  between  two  mathe- 
matical points.  The  chemist  in  like 
manner,  when  dealing  with  chemical 
equivalents,  is  under  no  necessity  of 
supposing  that  the  formulas  which  ex- 
perience has  taught  him  to  use,  point 
to  the  absolute  existence  of  atoms  of 
varying  weights.  Enough  for  him  that 
he  has  formulas  which  truly  express 
the  facts  that  take  place  under  his 
eyes.  To  quote  our  author  again  : 
'  That  no  valid  inference  respecting 
the  real  constitution  of  bodies  and  the 
true  nature  of  physical  action  can  be 
drawn  from  the  forms  in  which  it  is 
found  necessary  or  convenient  to  re- 
present or  to  conceive  them,  is  illus- 
trated by  the  fact  that  we  habitually 
resort,  not  only  in  ordinary  thought 
and  speech,  but  also  for  purposes  of 
scientific  discussion,  to  modes  of  repre- 
senting natural  phenomena  which  are 
founded  upon  hypotheses  long  since 
discarded  as  untenable,' 

If  now  we  were  asked  to  state  in  a 
few  words  the  drift  and  purpose  ofthe 
interesting  and  really  able  work  which 
we  have  been  passing  in  rapid  review, 
we  should  say  that  Mr.  Stallo  has 
made,  towards  the  close  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  a  remarkable  attempt 
to  do  what  Auguste  Comte  so  strenu- 
ously endeavoured  to  do  towards  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  viz.,  to  per- 


PHYSICS  AND  METAPHYSICS. 


suade  the    scientific  world  that  true 
science  lies  only  in  the  region  of  the 
relative,  that  the  search  for  causes  is 
futile,  that  our  knowledge  can  only  be 
of  laws,  and  that  laws  when  grasped 
must  be  regarded  as  working  hypothe- 
ses and   not   as  affording  any  insight 
into    the   essential  nature   of  things. 
Mr.  Stallo  aims  at  banishing  metaphy- 
sics from  science  ;  such  was  also  the 
passionate  desire  of    Comte,  a  desire 
so  frequently  expressed  as  to  give  rise 
to  Prof.    Huxley's   sarcasm  that  with 
Comte  the  word    'metaphysical'  was 
simply  a  general  term  of  abuse.     No 
man,  however,  ever  knew  better  what 
he  meant  by  a  woixl  than  Comte  knew 
the  sense  he  attached  to  the  term  in 
question  ;  nor  did  any  man  ever  use 
one  term  more  consistently  in  the  same 
sense.     One   or  two  out  of  the  num- 
berless  passages  in  which   Comte  re- 
cords his  opposition  to,   and  distrust 
of,  metaphysics  may  perhaps  be  quoted. 
'  The  fundamental  character  of  meta- 
physical conceptions  is  to  regard  phe- 
nomena independently  of   the  bodies 
which  manifest  them,  to  attribute  to 
the   properties  of   each   substance  an 
existence   distinct   from   that   of  the 
substance  itself.     Once  do  this,    and 
what  does  it  matter  whether  you  make 
of  these  personified  abstractions  con- 
trolling spirits  or  simply  fluids  1     The 
origin  is  the  same  in  either  case,  and 
is    found   in    that  habit  of  enquiring 
into  the  intimate  (absolute)  nature  of 
things  which  characterizes  the  infancy 
of  the  human  mind'  (Phil.  Pos.  ii.,  p. 
446).     Again  :  '  Science  being  wholly 
unable  to  ascertain  the  first   causes, 
or  the  mode  of  production   of   pheno- 
mena should  concern  itself  solely  with 
the  effective  laws  of  the  observed  phe- 
nomena ;    and  every   hypothesis  which 
aims  at  anything  else  is,  by  that  very  fact, 
stamped  as  radically  contrary  to  the  true 
scientific  spirit^  (Phil.  Pos.  ii.,  p.  452). 
We  do  not  think  Mr.  Stallo,   though 
coming  more  than  half  a  century  later, 
has  said  anything  better  than  this.  And 
remember  these  are  not  obiter  dicta  : 


the  whole   stress   and    strain  of    the 
Positive    Philosophy  is   in  the   same 
direction.     Comte  desired  that  science 
should  abide  in  its  lot — the  relative 
— in  order  that  it  might  become  truly 
positive,  that  is  affirmative  and  con- 
structive,    and  that  human    thought 
might  be  spared  the  wanderings,  and 
human  society  the  confusion,  which  he 
saw  to  be  inseparable  from  a  science 
vitiated    by    metaphysics;     in   other 
words,    by  pretentious   enquiries    be- 
yond its  proper  range — enquiries  to 
which  a  character  of  reality  could  by 
no  possibility  be  given.     By  his  atti- 
tude   towards  such  enquiries,    which 
greatly  strike   the   popular   imagina- 
tion, and  bring  much  more  gloiy  to 
those   engaged  in   them  than  merely 
accurate  determinations  of  law,  he  in- 
curred the  hatred  of  the  majority  of 
scientific   men  of  his   day,   a  hatred 
which  has  not  infrequent  echoes  even 
in  our  own  time.    Yet  that  the  path 
which  he  indicated  is  the  true  path  is 
to  the  best  thinkers  becoming  daily 
more    evident.       We    look    to    Mr. 
Stallo's  work  to  help  forward  the  de- 
monstration.    The  question  at  issue  is 
not  one  of  merely  technical  interest ; 
it  is  one  of  the  widest  and  profoundest 
interest.      '  The  reaction,'   (of  funda- 
mentally   erroneous   scientific  views) 
says  Mr.  Stallo  in  his  preface,   *  upon 
the  character  and  tendencies  of  mod- 
ern thought  becomes  more  apparent 
from  day  to  day.     .     .     .     The  utter 
anai'chy  which  notoriously  prevails  in 
the   discussion   of  ultimate  scientific 
questions,  so  called,  indicates  that  a 
determination  of  the  proper   attitude 
of  scientific  enquiry  toward  its  objects 
is  the  most  pressing  intellectual  need 
of  our  time,  as  it  is  an  indispensable 
prerequisite   of  real  intellectual  pro- 
gress  at   all   times.'     The    wars  and 
fightings  in  the  intellectual  realm  come 
from  the  lust  of   forbidden,  or  rather 
impossible,    knowledge,  not  from  the 
difficulties  of  legitimate  research.  The 
evil  is  a  moral,  even  more  than  an  in- 
tellectual,   one.      Positive   science  is 


seo 


0  DONNA  DI  VIRTU. 


humble;  it  works  as  the  servant  of 
human  life.  Metaphysical  or  tran- 
scendental science,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  proud  ;  its  aim  is  not  to  serve,  but 
to  dazzle  and  govern ;  it  scorns  the 
relative  and  aims  at  solving  the  ulti- 
mate riddles  of  existence.  Manifestly, 
therefore,  only  those  who  are  willing 
to  serve,  and  to  take  a  limited  view  of 
their  function  as  scientific  workers, 
will  embrace  science  in  the  positive 
sense.  All  who  seek  their  own  glory 
will  repudiate  limitations  and  grapple 
with  the  absolute.  The  battle  between 
the  two  methods  or  conceptions  is  now 
in  progress.  Let  all  who  realize  the 
nature  of  the  strife,  and  who  see  that 
the  cause  of  the  relative  is  the  cause 
of  humanity,  range  themselves  distinct- 
ly on  that  side.  We  count  the  author 
of  the  book  referred  to  in  this  article 
as  an  able  and  gallant  ally ;  and 
some  others,   who  in   appearance  are 


foes,  are  in  reality  not  far  from  the 
kingdom.  * 

*  Prof.  Huxley  for  example,  who  has 
criticized  Comte  very  severely,  not  to  say 
bitterly,  and  who,  judged  by  that  criticism 
alone,  might  be  considered  as  decidedly  op- 
posed to  all  that  is  essential  in  the  Positive 
Philosophy,  thus  expresses  himself  at  the 
close  of  his  essay  on  '  The  Physical  Basis  of 
Life  : '  '  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the 
further  science  advances,  the  more  exten- 
sively and  consistently  will  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  nature  be  represented  by  mate- 
rialistic forms  and  symbols.  But  the  man 
of  science  who,  forgetting  the  limits  of  phi- 
losophical enquiry,  slides  from  those  foi- 
n\\\\x  and  symbols  into  what  is  commonly 
understood  by  materialism,  seems  to  me  to 
place  himself  on  a  level  with  the  mathema- 
tician who  should  mistake  the  d:s  and  y's 
with  which  he  works  his  problems  for  real 
entities,  and  with  this  further  disadvan- 
tage as  compared  with  the  mathematician, 
that  the  blunders  of  the  latter  are  of  no 
practical  consequence,  while  the  errors  of 
systematic  materialism  may  paralyze  the 
energies  and  destroy  the  beauty  of  a  life. ' 


0   DOXNA   DI    VIRTU! 


BY  '  ALCHEMIST,'  MONTREAL, 


'  0  mystic  Lady  !     Thou  in  ivhom  alone 
Our  liihman  race  excelleth  all  that  stand 

In  Paradise  the  nearest  round  the  Throne, 
That  to  obey  were  slow  though  ready  done. 


— Daxte. 


HOW  oft  I  read.     How  agonized  the  turning, 
(In  those  my  earlier  days  of  loss  and  pain) 
Of  eyes  to  space  and  night,  as  though  by  yearning 

Some  wall  might  yield  and  I  behold  again 
A  certain  angel,  fled  beyond  discerning. 

In  vain  I  chafed  and  sought — alas,  in  vain 
From  spurring  through  my  world  and  heart,  returned 

To  Dante's  page,  those  wearied  thoughts  of  mine  ; 
Again  I  read,  again  my  longing  burned. — 

A  voice  melodious  spake  in  every  line. 
But  from  sad  pleasure  sorrow  fresh  I  learned  ; 

Strange  was  the  music  of  the  Florentine  ! 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


3G1 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


BY  THE  REV.  HUGH  PEDLEY,  B.A.,  COBOURG. 


POLITICAL  indiflerentism  is  not 
the  least  of  the  clangers  that 
menace  the  welfare  of  popular  gov- 
ernments. It  is  rather  an  ominous 
fact  that,  both  in  this  country,  and  in 
the  United  States,  there  are  a  great 
many  respectable  and  intelligent  peo- 
ple who  refuse  to  have  aught  to  do 
with  politics.  Speak  to  them  about 
religious  matters,  and  they  are  inter- 
ested. Talk  to  them  on  commercial 
topics,  and  they  become  animated. 
Converse  with  them  on  the  literature 
\  of  the  day,  or  discuss  with  them  the 
^■.  last  great  hit  of  the  stage,  and  they 
are  charmed.  But,  the  moment  you  j 
introduce  the  subject  of  politics,  they 
dismiss  it  with  an  impatient  wave  of 
the  hand,  and  with  '  Oh  I  never  trou- 
ble my  head  about  such  matters.'  They 
say  this,  too,  not  with  any  sort  of 
shame,  but  with  an  air  that  plainly 
tells  you,  that,  while  in  their  eyes  ig- 
norance in  other  things  is  a  sin,  here 
it  is  one  of  the  most  fragrant  virtues 
in  the  calendar. 

This,  we  repeat,  is  a  bad  omen.  It 
is  the  beginning  of  untold  peril  to  a 
country  when  political  ignorance 
comes  to  be  regarded  as  a  virtue,  when 
people  of  the  better  class  esteem  it  as 
one  of  the  sacred  privileges  of  that  class 
to  '  touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not ' 
the,  in  their  estimation,  unclean  thing 
politics.  It  is  this  that  encourages 
the  demagogue,  and  disheartens  the 
pure-minded  patriot.  It  is  this  that 
makes  a  nation  prolific  of  Guiteaus, 
and  barren  of  Garfields.  It  is  this 
that  magnifies  the  forces  of  evil,  and 
minimizes  the  influence  of  good,  until 
the  country  finds  itself  standing  aghast 
upon  the  brink  of  a  dark  and  fathomless 
3 


abyss.  For  in  the  midst  of  our  glorifi- 
cation of  popular  forms  of  government 
we  must  not  forget  that  just  as  des- 
potism has  its  abuses,  so  has  fi'eedom, 
and  that,  as  the  abuses  of  the  one 
have  involved  nations  in  anarchy  and 
bloodshed,  so  may  the  abuse  of  the 
other  have  a  like  terrible  issue. 

Therefore  it  will  be  a  happy  day 
when  indifferentism  in  this  direction 
is  rated  at  its  full  value,  when  political 
ignorance  is  regarded  as  high  treason, 
and  the  political  ignoramus  as  an  un- 
speakable ingrate.  For  surely  he  is 
that.  Surely  it  is  the  height  of  in- 
gratitude for  a  man  to  live  under  the 
a?gis  of  Freedom,  to  possess  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  great  social  organism,  to 
enjoy — nay  to  invoke — the  protection 
of  wise  and  just  laws,  and  then  turn 
with  cold  contempt  from  the  source  of 
all  these  blessings.  Surely  it  is  wrong 
that  he  should  accept  these  privileges 
as  an  inheritance  from  the  past,  and 
have  no  care  as  to  the  means  by  which 
they  are  to  be  secured  to  his  children 
after  him.  In  this  country,  at  least, 
it  may  well  be  said  that,  if  a  man  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  laws,  then 
the  laws  should  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him,  that  he  who  looks  with  con- 
tempt upon  law-makers  should  be  left 
to  the  mercy  of  law  breakers. 

But,  even  where  it  exists,  the  study 
of  politics  is  often  exceedingly  careless 
and  superficial.  We  catch  vip  a  paper, 
in  all  probability  that  of  our  own 
party  stripe,  and  after  a  hasty  glance 
at  its  contents  throw  it  aside,  and  feel 
ourselves  qualified  to  discuss  the  great 
questions  of  the  day.  Such  a  metiiod 
of  study  is  unsatisfactory,  both  to  the 
student  himself,    and   to  those    with 


SG2 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


whom  lie  converses.  It  is  one-sided, 
shallow,  and  mischievous.  It  tends 
to  the  production  of  the  noisy  ranting 
politician — such  an  one,  for  example, 
as  the  '  Parlour  Orator,'  which  Dick- 
ens has  made  the  subject  of  one  of  his 
'  Sketches  by  Boz.'  He  is  a  red-faced 
man  with  a  loud  voice,  and  talks  non- 
sense with  such  an  ait  of  inspired  wis- 
dom, that  all  the  company  in  the  little 
l^arlour  mistake  it  for  genius,  except 
a  little  greengrocer  who  has  penetra- 
tion enough  to  see  through  the  windy 
'fraud.  Irritated  by  a  little  contradic- 
tion, the  oracle  waxes  wonderfully  elo- 
quent. Here  is  the  description  of  the 
closing  scene.  "  '  What  is  a  man '] '  con- 
tinued the  red  faced  specimen  of  the 
species,  jerking  his  hat  indignantly 
from  its  peg  on  the  wall.  '  What  is  an 
Englishman  1  Is  he  to  be  trampled 
upon  by  every  oppressor  ?  Is  he  to  be 
knocked  down  at  everybody's  bidding  1 
What's  freedom  1  Not  a  standing 
army.  What's  a  standing  army  1  Not 
freedom.  What's  general  happiness  ? 
Not  universal  misery.  Liberty  ain't 
the  window-tax  is  it  1  The  Lords  ain't 
the  Commons,  are  they?'  And  the  red- 
faced  man,  gradually  bursting  into  a 
radiating  sentence,  in  which  such  ad- 
jectives as  'dastardly,'  'oppressive,' 
'  violent,'  and  '  sanguinary'  formed  the 
most  conspicuous  words,  knocked  his 
hat  indignantly  over  his  eyes,  left  the 
room,  and  slammed  the  door  after 
him. 

'  Wonderful  man  ! '  said  he  of  the 
sharp  nose. 

'  Splendid  speaker  ! '  added  the 
broker. 

'  Great  power  ! '  said  everybody  but 
the  greengrocer." 

'  Long  live  the  greengrocer,'  say  we. 
Thank  Heaven  !  there  are  such  as  he 
still,  to  be  a  protest  against  the  bom- 
bastic ignorance  of  such  an  orator,  and 
the  servile  ignorance  of  such  an  aud- 
ience. But  if  we  are  to  perpetuate  the 
race  of  intelligent  greengrocers,  and 
eradicate  from  our  national  soil  the 
'Parlour  Orator'  type  of  politician, 
we  must   have   a   fairer   method    of 


study,  and  a  broader  way  of  looking 
at  public  questions  than  is  customary 
at  the  present  time. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  this  paper  to 
indicate  in  a  general  way,  some  of 
the  conditions  of  an  intelligent  study 
of  Canadian  politics.  It  does  not,  by 
any  means,  aspire  to  be  a  guide  ta 
those  who  have  leisure  and  oppor- 
tunity to  enter  with  scientific  accuracy 
into  tlie  various  bi-anches  of  Political 
Economy.  It  is  addressed  in  the  main 
to  those  who  have  their  regular  occu- 
pation in  the  store,  on  the  farm,  or  in 
the  workshop,  but  who  also  have  spare 
fragments  of  time  which  they  are  wil- 
ling to  devote  to  so  honourable  a  pui*- 
suit  as  the  study  of  the  public  aftairs 
of  the  country  in  which  they  live. 

The  first  qualification  for  the  intel- 
ligent student  of  Canadian  politics  is 
to  have  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
geography  of  Canada.   To  no  small  ex- 
tent the  destiny  of  a  people  is  deter- 
mined   by    its   geographical    environ- 
ments,   by    the   size,    shape,   climate, 
geology,  etc.,  of  the  country  in  which 
its  lot  is  cast.     The  writer  remembers 
standing  on  one  occasion  with  a  num- 
ber of  fellow  students  beside  Dr.  Daw- 
son in   front  of  the   map  of  Europe. 
He  pointed  to  Greece  and  Italy,  the 
seats  of  the  gi'eat  empires  of  the  past, 
and  made   the  remark  that,   if  some 
geologist  of  those  ancient  times  had 
known  of  the  existence  and  value  of 
the  great  stores  of  coal  and  iron  lying 
almost  side  by  side  in  the  British  Isles, 
he  might  easily  have  prophesied  that 
the  day  would  come  when  the  seat  of 
power  would  be  shifted  from  the  South 
to  these  islands  of  the  North,     We 
speak  of  the  Star  of  empire,  but,  after 
all,  this    brilliant  luminary  is   in  its 
movements  only  the  humble  servant 
of  such  homely  masters  as  the  ebony 
lumps  that  fill  our  coal-scuttles,  and  the 
rich  mould  of  our  farmers'  fields.  The 
glory  and  power  of  empires  rest  largely 
upon     geological     and     geographical 
foundations.     What  Canada  is  to  be 
nationally  depends  very   much  upon 
what  Canada  is  physically,  and  he  who 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


V>C)l 


■wishes  to  know  the  possibilities  of  her 
future  must  first  know  the  latitude 
and  longitude,  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  country  itself. 

Draper,  in  his  work  '  Civil  Policy  of 
America,'  shows  his  appreciation  of 
this  geographical  factor  in  national 
life,  by  devoting  nearly  a  third  of  the 
book  to  its  consideration.  He  says  in 
one  place,  '  it  is  necessary  to  examine 
the  topographical  construction  of  the 
country,  to  examine  its  physical  con- 
dition, its  climate,  its  products,  for 
such  are  the  influences  that  model  the 
character  and  determine  the  thoughts 
of  men.'  The  same  writer  emphasizes 
relation  between  climate  and  chai'ac- 
ter  in  these  words  :  '  It  is  within  a 
narrow  range  of  latitude  that  great 
men  have  been  born.  In  the  earth's 
southern  hemisphere  not  one  as  yet 
has  appeai-ed.'  In  this  respect  we  cer- 
tainly have  a  good  deal  to  be  thankful 
for,  seeing  that  we  are  within  the 
magic  influence  of  this  nari'ow  range 
of  latitude.  Stretching  between  '  the 
murmuring  pines  and  the  hemlocks  ' 
of  the  ancient  Acadie,  and  their  forest 
sisters  that  sigh  and  sway  upon  our 
Pacific  slopes,  is  a  vast  garden  emi- 
nently fitted  for  the  nurture  of  the 
noblest  types  of  humanity.  We  are 
foolish  to  yearn  for  the  orange-groves 
and  perpetual  summer  of  the  south. 
We  may  not  live  between  the  isother- 
mal lines  of  a  uniformly  mild  temper- 
ature, but  we  do  live  in  that  belt  of 
the  world  which  has  supplied  modern 
history  with  its  mightiest  names.  We 
are  in  the  latitude  that  has  given  to 
us  such  men  as  Milton  and  Shakes- 
peare, Pitt  and  Gladstone,  Goethe  and 
Luther,  Webster  and  Longfellow,  and 
we  might  well  smile  over  an  occasional 
frost-nip  to  be  in  such  splendid  com- 
pany. 

The  size  and  resources  of  Canada 
are  sure  to  have  an  enormous  influ- 
ence in  determining  the  nature  of  its 
politics.  Our  great  questions  are  not 
going  to  be  as  to  how  much  life  and 
wealth  we  can  destroy  in  brilliant 
foreign  campaigns,  but  as  to  how  much 


we  can  sustain  by  the  development  of 
our  internal  resouices.  Our  legisla- 
tion will  be  of  a  practical  and  home- 
spun character.  The  formation  of  new 
provinces,  their  connection  by  railways, 
the  utilization  of  their  natural  wealth, 
their  relations  to  one  another,  and  to 
the  central  government, — these  are  to 
be  the  sober  but  absorbing  questions 
of  the  future.  But  how  can  they  be 
intelligently  discussed  by  one  who  is 
ignorant  of  geography  ?  How  can  a 
man  discuss  a  Pacific  Railway  policy 
who  scarce  knows  the  difference  be- 
tween Lake  Nipissing  and  Lake  Supe- 
rior, and  cannot  tell  within  500  miles 
the  distance  between  Winnipeg  and 
the  Rocky  Mountains  ]  How  can  he 
undei-stand  the  merits  of  the  debate 
on  the  Ontario  Boundary  Awai'd,  to 
whom  the  position  of  the  Lake  of  the 
Woods  is  as  much  a  matter  of  guess  as 
the  complexion  of  the  man  in  the 
moon  1  How  can  he  treat  of  the  rela- 
tive claims  of  the  various  provinces, 
who  knows  nothing  of  their  size,  little 
of  their  position,  and  less  of  their  re- 
sources 1 

It  is  absolutely  necessary,  therefore, 
that  the  intelligent  student  of  Cana- 
dian politics  should  have  a  familiar 
acquaintance  with  Canadian  geogra- 
phy. His  newspaper  studies  should 
be  accompanied  and  illustrated  by  the 
presence  of  the  most  reliable  maps.  It 
would  be  well  for  him,  occasionally,  to 
fancy  himself  buttonholed  by  some 
keen  and  questioning  Frenchman  or 
German,  on  the  search  for  information 
concerning  Canada.  It  would  be  a 
good  thing  for  him  to  become  a  sharp 
catechizer  of  himself  in  some  such 
fashion  as  the  following  : — What  do  I 
know  about  the  Dominion  ?  Have  I 
in  thought  grasped  the  greatness  of  a 
territory  whose  shoi-es  are  washed  by 
three  oceans  1  Have  I  any  knowledge 
of  the  distances  from  point  to  point  ? 
Have  I  any  clear  idea  of  the  nature  of 
the  various  parts,  of  what  the  land  is 
like  in  Nova  Scotia,  in  Quebec,  in 
Keewatin,  in  the  great  prairie  ex- 
panses, and  on  the  slopes  of  British 


J64 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


Columbia  1  What  do  I  know  of  such 
great  streams  as  the  Saskatchewan, 
Nelson,  and  Peace,  which  may  some 
day  become  the  veins  and  arteries  of 
a  vast  internal  commerce  1  What  ac- 
count could  I  give  of  the  resources  of 
coal,  iron,  timber,  fish,  etc.,  which  have 
already  been  discovered  1  What  esti- 
mate have  I  made  of  the  population 
which  may  some  day  find  a  liome  in. 
this  broad  and  wonderful  land  1  These 
are  the  questions  he  needs  to  ponder 
over.  These  are  the  points  on  which 
bfe  npeds  to  be  fully  informed,  before 
he  is  at  all  capable  of  taking  anything 
like  a  statesmanlike  view  of  the  j)oli- 
tical  affairs  of  his  country. 

Another  qualification  for  the  intel- 
ligent student  is  to  have  a  familiar 
knowledge  of  Canadian  history.  We 
never  feel  that  we  really  understand 
a  man,  unless  we  know  something  of 
his  past.  We  are  anxious  to  learn 
what  sort  of  a  father  and  mother  he 
had,  where  he  was  born,  what  educa- 
tion he  received,  what  were  the  forces 
that  moulded  his  life,  what  record  of 
achievement  he  has,  befoi-e  we  consi- 
der ourselves  in  a  position  to  form  a 
right  estimate  of  his  character.  As 
with  the  individual,  so  with  the  na- 
tion. In  order  to  understand  its  pre- 
sent we  must  travel  far  back  into  its 
past.  The  history  must  be  read  before 
we  can  account  for  the  parts  into 
which  the  country  is  divided,  or  un- 
derstand the  relation  of  parties,  or  mea- 
sure the  various  forces  that  are  at 
work  in  the  government. 

Canadian  history  has,  at  least,  one 
great  advantage  for  the  student — viz., 
its  brevity.  Ours  are  not  Chinese  nor 
Egyptian  annals  reaching  back  over 
thousands  of  years  until  lost  in  a  realm 
of  myth  and  mystery.  The  whole 
record  is  comprehended  within  a  period 
of  350  yeai-s,  and  through  all  its  length 
has  had  the  incalculable  benefit  of  the 
art  of  printing.  There  is  nothing, 
therefore,  in  the  way  of  immensity  and 
and  interminableness  to  daunt  the  stu- 
dent at  the  outset.     The  subject  is  a 


compact  one,   and  may  be   mastered 
with  tolerable  ease. 

The  present  condition  of  this  coun- 
try is  the  result  of  the  confluence  of 
two  streams — the  one  finding  its  source 
amid  the  vine  clad  hills  of  France,  and 
the  other  in  that  cluster  of  storm-blown 
isles  which  we  call  Great  Britain.  For 
a  long  time  the  first  of  these  streams 
flowed  on  in  solitude.  We  must  not 
forget  that  Canada  was  for  a  far  longer 
time  under  the  French  flag  than  she 
has  been  under  the  flag  of  England. 
From  the  year  1534,  when  Jacques 
Cartier  sailed  up  the  St.  Lawrence, 
until  1759,  a  period  of  225  years, 
Canada  was  in  the  possession  of  the 
Crown  of  France.  For  only  123  years 
has  she  been  a  part  of  the  British  Em- 
pire. For  convenience'  sake,  it  would 
be  well  for  the  student  to  break  the 
history  up  into  sections,  taking  the 
French  period  by  itself,  and  then  di- 
viding the  British  period  into  two 
parts,  the  fii'st  extending  from  1759 
to  1841,  and  containing  the  story  of 
the  struggle  for  Responsible  Govern- 
ment, and  the  second  reaching  up  to 
the  present  time,  and  telling  how  the 
country  fared  after  the  victory  had 
been  achieved. 

The  period  of  French  domination, 
though  not,  perhaps,  the  most  import- 
ant part  of  our  history,  from  a  political 
standpoint,  nevertheless  contains  pas- 
sages of  marvellous  interest.  Through 
it  all  we  seem  to  hear  the  astonished 
Eureka  of  men  confronted  for  the  first 
time  by  the  vast  wonders  of  moun- 
tain, river  and  lake  which  the  New 
World  disclosed  to  their  view.  We 
see  armies  of  dusky  warriors  flitting 
through  the  depths  of  the  primeval 
forest,  and  fleets  of  little  canoes  danc- 
ing upon  the  flashing  waters  of  lake 
and  stream.  We  see  the  pomp  and 
power  of  the  savage  grow  abashed  be- 
fore the  greater  pomp  and  power  of  the 
white  man,  so  that  they  who  had  been 
for  unreckoned  centuries  the  lords  of 
the  forest,  in  a  few  short  years,  became 
the  minions  and  tools  of  the  stranger. 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


3G5 


The  story  of  Cliamplain's  life  is  one 
of  the  romances  of  history.  The  la- 
bours and  sufferings  of  the  Jesuit  mis- 
sionaries are  almost  without  a  paral- 
lel. And  where  in  the  annals  of  dis- 
covery could  you  find  a  more  thrilling 
record  than  that  of  the  French  priest 
La  Salle?  Lachine  is  a  subui'b  of 
Montreal,  and  Lachine  is  only  the 
French  for  China.  How  comes  it  that 
we  have  a  China  there  on  the  banks 
of  our  Canadian  St.  Lawrence  1  Why, 
because  La  Salle  and  others  thought 
that  by  following  up  the  great  river 
they  might  find  their  way  to  the  real 
China.  He  failed  in  that,  but  he  ac- 
complished a  very  wonderful  feat. 
He  sailed  up  the  St.  Lawrence  to  King- 
ston, then  Fort  Frontenac,  coasted 
along  the  shore  of  Lake  Ontario, 
touching  at  Toronto,  then  an  Indian 
village,  ascended  the  Niagara  river, 
and  gazed  entranced  upon  the  mighty 
cataract,  after  many  delays  and  dis- 
couragements found  his  way  along  the 
great  lakes  to  the  foot  of  Lake  Michi- 
gan, launched  his  canoes  upon  the 
Illinois  river,  entered  the  Mississippi, 
sailed  for  days  and  weeks  down 
its  mighty  flood,  through  vast  soli- 
tudes, until,  at  last,  he  looked  with 
enraptured  eyes  upon  the  blue  expanse 
of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Yes  !  in  the 
year  1686,  a  man  who  had  sailed  from 
Quebec,  pierced  through  the  very  heart 
of  this  continent,  and,  amid  the  chant- 
ing of  Te  Deums  and  the  rattle  of 
musketry,  planted  the  standard  of 
France  at  t%e  mouth  of  the  Mississippi. 
It  is  in  this  French  period  that  Park- 
man  has  quarried  the  material  for 
those  fascinating  histories  which  are 
his  enduring  monument,  and  there  yet 
remains  enough  to  make  the  literary 
fortune  of  some  future  Canadian  Feni- 
more  Cooper.  The  whole  record  is 
one  of  fascinating  interest,  while  the 
dash  and  enterprise  of  these  early 
Frenchmen  may  teach  us  what  possi- 
bilities of  action  may  lie  hidden  in  the 
breasts  of  their  ultra-conservative  de- 
scendant, the  French  Canadian  habi- 
tant of  the  present  day. 


But  the  most  important  chapter  of 
our  constitutional  history  was  opened 
on  the  day  when  Wolfe's  dying  senses 
were  saluted  by  the  joyous  cry,  'They 
run,  they  run,'  the  day  when  the  proud 
old  fortress  of  Quebec  first  saw  above 
its  grey  ramparts  the  flapping  folds  of 
the  British  flag.  Canada  then  became 
a  colony  of  Great  Britain.  Her  history 
from  that  period  up  to  the  year  1841 
must  for  all  time  to  come  be  regarded 
as  one  of  deep  and  abiding  interest. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  ancient 
empires,  it  seems  to  be  the  destiny  of 
all  modern  nations,  at  some  time  in 
their  history,  to  pass  from  an  aristo- 
cratic or  despotic  to  a  popular  form  of 
government.  That  transition  was 
effected  in  Canada  during  the  period 
just  mentioned.  On  the  one  hand, 
there  was  an  aristocratic  party  bear- 
ing tlie  significant  name  of  the  '  Fami- 
ly Compact,'  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  a  people  gradually  growing  in 
self-respect,  and  in  the  desire  to  enter 
upon  the  duties  of  self-government. 
Those  were  days  in  which  political 
meetings  wei'e  prohibited,  newspapers 
put  under  censure  for  criticizing  the 
government,  one-seventh  of  the  land 
appropriated  to  the  support  of  a  single 
denomination,  public  moneys  expended 
by  Executive  act  irrespective  of  Legis- 
lative consent.  It  was  then  that  such 
men  as  Baldwin,  Hincks,  Lafontaine, 
Papineau,  and  W.  L.  Mackenzie,  some- 
times unwise,  perhaps,  but  always 
brave  and  earnest,  fought  for  the  in- 
troduction of  Responsible  Govern- 
ment. They  gained  their  object,  but 
not  without  the  country  receiving  a 
baptism  of  blood  to  mark  the  great 
transition.  It  is  the  custom  of  some 
to  speak  with  extreme  harshness  of 
the  Rebellion  of  1837,  and  of  the  chief 
actors  in  that  movement.  With  refe- 
rence to  the  men,  it  would,  perhaps, 
be  the  part  of  true  charity  to  forget 
the  momentary  folly  into  which  they 
were  betrayed  by  terrible  provocation, 
and  to  remember  the  long  years  of 
brave  and  self-sacrificing  toil  which 
constituted  their  offering  at  the  shrine 


SGG 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


of  Canadian  freedom.  As  to  the  event 
itself,  the  great  wonder  is  that  the 
troubles  were  not  greater.  It  is,  in- 
deed, a  marvel  and  a  blessing  that  a 
change  so  great  should  have  been 
eflected  at  a  cost  bo  slight ;  that  change 
which,  in  England,  deprived  one  king 
of  his  head  and  another  of  his  crown, 
which,  in  America,  was  brought  about 
with  a  loss  to  Britain  of  half  a  conti- 
nent ;  which,  in  France,  was  accom- 
panied by  the  unuttei-able  horrors  of 
the  Revolution  ;  which,  in  Russia,  is 
attended  by  the  assassination  of  kings, 
.and  the  convulsion  of  society,  should, 
in  Canada,  have  been  accomplished 
with  so  slight  a  ripple  on  the  surface 
of  our  history  as  the  Rebellion  of  1837. 
At  any  rate,  the  change  took  place, 
and  in  1841,  under  the  direction  of 
Lord  Sydenham,  our  colonial  govern- 
ment, to  quote  an  expi-ession  of  Lord 
Simcoe's  which  Mr.  Alpheus  Todd 
uses  in  this  connection,  became  *  an 
image  and  transci'ipt  of  the  British 
Constitution.'  It  is  needless  to  re- 
mark that  the  movements  and  trans- 
actions of  which  this  '  image  and  tran- 
script' was  the  final  result  form  a 
fundamental  part  of  our  political  his- 
tory, and  demand  the  keenest  and 
most  thorough  examination. 

The  history  of  the  last  forty  years 
to  which  Mr.  John  C.  Dent  has  de- 
voted his  attention,  is  emphatically 
'  A  History  of  Our  Own  Times.'  We 
begin  to  tread  upon  familiar  ground, 
and  to  hear  the  names  of  men  whose 
faces  we  have  looked  upon.  Sir  John 
Macdonald,  Sir  George  Cartier,  George 
Brown,  and  others,  some  of  whom  are 
still  in  active  service,  stand  before  us 
as  the  chief  actors  on  the  stage  of 
Canadian  politics.  The  record  of  these 
men,  the  record  of  the  parties  which 
they  led,  the  events  which  led  up  to 
Confederation,  and  its  effects  upon  the 
political  situation,  the  questions  which 
have  agitated  the  country  since  its  con- 
summation, must  all  be  carefully  stu- 
died before  we  can  form  any  just  esti- 
mate of  the  parties  which  are  now 


confronting  each  other  in  our  national 
capital. 

Having  laid  a  basis  of  geographical 
and  historical  knowledge,  the  next 
question  that  arises  is  as  to  the  method 
of  studying  current  political  events. 
Here  there  is  no  small  difficulty.  In 
Canada  we  have  the  system  of  Party 
Government.  Whether  or  not  that  is 
the  best  system  under  the  circumstan- 
ces this  is  not  the  place  to  discuss. 
That  it  exists  is  very  certain.  As  the 
First  Meridian  cuts  through  all  the 
circles  on  our  globe,  from  the  Equator 
down  to  its  smallest  sister  at  the  Pole, 
so  the  party  line  cuts  through  and  di- 
vides into  hemisjjheres  all  our  political 
institutions,  from  the  Central  Govern- 
ment, at  Ottawa,  down  to  the  very 
least  of  the  town  councils  of  the  land. 
All  questions  are  discussed  from  the 
party  stand-point.  Our  ears  are  for 
ever  tingling  with  the  affirmative  and 
negative  of  national  debate.  The 
country  is  divided  into  two  great 
camps,  whose  attitude  towards  each 
other  is  one  of  ceaseless  defiance.  Each 
session  of  Parliament  is  a  campaign, 
and  the  intervening  periods  are  filled 
with  the  hottest  skirmishing.  How, 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  turmoil  and 
strife,  are  we. to  gain  anything  like 
a  calm  intelligent  view  of  our  national 
affairs  ? 

The  Press  is  our  chief  informant. 
It  is  by  means  of  printer's  ink  in  Blue 
Books,  Hansard,  or  in  the  newspaper, 
that  we  keep  oui'selves  acquainted  with 
current  political  transactions.  The  me- 
dium on  which  we  com  monly  rely  is  that 
of  the  newspaper,  which  is  in  reality  a 
national  history,  issued  to  subscribers 
in  daily  parts.  But  it  is  far,  very  far, 
from  being  an  impartial  historj^  The 
events  it  records  are  seen  not  in  the  clear, 
colourless  light  of  Truth,  but  through 
the  disturbing  and  distorting  vapours 
of  party  strife  and  prejudice.  For  our 
papers  are  as  a  rule  special  pleaders, 
doing  their  utmost  to  bring  into  pro- 
mineiace  the  strong  points  of  their  own 
side,  and  their  utmost  to  hold  up  to 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


the  general  gaze  the  faults  and  weak- 
nesses of  the  opposing  side.  If  any 
one  is  troubled  with  the  amiable  weak- 
ness of  believing  all  that  the  news- 
papers say,  he  has  only  to  read  both 
sides  for  a  week,  in  order  to  effect  a 
complete  cnre.  Here  are  the  Globe  and 
Mad,  of  February  13th.  Under  the 
heading  *  Enthusiastic  Conservative 
Meetings  at  lirantford  and  Woodstock,' 
the  Mail  tells  us  tliat  '  a  large  number 
of  the  electors  of  the  County  of  Brant 
and  the  City  of  Brantford,  assembled 
in  the  City  Hall,'  A;c.,  etc.,  while 
under  the  cajjtion,  '  Mr.  Meredith  be- 
fore the  South  Brant  Tories,'  the  Globe. 
volunteers  the  information  that  the 
meeting  was  a  'decided  failure,'  and 
that  '  there  were  probably  fifty  Conser- 
vatives present,  and,  during  Mr.  Me- 
redith's speech,  enough  lleformers  to 
make  up  a  hundred,'  kc,  Aic.  The  Globe. 
of  February  15th,  describing  a  recep- 
tion given  at  Ottawa  to  Mr.  Blake, 
says,  '  The  hall  was  well  filled  and  the 
enthusiasm  unbounded,'  while  the 
Mail  informs  us  that  the  gathering 
*  was  neither  large  nor  representative. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  a  somewhat 
tame  and  melancholy  meeting.'  Such 
extracts  need  no  commentary.  They 
tell  their  own  story,  and  being  only 
•samjiles  of  what  is  habitual,  ought  to 
speedily  open  the  eyes  of  any  one  dis- 
posed to  place  unquestioning  reliance 
upon  newspaper  history.  If  a  student 
intends  to  have  an  intelligent  view  of 
Canadian  politics,  he  must  lay  it  down 
at  once  as  an  axion,  that  wherever 
newsi)apers  touch  upon  jjolitics,  a  large 
discount  on  their  statements  must  be 
made  for  party  bias.  He  must  also 
make  up  his  mind,  that  to  read  only 
one  newspaper,  is  no  fairer  than  for  a 
juryman  to  listen  carefully  to  the  ar- 
guments for  the  prosecution,  and  then 
put  his  fingers  in  his  ears  as  soon  as 
the  counsel  for  the  defence  rises  to  his 
feet.  Fairness  imperatively  demands 
that  he  read  at  least  two  newspapers, 
and,  even  then,  he  would  almost  need 
the  acumen  of  a  German  critic  to  sift 


out  the  kernels  of  fact  from  the  chaff 
of  prejudice. 

1  laving  settled  down  to  a  fair  exa- 
mination of  current  politics,  it  is  well 
to  rememVjer  the  necessity  of  giving  to 
all  matters  their  right  relative  em- 
phasis. Political  questions  resolve 
themselves  into  two  classes,  the  greater 
and  the  less.  At  the  heels  of  the  main 
army,  there  is  generally  a  promiscuous 
multitude  of  camp-followers,  and  about 
the  skirts  of  great  questions,  there  are 
always  hanging  a  lot  of  petty  little 
.squabbles,  as,  for  exam[)le,  to  whether 
it  was  not  public  robbeiy  of  a  ceitain 
official  to  receive  an  addition  of  .$.50 
to  his  salary,  or  as  to  whether  this 
honourable  Minister  was  not  guilty  of 
a  gross  act  of  nepotism,  in  giving  an 
appointment  to  his  wife's  forty- second 
cousin.  It  is  not  well  to  spend  too 
much  time  on  such  matters,  though 
they  are  not  to  be  ignored.  The  burden 
of  our  study  should  be  those  great 
questions  which  have  to  do  with  the 
very  structure  of  our  Government,  and 
with  the  welfare  of  society  at  large, — 
such  questions  as  the  building  of  the 
Pacific  Railway,  the  enactment  of  a 
Protective  Tariff"  and  the  relation  to 
each  other  of  the  Dominion  Govern- 
ment and  the  Provincial  Legislatures. 
To  study  these  is  an  education  for  a 
man,  and  as  he  grasps  or  fails  to  grasp 
them,  so  shall  his  rank  Vje  in  the  world 
of  political  thinkers. 

Perhaps  the  most  important  point 
of  all  for  the  student  to  remember  is 
that  the  Inductive  Method  is  the  only 
road  by  which  a  man  may  become  a  well- 
equipped  politician.  His  first  enquiry 
should  always  be,  '  What  are  the  facts 
of  the  case  V  Without  these,  he  must 
eitherjsuliside  into  the  position  of  a  stub- 
born dogmatist,  or  else  be  '  like  a  wave 
in  the  sea,  driven  with  the  wind  and 
tossed.'  To  have  the  facts  is  to  have  the 
key  to  the  position,  and  to  be  able  to 
measure  at  their  true  value  the  asser- 
tions and  arguments  of  either  party. 
Joseph  Cook  tells  the  story  that  Rufus 
Choate  and  Daniel  Webster  were  once 


J6S 


THE  STUDY  OF  CANADIAN  POLITICS. 


opposed  to  each  other  as  lawyers,  in  a 
suit  wliicli  turned  on  the  size  of  certain 
wheels.  INIr.  Choate  filled  the  air  with 
rockets  of  rhetoric  and  dazzled  the 
jury  ;  but  Mr.  Webster  caused  the 
wheels  to  be  brought  into  court  and 
put  behind  a  screen.  When  he  rose  to 
speak,  the  screen  was  removed,  and  his 
only  reply  to  Mr.  Choate's  eloquence 
was :  'Gentlemen,  there  are  the  wheels.' 
A  similar  startling  and  conclusive 
effect  is  produced  in  the  heat  of  a  poli- 
tical discussion,  by  the  man  who  can 
stand  with  calm  certainty,  and  say, 
'  There  are  the  facts.'  It  is  wonderful 
how  great  blustering  Blunderbore 
giants  of  general  assertions  shrink  and 
cower  before  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  in 
the  shape  of  a  fact ;  wonderful  how 
splendid  soaring  balloons  of  oratory  col- 
lapse into  shapeless  bags,  when  pierced 
by  the  shai'p  point  of  a  fact.  Having 
the  facts,  you  are  strong.  You  are  in 
a  position  to  stamp  with  their  right 
value  every  editorial  you  read,  and 
every  speech  you  hear.  You  can  smile 
at  the  ran  tings  of  the  demagogue,  and 
watch  with  infinite  amusement  the 
dust  throwing  of  the  sophist.  The  car- 
dinal principle  for  the  political  student 
is,  '  The  facts,  the  whole  of  the  facts, 
nothing  but  the  facts,  and  keep  a  sharp 
look-out  as  to  the  use  men  make  of  the 
facts.'  It  is  this,  in  effect,  which  Mr. 
Blake  has  in  his  mind  when  he  rises  in 
his  place  in  the  House,  and  says  :  '  I 
move  for  a  return  of  all  cori-espond- 
ence,  documents,  etc.,  relating  to  a 
cex'tain  matter.'  He  knows  full  well 
that  he  must  master  the  facts  before 
he  dare  cast  the  gauntlet  of  defiance 
into  the  arena  of  debate. 

There  is  a  department  of  study 
which  may  be  just  mentioned.  We  have 
been  speaking  of  the  past  and  of  the 
present.  There  is  a  class  of  questions 
which  have  to  do  with  the  future  of 
this  country.  They  can  scarcely  be 
called  burning  questions,  for  as  yet 
they  lie  rather  in  the  region  of  specu- 
lation than  in  that  of  practical  life. 
Still,  as  the  speculative  is  always  apt 
to  become  the  practical,  and  that  too 


with  surprising  suddenness,  the  true 
Canadian  politician  cannot  afford  to 
ignore  these  questions.  The  enquiry, 
'  What  is  to  be  the  future  of  Canada  1 ' 
opens  up  a  vast  realm  of  wonder  and 
possibility.  It  is  capable  of  at  least  four 
answers,  viz.:  that  Canada  remain  as 
she  is  ;  that  she  become  a  member  of 
a  great  Imperial  Federation  ;  that  she 
be  independent ;  and  that  she  be 
merged  into  the  neighbouring  Repub- 
lic. Whatever  may  be  the  verdict  and 
choice  of  the  future,  it  can  do  no  harm 
for  the  student  to  take  into  account 
these  questions  of  national  destiny. 
Nay,  it  may  do  great  good,  for  should 
they  ever  come  out  of  the  realm  of 
speculation,  and  take  form  as  living 
issues,  they  would  find  a  people  well- 
instructed,  and  prepared  to  give  them 
a  wise  and  honourable  settlement. 
Therefore  such  books  as  Mr.  Goldwin 
Smith's  'Political  Destiny  of  Canada,' 
are  well  worthy  of  perusal,  and  the 
sentiments  therein  expressed  deserve 
kindlier  consideration  than  is  bodied 
forth  in  the  fierce  invectives  of  the 
Globe,  and  the  blackballing  of  a  St. 
George's  Society.  We  have  nothing 
to  lose,  and  much  to  gain  by  a  free, 
fair,  and  full  discussion  of  all  matters 
pertaining  to  the  unfolding  of  our  na- 
tional future. 

Of  one  thing  we  may  be  moderately 
certain,  viz. :  that  something  great  lies 
before  us.  The  laws  of  nature,  the 
laws  that  look  upon  us  from  every 
mountain  side,  and  roll  in  every  sti-eam, 
and  shine  in  every  star,  these  are  the 
steeds  which  even  now  are  drawing  us 
along  the  road  to  national  greatness. 
There  can  be  no  question  that  with 
our  vast  extent  of  territory,  our  free 
institutions,  our  lakes  and  rivex'S,  our 
forests  and  fisheries,  our  wealth  of  mine 
and  soil,  we  are  destined  to  occupy  no 
mean  place  among  the  empires  of  the 
future.  But  peril  keeps  step  with  pos- 
sibility, and  national  glory  may  be 
tarnished  by  national  sin.  Even  now 
political  parties  are  more  or  less  ani- 
mated by  the  baleful  spirit  of  the  cry,. 
'To  the  victors  belong  the  spoils,' while 


coming  events  in  the  shape  of  giant 
monopolies  are  beginning  to  cast  their 
shadows  before  them.  Democracies  and 
despotisms  alike  find  their  material  in 
human  nature,  and  their  choice  be- 
tween them  is  a  choice  of  evils  as  well 
as  a  choice  of  blessings.  In  the  soil  of 
freedom,  the  thorns  and  the  good  seed 
are  side  by  side,  and  it  remains  to  be 
seen  which  shall  prove  the  master. 
Our  brightest  hope  is  that  home,  and 
church,  and  school,  shall  give  to  us  a 
race  of  virtuous,  intelligent  men,  and 
that  they  may  always  be  alive  to  their 
public  duties.  Morality  and  intelli- 
gence diffused,  political  indifierentism 
among  the  moral  and  intelligent  classes 
abandoned — these  combined  are  the 
guarantee  that  the  crescent  moon  of 
Canada's  glory  shall  wax  until  the 
shadow  on  the  disc  has  passed  away. 
One  quotation  from  Dickens  has 
been  given  already.  With  another,  this 
paper  concludes.  It  is  from  '  Martin 
Chuzzlewit.'  Martin  Chuzzlewit  and 
Mark  Tapley,  after  their  strange  ex- 
perience in  America,  are  on  the  deck 


SONNET.  ;-^(30 

of  the  ship  that  is  bearing  them  back 
to  England,  when  the  following  col- 
loquy ensues ; 

'  Why  look  ?  What  are  you  think- 
ing of  so  steadily  1 '  said  Martin. 

'  Why  I  was  thinking,  sir,'  returned 
Mark,  <  that  if  I  -was  a  painter,  and 
was  called  upon  to  paint  the  American 
Eagle,  how  should  I  do  it  ? ' 

•  Paint  it  as  like  an  eagle  as  you 
could,  T  suppose.' 

'No,'  said  Mark;  'that  wouldn't 
do  for  me,  sir.  1  should  want  to  draw 
it  like  a  bat,  for  its  short-sightedness  ; 


magpie  for  its  honesty  ;  like  a  peacock 
for  its  beauty ;  like  a  ostrich  for  its 
putting  its  head  in  the  mud,  and 
thinking  nobody  se  ^s  it — ' 

'  And  like  a  Phccnix,  for  its  power 
of  springing  from  the  ashes  of  its 
faults,  and  vices,  and  soaring  up  anew 
into  the  sky  ! '  said  Martin.  '  Well, 
Mark  ;  let  us  hope  so.'  As  Martin 
hoped  for  the  land  he  was  leaving,  so 
may  we  hope  for  the  land  that  we  live 
in, — our  own  dear  Canada. 


SONNET. 


LIKE  sudden  gleams  from  a  beclouded  sky, 
That  for  a  fleeting  moment  light  the  place, 
Before  the  driving  storm-clouds  them  efface. 
Are  the  few  transient  friends  that  pass  us  by ; 
Or  like  fair  flowers  that  hold  their  blossoms  high, 
And  waft  their  fragrance  for  a  little  space,  ♦ 

Then  slowly,  sadly  droop  in  languid  grace. 
As  if  they  knew  their  time  was  come  to  die  : 
But  oh  !  the  constant  friends  that  with  us  stray 
Are  as  the  glory  of  the  noon-day  light. 
Casting  a  peerless  radiance  round  our  way. 
Gemming  our  path  with  blossoms  wondrous  bright, 
The  amaranthine  flowers,  the  perfect  day 
That  shineth  on,  and  never  knoAveth  night. 

— Chas.  Lee  Barnes. 


S70  CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 
THE  QUEEN'S  BIRTHDAY. 

BY   WILLIAM   KIRBY,    NIAGARA, 
THE  LORD'S  SUPPER  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 

Bone  pastor  !  panis  vere  ! 
Jesu  !  nostri  miserere  ; 
Tu  nos  pasce,  nos  tuere, 
Tu  nos  bona  fac  videre, 

In  terra  viventium. 

Tu  qui  cuncta  scis  et  vales, 
Qui  nos  pascis  hie  mortales, 
Tuos  ibi  oommensales, 
Cohseredes  et  sodales, 

Fac  sanctorum  civium. 

—Thomas  Aquinas. 

THE  Sabbath  morning  broke  with  noiseless  calm 
Of  light  suffusing  all  the  empyrean, 
Where  unobstructed  move  the  wheels  of  God 
Amid  the  smoothness  of  all  harmonies — 
Eoreshadovv  of  the  heaven  of  perfect  rest, 
Where  sun  and  moon  shine  not — nor  need  of  them 
But  God's  own  glory  is  the  light  thereof. 

A  silvery  mist  lay  over  Balsam  Lake 

Thin  and  diaphanous,  of  soft  outline, 

Like  that  which  gathers  in  the  vale  of  sleep, 

When  after  day  of  playful  happiness, 

The  children's  drowsy  heads  the  pillow  press. 

Above  the  mist,  the  tree  tops  in  the  clear 

And  rocky  heads  of  promontories,  bare. 

Or  cedar-crowned,  stand  brightening  in  the  sun, 

Like  islands  lifted  from  the  vapoury  sea. 

A  breeze,  fresh  as  Aurora's  breathing,  came 

Up  with  the  moon,  revealing  azure  spots 

Of  water — like  a  coy  maid's  eyes  of  blue. 

That  flash  with  sudden  lifting  of  her  veil. 

And  strike  you  with  their  beauty,  through  and  through. 

The  grass  was  over  webbed  with  tiny  tents 
Of  spidery  armies,  resting  for  the  night — 
The  bushes  stood  adrip  with  glistening  dew — 
And  flowers  that  blossom  last  and  are  not  spurned 
Because  they  labour  at  the  eleventh  hour — 
And  deck  God's  footstool  asking  no  reward — 
Immortelles  for  the  dead — the  Gentian  blue. 
Bright  golden  rod,  and  late  forget-me-nots, 
The  tiniest  and  last — give  service  sweet 
When  all  the  rest  are  gone — and  close  the  year. 
Christ  loves  the  very  laggards  of  his  flowers, 
And  bids  them  sing  in  choir  the  requiem 
Of  summer's  glory  in  our  Forest  land. 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

To-day  was  sabbath— and  no  stroke  of  axe 
gesounded  from  the  hollow  woods.     The  smoke 
Kose  noiselessly  from  smoulderincr  fires-unfed 
Amidst  the  clearings.     There  was  no  crash 
*Ji.  tailing  trees  like  thunder  on  the  earth 
Awaking  all  the  echoes  far  and  near. 
Ihe  ploughman's  cheery  voice  drove  not  his  team 
Ut  patient  oxen,  midst  the  stubborn  roots 
Of  new  burnt  land,  rich  with  virgin  soil 
Of  centuries.     Nor  walked  the  sower  down 
Ihe  steaming  furrows,  with  next  harvest's  seed. 

Deep,  forest  still— the  silence  lay  on  ali- 
tor heard  was  aught  except  the  insects'  hum, 
Or  note  of  birds  amid  the  yellow  leaves 
The  mdl  wheel  by  the  Falls,  up  in  the  glen, 
btood  idly  in  the  creek's  swift  undertiow. 
x\or  heard  was  screech  of  saws-nor  mill-stones  hoarse 
Grinding  the  settlers'  com,  for  bread,  well  earned 
By  sweat  of  brow,  that  turns  the  primal  curse 
Of  labour  into  blessing  ;  for  as  prayer 
^or  daily  bread  goes  daily  up  to  heaven, 
1^5  ^of*^'jho  hears  it,  gives  with  gracious  hand, 
And  only  bids  beware  of  evil  leaven. 

'^?^"!,^m''^^''^  ^""""^^^  broad- windowed,  on  the  lawn, 

n**^nu  *  tabernacle  for  the  feast 

Of  Christ's  Communion.     Willing  hands  had  decked 

Its  timbered  walls  with  evergreen  of  fir 

i^alsam,  and  cedar.     All  without— within— 

Was  purity  and  cleanliness— akin 

And  next  to  godliness— shown  by  the  si^n 

And  miracle  of  water  turned  to  wine.     ° 

Upon  an  eminence,  a  lofty  staff, 
Tall  as  the  highest  tree,  redoubled,  stood 
gearing  a  flag,  red  cross  on  field  of  white— 
Our  nation's  symbol-emblem  of  her  great 
Wide  Christian  empire-first  in  war  and  peace— 
^Not  as  in  battle,  streaming  in  the  smoke 
And  roar  of  victory  over  sinking  ships, 
Or  in  the  van  of  charging  armies  borne 
wvl  '*  *°-'^^y  5  but  like  a  dove  of  peace 
With  silver  wings  crossed  with  the  blood  of  Christ  • 
;Aiost  iike  the  symbol  was  in  heaven  seen 
^  Consr.antine,  that  famous  day,  in  which 
He  conquered- Ju  Hoc  %no-meaning,  that 

-Ky  righteousness  alone,  do  nations  stand 

^No  other  sword  but  that  of  justice  ever 

At  ast  prevails  on  earth— it  is  the  law 

Ijod  gives  the  nations-breaking  it  they  fall  ! 

^ot  to  the  proud  and  godless,  and  unjust, 

tJut  to  the  meek,  is  earth's  inheritance. 

bo  England  s  banner  flew  to-day,  in  sign 

Ot  Christian  empire,  over  Balsam  Lake. 

Eve's  hands   and  Hilda's,  all  things  had  prepared 
\\  ere  needed  for  the  Supper  of  the  Lordi-    ^ 
Wines,  bread,  and  linen,  finest  of  their  store, 
WK    t  o  "fr  ^^'^,^"  snow, -as  conscience  clear 
Which  God  has  cleansed.     The  table  of  the  Lord 


371 


372  CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

f  Was  in  an  upper  room,  like  that  which  he 

Who  bore  the  water  pitcher,  showed  the  men 

Were  sent  to  make  all  ready  for  the  feast. 

That  upper  room  in  good  John  Ashby's  house 

Was  set  apart  for  worship,  and  to  teach 

The  children  of  the  settlement — by  Eve, 

Who  daily  taught  them — mingled  with  a  few 

Red  children  of  the  forest — drawn  by  love 

Of  her  sweet  charity — all  things  required 

For  use  and  ornament  of  simple  lives. 

She  taught  and  trained  them  to  be  just  and  true 

In  word  and  thought  and  act — to  let  the  law 

Of  God's  Commandments  be  their  rule  of  life, 

Whose  golden  rule  of  love  to  God  and  man 

Is  core  of  all  religion  worth  the  name. 

Man's  education,  lacking  these, — is  naught — 

However  rich  in  science",  and  in  lore, 

His  knowledge  boast  itself.     His  swollen  vein 

Is  heart  destroying  wliile  it  gluts  the  brain. 

The  people  gathered  in  by  families 
From  their  sparse  settlements  from  far  and  near- 
Filled  with  a  glad  expectance — such  as  men 
Who  hear  of  hidden  treasure — eagerly 
Search  after  it,  and  with  rejoicing  find. 
By  land  and  water  came  they— some  on  foot 
Through  forests  trackless,  but  for  blazened  trees 
Marked  by  the  woodman's  axe  to  show  the  way  ; 
Some  in  their  boats  came  coasting  up  the  lake. 
With  flash  of  oars,  or  sails  that  noiseless  crept 
Upon  the  glassj^  water.     Some  had  crossed 
The  gloomy  cedar  swamps  by  narrow  roads 
Walled  in  with  densest  thickets,  bridged  with  logs 
Across  the  pools,  and  thickly  overlaid 
With  matted  boughs.     Amid  these  unkempt  woods, 
The  first  rude  tracing  of  a  King's  highway — 
Fit  for  a  royal  progress  by  and  by — 
The  "  trinoda  necessitas  "  of  yore. 
Roads,  bridges,  and  the  land's  defence,  restore 
In  these  wild  woods,  the  primal  duties  laid 
By  common  law  upon  the  Anglian  race. 
When  over  sea  from  Scania's  belts  and  fiords, 
They  came  to  settle  in  their  English  shires — 
As  now  now  their  far  descended  progeny 
Spread  out  in  this  Dominion  of  the  West. 

The  people  gathered  in  before  the  sun's 
Grand  dial  in  the  heaven  pointed  noon. 
Hilda  and  Eve  with  hospitable  care, 
Provided  rest,  refreshment  for  them  all. 
Who  met  the  aged  servant  of  the  Lord, 
With  greetings  fervent,  as  when  children  see 
A  long-missed  father,  at  the  door,  returned 
From  years  of  absence  in  a  distant  land  ! 

He  stood  amidst  them — greeted  on  all  sides 
And  greeting  them  in  turn — with  grasp  of  hands, 
And  endless  questions — asked  and  answered,  full 
Of  Old  World  memories,  and  things  all  new 
To  him  and  them,  imparted  mutually. 
His  age  and  silvery  locks  reminded  all 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS.  373 

How  deep  the  love  of  their  pastor  was, 

Which  drew  him  over  sea  to  minister 

To  their  ilear  souls  again — that  none  be  lost 

Of  all  whom  he,  as  children,  had  baptized. 

Their  joy  was  great,  but  not  tumultuous. 

For  they  were  men  of  native  mood  austere. 

Who  wore  not  on  their  sleeves  their  hearts  for  show 

Or  weakness— such  the  temper  of  their  race — 
^  Men  and  their  wives  had  trudged  for  many  a  mile 

Unweariedly.     Some  of  them  in  their  arms 
=■  Their  little  children  carried — to  behold 

The  first  time  in  their  lives,  oft  spoken  of, 

But  never  seen,  God's  minister  attired 

In  seemly  gown  and  stole,  reading  the  prayers 

From  that  old  rythmic  book  that's  half  divine — 

Ood's  word  its  texture — iu  our  mother  tongue, 

As  Tyndal  wrote  it  ;  Cranmer,  Latimer, 

And  Ridley,  died  for  it — and  in  the  flames 

Of  martyrdom,  that  glorious  candle  lit 

Which,  by  God's  grace,  shall  never  be  put  out 

In  England  to  the  very  end  of  time.* 

The  upper  room  with  worshippers  was  filled, 

Range  after  range  by  families  they  sat 

In  their  best  raiment,  neat  and  kept  with  care 

For  church  and  holiday.     A  ribbon,  ring, 

The  chief  adornment  of  the  comely  wives, 

Whose  native  bloom  craved  no  factitious  help, 

For  they  were  pure  in  race,  of  that  old  stock 

Of  Angles,  fair  as  angels — which  the  world 

Wins  by  its  beauty — as  its  men  by  power — 

Their  pretty  children,  rosy,  flaxen-haired. 

Clustered  about  them,  of  all  ornaments 

Most  beauteous  were  and  best  ;  the  husbands  grave 

In  their  demeanour,  sat  like  men  intent 

Upon  the  serious  business  of  their  lives. 

All  spoke  in  whispers  only,  as  their  eyes 

Turned  reverently  towards  the  table  spread 

With  snowy  linen — where  the  cup  and  dish, 

Of  silver,  heirlooms  of  John  Ashby's  house, 

Stood  with  the  elements  of  bread  and  wine, 

The  sacred  symbols  of  the  mystery 

Of  Christ's  Communion  of  His  flesh  and  blood, 

As  they  rose  glorified  and  made  divine — 

His  all-redeeming  love  that  fills  the  heart. 

His  truth  in  faith  to  those  who  holily. 

In  His  remembrance,  eat  and  drink  the  same. 

A  sunbeam  through  the  open  window  shed 

A  glorious  radiance  round  the  cup  and  dish 

Of  burnished  silver,  till  they  shone  like  stars — 

Or  revelations  of  the  Holy  Grail — • 

The  very  dullest  apprehended  that 

To-day  was  heaven  come  quite  near  to  them. 

The  table  made  a  chancel  where  it  stood. 

In  that  plain  upper  room,  so  unadorned 

With  carved  or  cunning  work — and  east  or  north — 

*  'Be  of  good  courage,  Master  Ridley,  and  play  the  man  !  We  shall  to-day  light  such  a 
■candle  in  England  as,  by  God's  Urace,  shall  never  be  put  out  ! '  These  words  of  brave  old 
Latimer  to  his  fellcw-martyr,  at  the  stake,  were  the  mightiest,  in  all  their  results,  of  any  ever 
spoken  ia  England. 


«>-,  CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

No  matter  how  it  stood— for  everywhere 
The  Lord  is  eastward  to  His  worshippers 
However  they  may  face— hears  and  forgives  ; 
Wide  is  the  earth — but  heaven  is  wider  still 
And  God  the  Omnipresent  is  round  all. 

The  aged  minister  stood  up,  and  all 
Rose  with  him— as  he  read  the  primal  law 
Of  our  salvation  and  God's  mercy.      '  When 
The  wicked  man  turns  from  his  wickedness 
That  he  hath  done,  and  doeth  what  is  right 
And  lawful,  he  shall  save  his  soul  alive.' 

The  spiritual  look — the  loving  voice,  the  tall 
And  saintly  presence,  grey,  and  full  of  years 
•  And  holiness — the  very  dress  grown  strange, 

Once  so  familiar— and  the  gracious  words 
Of  unforgotten  harmony — awoke 
A  thousand  memories  intensified 
Of  home  and  kindred  in  their  native  land. 
The  lips  of  strong  men  quivered— women  wept 
For  very  gladness,  at  the  gracious  words 
Of  their  old  pastor  in  these  distant  wilds. 
Where  they  had  come  to  rear  their  virtuous  homes 
Of  peace  and  industry.     The  services 
Went  on  in  rhythmic  words  and  prayers  that  meet 
The  primal  needs  of  every  human  soul. 
God's  word  was  read,  with  liturgy  and  psalms, 
Devoutly  said  or  sung  with  harmony 
Of  men's  and  women's  voices.     Over  all 
Eve  Ashby's,  like  an  angel's,  quivering  rose 
Above  the  organ's  notes,  and  died  away 
In  heaven's  portals,  where  her  heart  to-day 
Went  with  her  song  ;  such  joy  her  bosom  filled 
That  even  Hilda's  failed  to  comprehend. 

Ended  the  prayers  appointed.     Each  one  sat 
Still  as  a  stone,  expectant  of  the  text 
And  sermon,  which,  in  homiletic  wise. 
Not  long  but  weighty— heated  to  a  glow 
Of  ardent  hjve,  with  gems  of  wisdom  set. 
That  score  the  heart  and  memory,  they  knew 
Would  follow.     For  it  was  their  pastor's  way, 
And  always  had  been  on  Communion  day. 

'  My  children  ! '  cried  he— with  appealing  hands 
Outstretched  in  fervour,  after  many  things 
Of  godly  exposition  of  his  text — 
'  "  Do  this  in  my  remembrance  !  "  children  whom 
My  arms  have  held  before  the  font,  and  signed 
With  the  baptismal  cross— to  make  you  His 
By  covenant  of  water's  cleansing  sign- 
Do  this  in  His  remembrance— all  of  you— 
The  rich  and  poor — the  simple  and  the  wise — 
We  all  are  equally  in  sight  of  God 
Heirs  of  his  promises — and  po^r  alike, 
Save  as  He  gives  as  gifts  of  His  own  grace— 
And  pardon  for  our  sins,  if  we  repent — 
And  make  this  golden  rule  of  life  our  law  ! 
He  whom  no  temple  built  with  earthly  hands, 
Whom  not  the  heaven  of  heavens  can  contain, 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

Is  in  the  fulness  of  His  Godhead,  power, 

And  whole  redemption,  in  this  holy  Act, 

Through  which  we  know  Him,  as  upon  the  day 

When  He  arose  victorious  over  death — 

The  two  of  Emmaus,  and  He  the  third, 

Together  journeyed,  and  the  two  knew  not 

The  Lord  of  Life — until  He  entered  in 

Their  lowly  home— constrained  to  sup  with  them, 

And,  in  the  breaking  of  the  bread,  Himself 

Made  known,  and  vanished  from  their  raptured  sight. 

And  so,  my  children  !  when  in  low  estate 

Your  eyes  are  holden,  and  your  hearts  grow  cold — 

False  lights  delude  and  faith  begins  to  wane. 

Remember  then,  those  brighter  moments,  that 

By  certainty  of  faith  in  hope  and  love. 

In  breaking  of  the  bread,  you  saw  the  Lord  ! 

Although  He  vanish  for  a  little  while — 

Yet  in  a  little  while  again  you  see 

More  near  and  clear — and  your  weak  hearts  will  grow 

Strong  in  their  sole  dependence  on  the  Lord.' 

His  words  sank  in  their  hearts,  as  April  snow 
Melts  softly  in  the  earth's  warm  bosom,  when 
The  flambent  sun  ascends  the  vernal  sky  ; 
Austerely  then  repeated  he,  aloud, 
The  Ten  Commandments,  one  by  one,  which  God 
Once  spake  on  Sinai,  and  with  finger  wrote 
On  tables  twain— as  now  on  consciences — 
And  all  the  people  answered  with  a  prayer 
For  mercy — and  the  writing  of  thesa  laws 
Upon  their  hearts — to  keep  them  evermore. 

Tha  solemn  rite  went  on  in  ancient  wise — 
The  bread  was  sanctified  to  holy  use. 
And  broken  in  remembrance  of  the  Lord — 
The  cup  was  blessed  in  thankfulness,  that  He, 
Who  shed  His  blood  of  this  New  Testament, 
Has  shed  it  for  redemption  of  us  all. 
Then  reverently  their  pastor  gave  the  food 
That  feeds  the  soul,  and  in  the  act  they  knew 
How  Christ  dwelt  in  their  hearts,  and  sanctified 
Their  lives  henceforth  to  live  for  Him  alone. 

A  silence,  only  broken  by  the  voice 
Of  their  old  pastor,  held  their  souls  in  awe, 
As  if  in  presences  unseen,  of  powers 
Communing  with  them  in  the  sacred  rite  ; 
But  while  all  felt  the  influence,  none  beheld. 
Save  Eve,  the  vision  of  angelic  forms 
In  shining  raiment — beauteous,  yet  diverse — 
Revealed  commingling  with  the  worshippers — 
God's  ministers  sent  out  to  minister 
To  heirs  of  His  salvation.     Only  one. 
Eve  Ashby,  kneeling  motionless,  her  face 
Uplifted,  with  clasped  hands  beneath  her  chin, 
Beheld  with  opened  eyes,  and  vision  cleared, 
The  inner  world  of  life,  substantial,  reat — 
The  substance  of  the  shadow  here  below, 
That  lasts,  when  this  fades  out,  the  spirit  land 
Of  man's  true  origin  and  last  abode — 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

Around  us— in  us — and  God's  Kingdom  is, 

Where  are  the  mansions  of  eternal  rest 

For  those  who  love  the  Lord  and  do  His  will. 

Pale  with  expectance,  Eve's  amazed  eyes 

Beheld  the  flood  of  light  pour  in  a  stream 

From  topmost  heaven — and  amidst  it,  lo  ! 

A  golden  stair,  broad-slanting,  easy,  straight 

Went  up  in  triple  flight — and  rose,  and  rose 

Higher  in  long  perspective  to  the  sky — 

Till  in  the  efi'ulgence  of  glory  lost. 

It  vanished  mid  the  heights  inaccessible 

Of  vision  and  of  thought.     Its  highest  flights 

Seemed  rarely  trod.     The  inmost  Paradise 

Of  souls  snow-pure  and  white,  that  never  sinned, 

With  knowledge — but  are  perfection  in  God's  love — 

As  babes  who  live  and  die  in  grace — receives 

But  few  in  these  last  days  of  sinful  time. 

But  other  heavens  open — glorious — vast 

And  comprehensive  as  the  universe 

Of  stars  that  fill  immensity.     In  these 

New  heavens  dwell  the  souls  purged  clean  of  sin, 

The  Lord's  redeemed  from  every  nation,  tongue 

And  people  under  heaven.     Every  one 

According  to  his  works  done  in  the  flesh. 

For  sake  of  God  and  of  His  righteousness, 

Receiving  his  reward  forever  more. 

The  lower  flight  of  that  immortal  stair 

Of  golden  steps  that  lead  to  heaven's  abodes. 

Where  each  one  finds  the  path  leads  to  his  own, 

Was  thronged  to-day  with  angels,  bright  in  robes 

Of  all  celestial  hues,  with  flowing  hair 

Oft  diademed,  and  sandalled  feet,  that  seemed 

To  glow  with  the  good  tidings  that  they  bore — 

Red,  blue  or  golden,  was  their  rich  attire, 

While  some  were  dressed  in  white  with  crimson  fringe, 

Saints  there  from  bloody  tribulations  come. 

And  martyrdoms — who  died  for  sake  of  Christ. 

A  waft  of  air  came  with  them,  cool  and  pure 

As  winds  on  mountain  tops,  that  filled  the  room 

And  every  heart  with  breath  of  holiness. 

Till  all  perceived  and  felt,  they  knew  not  how. 

In  touch  with  heaven,  brought  near  to  them  to-day. 

Eve  still  knelt  motionless,  and  Hilda  looked 

With  wonder  what  might  mean  the  sudden  change — 

Her  face  of  marble  purity  had  caught 

A  glow  as  of  the  morning's  dawning  red 

When  Eden's  Cherubim  with  flaming  swords 

That  guard  the  tree  of  life  from  touch  profane, 

Cleave  through  the  east  a  pathway  for  the  sun — 

She  still  knelt  motionless,  with  fingers  clasped 

Across  her  heart,  listening  in  silent  joy. 

The  bells  of  Kirby  Wiske  ring  out  again 

A  louder  peal  of  silver  chime  and  clang — 

None  heard  them  else — for  her  alone  they  rang — 

She  listened  eagerly,  but  made  no  sign 

Save  by  the  spirit.     Then  her  vision  cleared 


CANADIAN  IDYLLS. 

Still  more  and  more,  as  she  an  angel  saw 

In  sapphire  robe  and  golden  sandals,  dressed, 

With  flowing  hair  that  heavenly  odours  shed — 

A  shining  one,  in  youth's  eternal  bloom, 

Who  swiftly  came  and  knelt  down  by  her  side 

In  the  Communion.     Jn  his  perfect  hand, 

Snow-white  with  all  good  works,  he  held  a  wreath 

Of  blooming  roses  fresh,  and  wet  with  dew 

Of  Paradise  upon  them,  which  he  placed 

With  loving  reverence  on  her  head — nor  knew 

She  yet  the  radiant  youth's  immortal  guise. 

Her  eyes  weie  dazzled,  and  she  had  forgot 

That  spiritual  life  grows  never  old. 

But  younger  ever  in  th'  eternal  home  ; 

Where  time  is  not — nor  age — where  only  love 

And  wisdom  fill  the  soul,  and  beautify 

With  infinite  diversity  of  charm  ; 

W^here  those  grow  loveliest  who  most  do  love. 

He  knelt  beside  her,  glorious  in  form 

And  beauty,  bright  with  new-born  happiness— 

For  he  was  one,  had  found  celestial  joys 

Unsatisfying,  lacking  his  betrothed — 

And  counted  time,  by  hours  unused  in  heaven, 

Till  she  should  come.     Eve,  lost  in  ecstasy, 

Knelt  breathless  at  the  vision,  wondering 

What  it  might  mean,  and  still  she  knew  him  not, 

Until  the  aged  pastor  bade  her  take 

And  eat  Christ's  body  in  the  Sacrament. 

The  angel's  hand  touched  her's  upon  the  dish. 

And  by  the  broken  bread  was  instant  known  ! 

The  veil  of  mist  that  held  her  eyes  was  rent 

As  by  a  lightning  flash,  and  Eve  beheld 

The  loving  face  of  her  own  Li<jnel  ! 

Out  of  the  depths  of  heaven  he  came,  to  fetch 

His  bride  long  waiting,  and  she  had  heard  his  voice, 

In  words — no  longer  fancy — calling  her  : 

'  Rise  up,  my  love  r    My  fair  one.     Come  away  ! 

The  flowers  appear — the  singing  time  of  birds 

Is  come — the  turtle's  voice  is  in  the  land — 

Heaven's  gates  of  pearl  to-day  will  open  wide 

For  thee  to  enter  in — my  love  !  my  bride  !' 

At  that  dear  voice  she  stood  in  spirit  up. 
And  gave  her  hand  with  perfect  faith  and  trust 
To  go  with  him  wherever  he  would  lead. 
Again  the  bells  of  Kirby  Wiske  rang  clear 
Tiieir  aerial  chime — and  clearer  than  before — 
A  joyous  peal  as  on  a  marriage  morn. 

Transfigured,  purified,  set  free  from  bonds 
.  Of  earthly  life,  Eve,  robed  in  blue  and  white. 
Stood  saintliest  among  the  shining  throng. 
With  one  light  fo-it  upon  the  golden  stair 
Prepared  to  go  with  him  who  held  her  hand  ; 
Yet  looking  back,  witli  pity  for  the  grief 
Of  her  dear  father,  who  her  lifeless  form 
Held  in  his  arms — of  Hilda's  anguish,  seen 
In  tears,  and  cries  and  kisses  of  despair, 
As  she  clung  to  the  prostrate  knees,  once  Eve's, 
4 


377 


378  CANADIA]S11DYLLS. 

But  her's  no  longer — in  the  evermore. 
Confusion  reigned  in  all  that  upper  room — 
With  women's  cries — until  the  pastor's  voice, 
In  loving  sympathy  and  power  divine, 
Invoked  a  blessing  on  the  blessed  one, 
Thrice  blessed  in  dying  with  the  Sacrament 
Of  Christ  upon  her  lips.     A  dove  flew  in 
The  open  window— and  a  moment  sat 
Upon  the  table — as  Eve  waved  adieu — 
And  hand  in  hand  with  Lionel  ascend 
The  golden  stair,  and  vanished  into  light  ! 

Above  them  shone  a  star,  that  led  the  way — 
Like  that,  the  wise  men  led  to  Bethlehem, 
While  troops  of  shining  ones  in  waving  robes — - 
,  Before — behind — with  harps  and  clarions 

Attended  them,  and  sounded  jubilees 
Of  silver  trumpets  till  the  heavens  rang — 
Chanting  the  angels'  song — when  Christ  was  born  • 
'  Gloria  in  Excelais  Deo  !  '  ever — 
And  songs  of  inspirations  always  new, 
In  heavenly  tongue,  which  all  the  angels  know  ; 
Not  learned  by  painful  iterance,  as  men 
On  earth  acquire  their  mother  tongue,  but  known 
Through  breathings  of  the  Spirit — as  with  tire 
Of  Pentecost — all  knew — and  spake  as  one. 
The  tongue  which  all  in  heaven  understood, 
As  Paul  once  heard  in  vision,  when  caught  up 
In  words  unlawful  for  a  man  to  utter. 

L'ENVOY. 

May  closed  the  book.     A  mist  was  in  her  eyeSj 
As  when  one,  breathing  on  a  mirror,  dims 
its  brightness  for  a  moment  ;  while  her  voice, 
Respondent  to  her  mood,  was  full  of  ruth. 
That  verged  on  wishing  for  a  gracious  death 
Like  Eve's,  who  fell  at  her  Redeemer's  feet 
Crowned  with  the  roses  bloomed  in  Paradise. 

'  I  knew,'  she  said,   '  how  that  sweet  story  closed,. 
And  never  thought  it  sad  ! — To  be  beloved. 
Betrothed  and  waited  for — to  leave  the  earth 
Clasping  the  hand  of  one  we  love  supreme. 
Were  life  not  death  !     O  !  to  have  waited  long 
For  one  in  heaven,  to  find  him  when  we  die  ! 
As  I  have  learned  from  this  old  book  of  truth — 
Quite  sure  of  this,  one  woiild  not  care  to  live  ! ' 

'  Why  May  I  you  are  too  wise  by  half  to-day  !  ' 
Explained  old  Cliflord,  smiling.     'So  much  love. 
In  one  who  never  had  a  lover  !     Nay  ! — 
Blush  not — nor  be  ofiended  with  me — May  ! — 
"  It  is  not  so  !  and  many  love  you  !  "     Well  ! 
I  only  jested.     Sooth!     It  is  that  book 
Of  our  dead  poet  makes  you  wish  that  he 
Were  waiting  for  you — for  no  other  swain 
Like  him,  will  ever  touch  your  heart  and  brain  l*" 

May  pouted  for  a  moment — blushing  red 
As  salvias,  to  her  temples — when  she  heard 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


379 


Her  secret  fancies  so  turned  inside  out 
By  her  rough  uncle,  whom  she  pardoned  still 
For  truth  of  what  he  said,  yet  woman  liiie 
To  show  the  contrary,  and  give  him  choice 
To  judge  him  either  way.     She  answered  not, 
But  pressed  the  book  more  closely  to  her  breast, 
And  then  began  to  sing  in  wilful  mood 
A  ballad  gay,  that  drew  the  Chorus  up 
To  join  in  the  refrain — the  music  too 
Refreshed  by  rest  and  mugs  of  ale,  struck  in, 
And  every  thought  of  sadness  brushed  away 
Like  dust, — and  so  sped  on  the  holiday. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES  AWARDED  TO 

ONTARIO.* 

BY    PARLIAMEXTUM. 


BY  the  Treaty  of  the  10th  February, 
1763,  French  Canada  became  a 
British  possession  ;  and  on  the  7th  Oc- 
tober, 1 7G3,  the  Crown  of  England  by  a 
proclamation  under  the  Great  Seal  es- 
tiblished  within  narrow  limits,  the  first 
Province  of  Quebec,  extending  from 
near  the  River  St.  John,  in  Labi-ador, 
to  Lake  Nipissing,  thence  south-east  to 
the  St,  Lawrence  and  Lake  Cham  plain, 
at  line  ob\  and  along  the  highlands  to 
the  Bay  of  Chaleurs.  These  narrow 
limits  left  out  of  the  control  of  civil 
government  the  French  forts  and  set- 
tlements in  the  west  and  south-west 
of  Canada. 

In  1773  two  petitions  were  sent  from 
Canada  to  England  :  one  from  the 
English-speaking  subjects  of  the  Crown 
praying  for  the  calling  of  a  Legisla- 
tive Assembly  (a)  ;  the  other  from  the 

*  Continued  from  page  313. 

(o)  Maseres'  Proceedings  of  the  British  in 
(Quebec  to  obtain  a  House  of  Assembly,  1775, 
pp.  11,  16.  These  and  other  petitions  were 
laid  before  Parliament  ;  see  46  Commons 
Journal,  p.  227. 


French  Canadians  praying  for  (1)  the 
restoration  of  their  '  ancient  laws,  cus- 
toms, and  privileges;'  (2)  'there-annex- 
ation of  the  coast  of  Labrador  which 
formerly  belonged  to  Canada  ; '  (3) 
the  appointment  of  a  Council,  as  the 
colony  was  '  not  yet  in  a  condition  to 
defray  the  expenses  of  its  own  civil 
government,  and  consequently  not  in 
a  condition  to  admit  of  a  General 
Assembly;'  and  (4)  the  extension  of 
the  Province  to  '  the  same  boundaries 
ithad  in  the  time  of  theFrencli  Govern- 
ment,'— setting  forth:  'that,  as  under 
the  French  Government  our  colony  was 
permitted  to  extend  over  all  the  upper 
countries  known  under  the  names  of 
Michilimakinac,  Detroit,  and  other  ad- 
jacent places,  as  far  as  the  River  Mis- 
sissippi {et  autres  adjacents,  j usques  au 
fieuve  du  Mississipjri),  so  it  may  now  be 
enlarged  to  the  same  extent.  And 
this  re-annexation  of  these  inland  posts 
to  this  Province  is  the  more  necessary 
on  account  of  the  fur  trade  which  the 
people  of  this  Province  carry  on  to 


TBE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


them  ;  because  in  the  present  state  of 
things,  as  there  are  no  courts  of  jus- 
tice whose  jurisdiction  extends  to  those 
distant  places,  those  of  the  factors  we 
send  to  them  with  our  goods,  to  trade 
with  the  Indians  for  their  furs,  who 
happen  to  prove  dishonest,  continue  in 
them  out  of  the  reach  of  their  credi- 
tors, and  live  upon  the  profits  of  the 
goods  entrusted  to  their  care  '  (a) 

Mr.  Francis  Maseres,  formerly  At- 
torney-General of  Quebec,  was  then 
acting  as  agent  in  London  of  the  com- 
mittee of  British  residents  who  had 
petitioned  for  a  Legislative  Assembly ; 
and  in  his  published  report  of  the 
above  proceedings,  and  of  the  passing 
of  the  Quebec  Act  of  1774,  he  stated  : 

'  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  foregoing 
petition  of  the  aforesaid  French  in- 
habitants of  Canada  has  been  made 
the  foundation  of  the  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment above  recited'(6).  A  compari- 
son of  the  Quebec  Act  with  the 
French  Canadian  petition  will  confirm 
this  statement. 

Lord  North,  the  Prime  Minister, 
alsoinactically  confirmed  Mr.  Maseres' 
i-eport — that  the  petition  of  the  French 
Canadians  was  the  foundation  of  the 
Quebec  Act — by  stating,  during  the 
debate,  '  the  annexation  of  the  coun- 
try westward  of  the  Ohio  and  the 
Mississippi  and  a  few  scattered  posts 
to  the  west,  is  the  result  of  the 
desire  of  the  Canadians,  and  of  those 
who  trade  to  those  settlements,  who 
think  they  cannot  trade  with  safety 
as  long  as  they  remain  separate  '  (c). 

The  preamble  of  that  Act  recites  : — 
*  Whereas  by  the  arrangements  made 
by  the  said  Royal  Proclamation  [of 
1763],  a  very  large  extent  of  coun- 
try, within  which  there  were  several 
colonies  and  settlements  of  the  sub- 
iects  of  France,  who  claimed  to  re- 
main therein  under  the  faith  of  the 
said    Treaty,    was    left    without    any 


(a)  Maseres,  pp.  Ill,  131. 
(6)  Ihid.,  p.  181. 

(c)  Cavendish  Debates,  p.  9,  10  ;  Boundary 
Documents,  p.  299. 


provision  being  made  for  the  adminis- 
tration of  civil  goveniment  therein ;' 
it  was  therefore  enacted  that  '  all  the 
territories,  islands  and  countries  in 
North  America,'  bounded  by  a  line 
from  the  Bay  of  Chaleurs  running 
along  described  lines  through  Lake 
Champlain,  River  St.  Lawrence,  Lake 
Ontario,  River  Niagara,  Lake  Erie, 
to  the  northern  boundary  of  Penn- 
sylvania, '  and  thence  along  the 
western  boundary  of  the  said  Prov- 
ince until  it  strike  the  River  Ohio, 
and  along  the  banks  of  the  said  river 
westward  to  the  banks  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, and  northward  to  the  southern 
boundary  of  the  territory  granted  to 
the  Merchant  Adventurers  trading  to 
Hudson's  Bay  ...  be  and  the  same 
are  hereby,  during  His  Majesty's  plea- 
sure, annexed  to  and  made  part  and 
parcel  of  the   Province  of  Queb  c'(a). 

Six  months  after  the  passing  of  the 
Act,  the  Crown,  on  the  27th  Decem- 
ber, 1774,  issued  a  Commission  ap- 
pointing Sir  Guy  Carleton,  Governor- 
General  of  Quebec,  and  describing  the 
limits  of  his  government  (as  in  the 
Quebec  Act)  to  the  confluence  of  the 
Ohio  and  Mississippi,  '  and  along  the 
bank  of  the  said  river  [Ohio]  westward 
to  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
northward  along  the  eastern  barik  of  the 
said  river  to  the  southern  boundary  of 
the  territory  granted  to  the  Merchant 
Adventurers  trading  to  Hudson's  Bay.' 
(h)  The  Commission  appointing  Sir 
Frederick  Haldimand, Governor- Gene- 
i-al,  in  1777,  described  the  same  bounda- 
ries, (c)  So  that  if  the  Quebec  Act 
left  the  westei-n  limits  indefinite,  the 
Crown,  in  the  undoubted  exercise  of 
its  prerogative,  made  the  Mississippi 
river  the  western  boundary. 

Notwithstanding  these  acts  of  the 
Crown,  the  Dominion  contends  that 
the  term  '  northward  '  in  the  Quebec 
Act  meant  '  due  north.'  The  law 
/- 

(a)  14  George  III.  c.  83. 

[h)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  46. 

(e)  Ihid.,  p.  47. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


381 


officers,    in     1774     (a),    advised    the    | 
Crown     on     the     boundaries  ;     and    j 
the    Crown,    as   it   had    the   preroga- 
tive   right  so  to  do,  interpreted  the   • 
term  as  northward  along  the  Missis-    ! 
sippi    river — the    boundary    line   in-    i 
sisted  upon   by   the   British   Govern- 
ment and   obtained   from   the  French    i 
by  the  treaty  of  1763.     This    'due    j 
north  '  line,  if  thought  of  or  acted  upon    j 
in  1774,  would  have  left  out  of  civil    i 
government  a  long  and  narrow  strip 
of  territory  containing  the  principal 
French   posts    and    settlements,    and,    ' 
perhaps,  cutting  a  fort  or  a  settlement 
into  two  parts,  or  leaving  it  just  out- 
side   the    '  due  north '  line.      On  the 
ground,  and  within  this  '  disputed  ter- 
ritoiy,' — between  the  '  due  north'  line 
and  the  Mississii)i)i  river, — there  were, 
in  1774,  the  following  French  trading 
posts    and    settlements  : —  Kaskasias,    i 
Crevecoeur,    St.    Nicholas,  Bonsecour, 
Prairie  du  Chien,  St.  Croix,  La  Pointe, 
Kaministiquia,  St.  Pierre,  St.  Charles, 
and  others — the  population  of  which    , 
amounted  to  about  2,000  persons,  [b)    j 

The  decisions  of  the  Courts  of  Up- 
per and  Lower  Canada  on  the  term 
'  northward '  in  the  Quebec  Act  con- 
flict, and  leave  the  point  practically 
undecided. 

In  May,  1818,  one  Charles  de  Rein-    I 
hard  was  tried  at  Quebec  for  the  mur- 
der of  Owen  Keveny,  at  Rat  Portage, 
pn  the  Winnipeg  river  ;  and    Sewell,    | 
C.  J.,    and  Bo  wen,   J.,   ruled  at  Nisi   I 
Prius,    that    the    term    '  northward ' 
meant   '  due  north  from  the  junction 
of  the  rivers   Ohio    and   Mississippi ;' 
that     Fort    William,     formerly      the    : 
French  Fort  Kaministiquia,  was  three 
quarters  of  a  degree  (about  thirty-four 
miles)  to  the  westward  of  the  western    \ 

(a)  Earl  Bathurst,  Lord   Chancellor ;  Mr. 
Tburlovv   (afterwards   Lord  Chancellor),  At- 
tomey-Greneral,  and  Mr.  Wedderbnrn  (after-    ! 
wards  Lord  Chancellor),  Solicitor-Greneral.        i 

(6)  '  As  to  the  new  boundary,  it  was  said  ' 
that  there  were  French  settlements  beyond  j 
the  Proclamation  limits  [of  17i3.'3]  who  oua;ht  j 
to  have  provision  made  for  them,  and  that 
there  was>  one  entire  colony  in  the  Illinois,'  ! 
i.e.,  the  country  adjoining  the  Mississippi, —  \ 
Annual  Register,  1774,  p.  70. 


limit  of  Upper  Canada,  and  therefore 
within  the  Indian  territories  (a). 

In  October  of  the  same  year,  one 
Paul  Brown  and  another  were  tried 
at  the  York  Assizes  by  virtue  of  com- 
missions issued  by  the  Governor  and 
Council  of  Lower  Canada  (Sewell.C.  J., 
being  a  member  of  the  Council),  before 
Powell,  C.  J.,  Campbell,  and  Boulton, 
JJ.,  for  the  murder  of  one  Robert 
Semple,  at  the  junction  of  the  Win- 
nipeg and  Assiniboine  rivers.  At  the 
trial,  tlie  Attorney-General  (Robin- 
son), without  giving  his  own  opinion, 
contended  that  the  Court  should  in- 
struct the  jury  whether  the  place  in 
question  was  without  Upper  Canada 
and  part  of  the  Indian  territories. 
Powell,  C.  J.,  declined  to  rule,  but  re- 
served the  question  '  whether  the  lo- 
cality was  within  the  Province  of 
Upper  Canada  or  beyond  tl:e  boun- 
daries' lb). 

The  Nisi  Prius  ruling  in  tlie  De 
Reinhard  case  seems  to  have  been 
disregarded  by  the  Courts  of  Upper 
Canada.  At  the  York  Spring*  Assizes, 
in  1819,  two  civil  actions  were  tried, 
and  verdicts  rendered  against  Lord 
Selkirk  for  false  imprisonment  of  the 
plaintiffs  at  Fort  William  ;  and  Chief 
Justice  Powell,  in  reporting  the  pro- 
ceedings to  the  Lieutenant-Governor, 
stated  that  the  imprisonment  had  oc- 
curred 'at  Fort  William  in  the  Western 
District.'  (c). 

Thus  according  to  Sewell,  C.  J., 
Fort  William  was  thirty-four  miles 
outside  the  western  limits  of  Upper 
Canada  ;  but  according  to  Powell,  C. 
J.,  it  was  part  of  the  Western  Dis- 
trict, and  therefoi-e  within  the  limits 
of  Upper  Canada. 

(a)  Trial  of  De  Reinhard  et  ciL.  p.  449  ;  Re- 
poi-t  Boundary  Committee  H.  of  C,  1880,  pp. 
v.,  206.  This  ruling  was  not  followed  by 
Monk,  J.,  in  Connothi  v.  Woolrich,  11  L.  C. 
Jurist,  197(1867),  who  held  that'  Athabasca,'  a 
territory  900  miles  west  of  Fort  William,  was 
part  of  French  Canada  cedeil  to  Great  Bri- 
tain in  1763. 

[b)  Trial  of  Brown  et  al.,  p.  217. 

(r)  Commons  Papers,  Red  River  Stttle- 
meut  (Imp.),  1819,  v.  18,  pp.L286,  287. 


382 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


In  1819,  Mr.  afterwards  Chief  Jus- 
tice Sir  John  Beverley  Robinson,  then 
Attorney-General,  in  reporting  on  cer- 
tain illegal  proceedings  of  Loi'd  Sel- 
kirk, advised  the  Lieutenant-Governor 
of  Upper  Canada,  that  the  same  had 
occurred  *  at  Fort  William,  in  the 
Western  District  of  this  province  ' 
(«).  And  at  the  Spring  Assizes  at 
York  (Toronto),  and  at  the  Autumn 
Assizes,  at  Sandwich,  the  Attorney- 
General  indicted  Lord  Selkirk,  Miles 
McDonell,  and  others,  for  misdea- 
nieanors  committed  by  them  at  Fort 
William,  in  resisting  writs  issued  by 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench  for  Upper 
Canada,  in  1816,  and  then  being 
executed  there  by  the  deputy-sheriff 
of  the  district  {h). 

These  opinions  of  the  Chief-Justice 
and  the  Attorney-General  of  Upper 
Canada,  given  in  1819,  are  in  direct 
conflict  with  the  Nisi  Prius  ruling  of 
Sewell,  C.  J.,  and  destroy  its  effect  as 
a  judicial  decision  that  '  northward  ' 
in  the  Quebec  Act  meant  '  due 
north.' 

Against  this  '  due  north '  conten- 
tion, the  law  may  be  thus  stated : 
'  In  case  of  doubt,  every  country  tei-- 
minating  on  a  river  is  presumed  to 
have  no  other  limits  than  the  river  j 
itself,  because  nothing  is  more  natural  { 
than  to  take  a  i-iver  for  a  boundary  ; 
and  wherever  there  is  a  doubt,  that  is  j 
always  to  be  presumed  which  is  most 
natural  and  most  probable.'  (c)  '  In 
great  questions  which  concern  the 
boundaries  of  states,  where  great  natu- 
ral boundaries  are  established  in  gene- 
ral terms  with  a  view  to  public  con- 
venience and  the  avoidance  of  contro- 
versy, we  think  the  great  object,  when 
it  can  be  distinctly  perceived,  ought 
not  to  be  defeated  by  those  technical 
perplexities  which  may  sometimes  in- 


(rt)  Commons  Papers,  Eed  River  Settle- 
ment (Imp.),  1819.  V.  18,  p,  281;  ActU.  C. 
38  George  III.  c.  5,  s.  40. 

(t)  Trial  of  Browned  a/.,  p.  200  :  Commons 
Papers  (Imp.),  1819,  v.  18,  p.  265. 

(c)  Vattel's  Law  of  Nations,  p.  121, 


fluence  contracts  between  individ- 
uals.'(a) 

The  Crown,  in  1786,  after  the  ces- 
sion of  the  south-western  portion  of 
the  Province  of  Quebec  to  the  United 
States,  had  to  give  another  interpre- 
tation to  the  boundary  limits  in  the 
Quebec  Act,  and  issued  a  commission 
appointing  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  Gover- 
noi'-General,  in  which  the  limits  of  his 
government  in  the  west  were  descinbed 
as  extending  through  the  great  lakes 
and  '  to  the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  thence 
through  the  said  lake  to  the  most 
north-western  point  thereof,  and  from 
thence  on  a  due  west  course  to  the 
River  Mississippi,  and  northward  to 
the  southern  boundary  of  the  territory 
granted  to  the  Merchant  Adventurers 
of  England  trading  into  Hudson's 
Bay'  (b).  This  description  to  and  be- 
yond the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  overlaps 
the  '  due  north'  line  of  modern  days. 

These  Commissions  from  the  Crown 
were  political  acts  of  state  within  the 
prerogative  powers  of  the  Crown,  and 
vested  in  the  governors  of  Quebec  the 
civil  government  of  the  French  Cana- 
dian territory  to  the  Mississippi  river 
and  the  Lake  of  the  Woods.  The  Su- 
preme Court  of  the  United  States  has 
■held  that  the  determination  of  acontro- 
vei'sy  respecting  indefinite  national  or 
state  boundaries  belongs  to  the  political 
department  of  the  Government  as  a 
political  act  of  state,  or  as  we  would 
say,  as  a  prerogative  act.  Chief  Justice 
Marshall  has  thus  stated  the  law :  '  In  a 
controversy  between  two  nations  con- 
cerning national  boundaries,  it  is 
scarcely  possible  that  the  Courts  of 
either  should  refuse  to  abide  by  the 
measures  adopted  by  its  own  govern- 
ment. After  acts  of  sovereign  power 
over  the  territory  in  dispute,  asserting 
a  construction  of  the  ti'eaty  by  which 
the  government  claims  it,  to  maintain 
the  o[)posite  construction  in  its  own 
Courts  would  certainly  be  an  anomaly 
in  the  histoiy  and  practice  of  nations, 

(a)  Hadley  v.  Anthony,  5  Wheaton,  TJ,  S, 
696. 

{h)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  47, 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


38S 


If  the  political  departments  of  the  na- 
tion have  unequivocally  asserted  its 
right  of  dominion  over  a  country  of 
which  it  is  in  possession  and  which  it 
■claims  under  a  treaty  ;  if  the  legisla- 
ture has  acted  on  the  construction 
thus  asserted,  it  is  not  in  its  own 
Courts  that  this  construction  is  to  be 
denied.  A  question  like  this,  affecting 
the  boundaries  of  nations  is,  as  has 
been  truly  said,  more  a  political  than 
a  legal  question,  and  in  its  discussion 
the  Courts  of  every  country  must  re- 
spect the  pronounced  will  of  the  gov- 
ernment'(a).  And  in  a  case  which  in- 
volved the  question  of  the  dis))uted 
boundaries  between  Rhode  Island  and 
Massachusetts,  the  State  court  said  : 
■'The  defence  assumes  to  bring  in  ques- 
tion the  eastern  boundary  of  this  State. 
Where  that  line  is  dejure,  is  a  political 
question  with  which  the  Court  of  the 
State  will  not  intermeddle.  Sufficient 
for  them  is  it,  that  the  State  has  al- 
ways claimed  jurisdiction  up  to  the 
limit  named,  and  exercised  it  in  fact. 
The  Courts  are  bound  to  take  cog- 
nizance of  the  boundaries  in  fact 
■claimed  by  the  State' (6). 

The  Province  of  Quebec  continued 
until  1791 ;  and  during  that  year  the 
King  informed  Parliament  of  his  in- 
tention to  divide  the  Province  of  Que- 
bec into  Upper  and  Lower  Canada, 
making  the  Ottawa  river  and  a  line 
due  north  from  Lake  Temiscarning  to 
Hudson's  Bay,  the  dividing  line  be- 
tween the  two  pi'ovinces  ;  and,  with  a 
number  of  petitions  and  other  docu- 
ments, laid  before  Parliament  a  paper 
containing  a  '  description  of  the  in- 
tended boundary  between  the  Pro vinces 
of  Upper  Canada  and  Lower  Canada,' 
(c)  describing  the  boundaries  of  Upper 
Canada  as  follows:  'To  commence  at  a 
stone  boundary  on  the  north  bank  of 
the  lake  St.  Francis,  at  the  cove  west  of 
Pointe  au  Bodet  in  the  limit  between 
the  Township  of   Lancaster  and    the 

(a)  Foster  v.  Neilson,  2  Peters,  U.  S.,  306, 
308. 

(6)  State  V.  Dunvxll,  3  Rhode  Island,  127. 
(c)  46  Commons  Journal,  227,  228. 


Seigneurie  of  New  Longueuil  running 
along  the  said  limit  in  the  direction 
of  north  34°  west  to  the  westernmost 
angle  of  the  said  Seigneurie  of  New 
Longueuil,  thence  along  the  north- 
western boundary  of  the  Seigneurie  of 
Vaudreuil  running  north  25^  east  un- 
til it  strikes  the  Ottawas  rivex',  to  as- 
cend the  said  river  into  the  Lake 
Tomiscanning,  and  from  the  head  of 
the  said  lake  by  a  line  drawn  due 
north  until  it  strikes  the  boundary 
line  of  Hudson's  Bay,  including  all 
the  territory  to  the  westward  and 
southward  of  the  said  line  to  the  ut- 
most extent  of  the  country  commonly 
called  or  known  by  the  name  of 
Canada'  (a). 

By  the  use  of  the  French  name 
'  Canada,'  and  by  declaring  that  the 
limits  of  Upper  Canada  on  the  north 
should  extend  to  Hudson's  Bay,  the 
Crown  adopted  the  contention  of  the 
French  king  as  to  that  boundary.  An 
Imperial  Order  in  Council  was  passed 
on  the  24th  August,  1791,  authorizing 
the  division  of  the  Province  of  Quebec 
'  according  to  the  line  of  division  de- 
scribed in  the  paper'  presented  to  Par- 
liament, adopting  the  above  described 
boundaries  as  the  territorial  limits  of 
Upper  Canada,  and  empowering  the 
Lieutenant-Governor  of  Quebec  to  is- 
sue the  necesssary  proclamation  for  the 
commencement  of  the  Act  within  the 
two  provinces.  On  the  18th  of  No- 
vember of  the  same  year,  G-eneral 
Alured  Clarice,  then  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor of  Quebec,  issued  the  proclama- 
tion fixing  the  26th  of  December, 
1791,  as  the  day  on  which  the  two 
provinces  should  be  constituted  (&). 

The  Commissions  to  the  Governors 
of  Upper  Canada,  from  1791  to  1835, 
adopt  the  same  description  of  boun- 
daries. From  1838  to  1846,  the 
tfrm,  '  strikes  the  boundary  line  of 
Hudson's  Bay'  is  changed  to  'sti'ikos 
the  shore  of  Hudson's  Bay,'  or  'reaches 
the  shore  of  Hudson's  Bay  '  (c). 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  411. 
(6)  Ibid.,  pp.  27,  388. 
(c)  Ibid.  pp.  48-52. 


384 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


These  acts  of  the  Crown  were  '  acts 
of  sovereign  power  over  the  territory 
in  question  ;'  and  whether  as  preroga- 
tive acts,  simply  dividing  the  Province 
of  Quebec,  or  enlarging  the  provincial 
boundaries  of  the  new  province,  or  ex- 
ercising, under  what  may  be  termed  the 
dual  sovereignty,  the  prerogatives  of 
the  displaced  Fiench  power,  they  are 
binding  upon  the  governments  subse- 
quently created,  and  upon  the  judicial 
tribunals  of  those  governments  (a). 

The  term  '  Canada '  used  in  the 
jiaper  presented  to  Parliament,  and 
in  the  Proclamation  of  1791,  compre- 
hended at  the  time  an  indefinite  terri- 
tory to  the  west.  The  Treaty  of  1763 
ceded  to  England  as  '  Canada,'  the 
territory  up  to  the  River  Mississippi ; 
and  had  the  territories  to  the  south  of 
the  lakes  remained  a  possession  of  the 
Crown,  they  must  have  formed  part  of 
Upper  Canada.  In  dealing  with  titles 
there,  the  United  States  SupremeCourt 
has  held  '  that  the  United  States 
succeeded  to  all  the  rights  in  that 
jmrt  of  old  Canada  which  noio  forms 
the  State  of  Michigan,  that  existed 
in  the  King  of  Prance  prior  to  its  con- 
quest from  the  French  by  the  British 
inl760'(^*). 

The  capitulation  of  Canada,  signed 
at  Montreal  in  1760,  referred  to  the 
Canadians  and  French  '  settled  or 
trading  in  the  whole  extent  of  the 
Colony  of  Canada,'  and  to  the  '  posts 
and  counti'ies  above  ; '  and  the  map 
produced  by  the  Marquis  de  Vau- 
dreuil  at  the  time  of  the  capitulation, 
on  which  he  had  traced  the  boun- 
daries of  Canada,  showed  that  its  then 
western  boundary  extended  to  Red 
Lake — a  lake  immediately  south  of 
the  Lake  of  the  Woods (c  )  At  that 
time  there   were   on   Lake    Superior, 

(a).  '  Where  the  Governinent  of  the  United 
States  had  plenary  jurisdiction  over  the  sub- 
ject matter  of  boundaries,  the  State  Govern- 
ment, as  its  successor,  is  bound  by  its  Acts.' 
—  Missoai-i  v.  Iowa,  7  Howard,  U.S.  660. 

(h).  United  States  v.  Repetigny,  5  Wallace, 
U.S.  211. 

(c).  A  copy  of  this  map  was  appended  to 
the  Dominion  case  used  at  the  Arbitration. 


Pigeon  River,  Lake  of  the  Woods,  the 
lakes  in  the  Red  River  territory,  and 
even  westward,  posts  and  settlements 
belonging  to  the  French,  which  were 
subject  to  the  French  governors  of 
Canada(«).  Had  any  dispute  arisen 
between  England  and  France  as  to  the 
extent  of  the  western  territory  included 
uijder  the  term  '  Canada'  in  the  Treaty , 
the  French  could  not  have  disputed  the 
English  right  to  Red  Lake  (Lake  of 
the  Woods),  the  limit  marked  by  De 
Vaudreuil  on  the  map  ;  nor  that  the 
French  posts  at  Nepigon,  Kaministi- 
quia(i)  (now  FortWilliam),  St.  Pierre, 
on  the  Pigeon  River,  St.  Charles,  on 
the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  formed  part  of 
'  Canada.' 

Shortly  after  the  new  Government 
of  Upper  Canada  was  organized,  a  Pro- 
clamation, dated  16th  July  1792,  was 
issued  under  the  Great  Seal,  dividing 
the  Province  into  counties,  and  de- 
scribing one  thus  :  'Tliat  the  nineteenth 
of  the  said  counties  be  hereafter  called 
by  the  name  of  the  County  of  Kent, 
which  county  is  to  comprehend  all  the 
countiy,  not  being  territox'ies  of  the  In- 
dians, not  ah-eady  included  in  the  sev- 
eral counties  hereinbefore  described, 
extending  northward  to  the  boundary 
line  of  Hudson's  Bay,  including  all  the 
territory  of  the  westward  and  south- 
ward to  the  same  line,  to  the  utmost 
extent  of  the  country,  commonly 
called  or  known  by  the  name  of  Can- 
ada,' 'and  that  the  said  County  of  Kent 
as  hereinbefore  described  shall  and 
may  be  represented  in  the  said  House 
of  Assembly  by  two  members '  (c). 

The  Surveyor-General  of  Upper 
Canada  in  his  '  Topographical  Descrip- 
tion of  Upper  Canada,'  drawn  up  for 
the  first  the  Lieutenant  Governor,  re- 
ported that  Upper  Canada  on  the  west 

(a)  Sir  Alexander  Mackenzie's  '  General 
History  of  the  Fur  Trade  from  Canada  to  the 
North- West.'  1789-1793,  pp.  Ixv,  Ixxiii. 

(h).  '  Where  the  French  had  a  principal  es- 
tablishment, and  was  the  line  of  their  com- 
munications with  the  interior  country. '  Boun- 
dary Documents,  p.  108. 

(o)  Statutes  of  Upper  Canada,  1781-1831, 
p.  26. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


38'5 


extended  to  the  Lake  of  the  Woods 
and  the  Mississippi  river  (a.) 

Thus  by  the  action  of  the  Imperial 
and  Provincial  Governments,  when 
the  new  Province  of  Upper  Canada 
was  constituted,  the  northern  limit  of 
U|)per  Canada  was  placed  at  Hudson's 
Bay,  and  the  western  limit  at  the 
Lake  of  the  Woods — the  boundaries 
fixed  by  the  Award  {h).  But  the 
Dominion  ignores  these  prerogative 
acts  of  the  Imperial  Government 
— which,  at  the  time  the  acts  were 
performed,  '  had  plenary  jurisdiction 
over  the  subject  matter  of  these  boun- 
daries.' 

The  Dominion  despatch  of  the  27tli 
January,  1882,  accepts  and  approves 
of  the  findings  of  the  rei)ort  of  a  Com- 
mittee of  the  House  of  Commons, 
made  in  18S0,  as  follows  : — 

'  In  reference  to  the  award  made  by  the  ar- 
bitrators on  the  3rd  August,  1878,  a  copy  of 
which  is  appended,  your  Committee  are  of 
opinion  that  it  does  not  describe  the  true 
boundaries  of  Ontario.  It  seems  to  your  Com- 
mittee to  be  inconsistent  with  any  boundary 
line  ever  sug^'ested  or  proposed  subsequent  to 
the  Treaty  of  Utrecht  (1713)._  It  makes  the 
Provincial  boundaries  run  into  territories 
granted  by  Royal  charter  in  1670,  to  the  Mer- 
chant Adventurers  of  England  trading  into 
Hudson  Bay ;  and  it  cuts  through  Indian  terri- 
tories which,  according  to  the  Act  43  George 
III.,  cap.  13S,  and  1  and  2  George  IV.,  cap. 
66,  formed  no  part  of  the  Province  of  Lower 
Canada  or  Upper  Canada,  or  either  of  them  ; 
and  it  carries  the  boundaries  of  Ontario  within 
the  limits  of  the  former  colony  of  Assiniboia, 
which  was  not  a  part  of  Upper  Canada. ' 

(a)  Surveyor-General  Smith's  Upper  Can- 
ada, 1799,  p.  3. 

[b]  The  extent  of  Ontario  may  be  thus 
stated  : — Area  of  Ontario  within  the  limits 
claimed  by  the  Dominion  viz.  :  a  line  drawn 
due  north  from  the  confluence  of  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi  rivers  on  the  west,  and  the  height 
of  land  on  the  north: — 100,000  S({uare  miles, 
or  64,000,000  acres.  Area  of  Ontario  under 
the  Award  of  the  Arbitrators,  3rd  August, 
1878  :— 197,000  square  miles,  or  126,000,000 
acres— an  addition  of  62,000,000  acres.  After 
the  award  was  published  in  1878,  Britannictis, 
a  correspondent  of  the  Montreal  Gazette,  esti- 
mated the  land  value  of  the  disputed  territory 
at  .§6.5,000,000.  At  the  Detroit  Trade  Con- 
vention, in  1866,  the  Hon.  James  Skead,  esti- 
mated that  there  were  60,800  square  miles  of 
l)ine  timber  in  the  territory  drained  into 
Lakes  Huron  and  Superior  ;  and  during  a  late 
debate  (ISMi),  in  the  Legislative  Assembly  of 
Ontario,  Mr.  J.  C.  Miller,  M.P.  P.,  estimated 
the  value  of  the  timber  within  the  disputed 
territory  at  8125,000,000, 


The  answers  to  these  allegations  are : 

1.  That  the  French  claimed  that  the 
boundaries  of  Canada  or  Nouvelle 
France  extended  to  Hudson's  Bay  ; 
and  it  was  shown  to  the  arbitrators 
that  the  French  had  built  and  occupied 
forts  near  to  the  Bay,  after  the  Treaty 
of  Utrecht. 

And  the  award  finds  in  favour  of  the 
French  '  suggested  or  proposed  '  boun- 
dary line. 

2.  That  as  a  matter  of  prerogative 
law,  the  Crown  had  the  right  to  extend 
the  civil  government  of  Upper  Can- 
ada over  any  territories  granted  to  its 
subjects,  or  gi-anted  to  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company ;  or  had  the  right  to  as- 
sert the  French  sovereignty,  which  it 
had  displaced,  as  against  the  Com- 
pany's claims.  The  subjects  of  the 
Crown  in  those  territories  were  enti- 
tled to  the  benefits  of  the  Crown's 
government  And  a  further  answer 
to  this  report  may  be  found  in  the 
opinion  given  by  the  Law  Officers  of 
the  Crown  in  1857  :  'With  respect  to 
any  rights  of  government,  taxation, 
exclusive  administration  of  justice,  or 
exclusive  tirade  otherwise  than  as  a 
consequence  of  a  right  of  ownership 
of  the  land,  such  rights  could  not  be 
legally  insisted  on  by  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  as  having  been  legally 
granted  to  them  by   the  Crown '   (a). 

The  award  also  finds  in  favour  of 
the  Crown's  prerogative  rightto  extend 
the  civil  government  of  Upper  Canada 
to  the  shores  of  Hudson's  Bay. 

3.  The  Act  of  43  George  III.,  ch. 
138  (1803),  was  passed  in  consequence 
of  crimes  committed  in  the  Indian  ter- 
ritories ;  and  those  territories  can  only 
be  ascertained  by  reference  to  the  lo- 
calities where  the  crimes  referred  to  in 
the  Act  had  been  committed  prior  to 
its  passing.  Lord  Selkirk,  shortly  af- 
ter the  occurrences,  gave  a  detailed 
account  of  the  crimes,  and  referring 
to  the  Act  stated :  '  This  vague  term, 
"  Indian  territories"  has  been  used 
without  any  definition  to  point  out 
the    particular    territories    to    which 

(a)  Boundary  Documents,  p.  201. 


386 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


the  Act  is  meant  to  apply.  There  are, 
however,  extensive  ti-acts  of  country 
to  which  the  provisions  of  the  Act 
unquestionably  do  apply,  viz.  those 
which  lie  to  the  north  cmd  loest  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  territories,  and  which 
are  known  in  Canada  by  the  general 
name  of  Athabasca.  It  was  here  that 
the  violences  wliich  gave  occasion  to 
the  Act  were  committed,  and  these  are 
the  only  districts  in  which  a  total  de- 
fect of  jurisdiction  described  in  the 
jireamble  of  the  Act  was  to  be  found' 
{a).  But  the  Committee  ignores  Lord 
Selkirk's  testimony. 

4.  The  reference  to  the  '  colony  of 
Assiniboia,'  illustrates  the  question- 
able value  of  the  findings  of  the 
Committee.  This  pseudo  '  colony  ' 
Avas  a  trading  district  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company,  originally  estab- 
lished by  Lord  Selkirk  {h),  under  a 
grant  of  territory  from  a  squatter 
company  called  the  North-West  Com- 
pany, which,  without  any  grant  or 
charter  from  the  Crown,  had  intruded 
into  the  western  territory  previously 
occupied  by  French  traders  prior  to 
the  conquest.  Lord  Selkirk  sold  his 
title  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company, 
and  they  re-granted  to  him  in  1811. 
In  18U,  Mr.  Miles  McDonell  issued 
a  'proclamation 'setting  forth  that  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  had  ceded  the 
ten-itory  called  Assiniboia  to  Lord 
Selkirk, — the  limits  of  which  he  set 
out — and  that  he  (Miles  McDonell) 
had  been  '  duly  appointed  Governor  ' 
(c).  In  1839,  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany declared  the  territory  to  be  the 
'  district  of  Assiniboia.'  Such  was  the 
origin  of  the   so-called   '  colony,'  the 

(a)  Sketch  of  the  British  lur  Trade  in  North 
America,  pp.  .s.5-6.  This  statement  is  con- 
firmed by  the  evidence  of  Mr.  Mills  (p.  27)  ; 
Mr.  D.  A.  Smith  (p.  52)  ;  and  others  before 
the  Committee. 

(b)  In  the  proceedings  before  the  Boundary- 
Committee,  the  foUowingJwas  stated  by  an  ex- 
otficer  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  :  Q. 
326.  '  Did  Lord  Selkirk  get  any  charter  from 
any  power?  A.  Lord  Selkirk  was  an  usurper.' 

(c)  Report  of  Boundary  Committee,  House 
of  Commons,  pp.  xix,  and  48  ;  Boundary 
Documents,  p.  28. 


'  limits  '  of  which  the  Committee  re- 
port have  been  intruded  upon  by  the 
award. 

This  so-called  '  proclamation '  de- 
scribing the  boundaries  of  the  *  colony 
of  Assiniboia,'  was  produced  in  Tor- 
onto, in  1818  (a),  at  the  trial  of  Brown 
and  others  for  the  murder  of  '  Gov- 
ernor '  Semple,  a  predecessor  of  '  Gov- 
ernor '  Miles  McDonell  ;  and  Powell, 
C.  J.,  facetiously  observed  as  to  his 
title  :  '  You  may  call  him,  or  they  may 
call  him,  just  what  you  or  they 
will  :  Landlord,  Master,  Governor,  or 
Bashaw'  (b).  Mr.  Sherwood  in  his  ar- 
gument for  the  prisoners  said  :  '  This 
issuer  of  proclamations  might  as  le- 
gally have  issued  a  proclamation  for- 
bidding the  people  of  Yonge  Street  to 
come  to  York  Market'  (c). 

The  Committee  struggled  to  get 
evidence  that  the  Crown  had  recognized 
this   *  colony'(rf).     One  witness  stated 

(a)  Trial  of  Brown  et  al.  p.  98. 

{h)  Ibid.,  p.  80.  (c)  Ibid,  p,  92. 

(d)  This  is  illustrated  by  some  questions 
and  answers  given  in  the  rajjort.  One  witness 
was  asked  : 

277.  I  understand  you  to  say  Assiniboia 
was  a  Crown  colony  ?  Not  precisely,  except 
as  being  under  the  Crown  as  delegated  to  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

278.  It  was  fully  recognized  as  a  Crown 
colony  ?     It  was  recognized  as  a  colony. 

Another  witness  was  thus  examined  : 

417.  Do  you  know  of  the  existence  of  the 
colony  of  Assiniboia  ?  Yes ;  Lord  Selkirk's 
colony. 

418.  This  colony  was  a  regular  Crown  col- 
ony ?    No  ;  it  was  not. 

419.  You  do  not  admit  it  was  ?  No  ;  it 
was  a  local  establishment  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  ;  the  Crown  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it. 

420.  It  was  first  Lord  Selkirk's  colony.  In 
1838  it  was  adopted  by  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  and  then  it  was  treated  in  some 
measure  as  a  Crown  colony  ?  I  must  say  there 
was  no  Crown  colony  established  by  the 
Crown  in  Assiniboia. 

421.  Are  you  aware  it  was  recognized  as  a 
Crown  colony,  and  that  Recorders  were  ap- 
pointed, having  civil  and  criminal  jurisdic- 
tion under  commissions  issued  by  the  Crown 
in  England  ?  Recorders  were  appointed  un- 
der commissions  issued  by  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company. 

422.  Yes;  under  their  charter  from  the 
Crown  of  England,  as  they  claim?  The 
Crown  appointed  no  officers  with  civil  or  crim- 
inal jurisdiction  in  Assiniboia. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


387 


that  it  was  so  recognized  because  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  had  sent  troops 
there  in  184G,  '  so  that  in  view  of  any 
trouble  in  respect  of  the  Oregon  ques- 
tion, they  might  be  made  available  on 
the  other  side  of  the  mountains  ;'  and 
again,  '  most  certainly  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle  recognized  as  a  possible 
event  that  the  Crown  of  England  micjlit 
make  a  crown  colony  of  it.  I  believe 
it  VMS  a  mere  accident  that  it  was  not 
done.^  On  such  evidence  the  Com- 
mittee report  that,  '  the  colony  of 
Assiniboia  was  to  some  extent  recog- 
nized by  the  Imperial  Goverment,'  and 
that  '  it  was  never  treated  as  part  of 
the  Province  of  Upper  Canada'  {a). 

To  students  of  Crown  law  it  will 
appear  novel  that  the  Ci'own's  Procla- 
mation of  1791  could  be  revoked  or 
limited,  or  affected,  by  a  grant  or  sale  of 
a  squatter's  claim,  or  by  a  '  proclama- 
tion' issued  in  1814,  by  the  bailiff  of 
Lord  Selkirk,  or  subordinate  of  a 
trading  corporation,  calling  himself 
<  governor  of  Assiniboia.'  An  act  of 
co-ordinate  power  was  performed  with- 
in the  same  teriitory  by  M.  Louis Riel 
in  1869,  when  he  assumed  the  equally 
executive  title  of  'President;'  and  un- 
der an  equally  effective  assumption  of 
prerogative,  issued  a  proclamation  es- 
tablishing the  'Provisional  Govern- 
ment of  Assiniboia.'  Eiel's  government 
displaced  the  '  governor  '  who  held  his 
position  by  virtue  of  his  succession  to 
the  title  inaugurated  by  Mr.  Miles 
McDonell  in  1814.  And  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  which  had  constituted 
the  territory  as  a  'colony,'  and  created 
the  office  of  'governor,'  abandoned  its 
powers  of  government,  and  recognized 
Kiel  and  his  confederates  as  a  legal  gov- 
ernment '  within  the  territorial  limits 
of  the  colony  of  Assiniboia  '  (1j).  The 
Committee  are  silent  on  the  analogy 

(«)  Report  of  Boundary  Committee,  House 
of  Com.,  1880,  pp.  xxi.  and  96. 

(b)  Report  on  the  Difficulties  in  the  North 
West  Territories  ;  .Journal  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  1874,  Appendix,  p.  2(1.  Statement 
of  claims  consequent  upon  the  insurrection  in 
the  North-West  Territories.— Canada  Ses- 
sional Paper,  No.  44.  1871,  pp.  29-30. 


between  these  two  historic  acts  of  co- 
ordinate prerogative  assumption.  But 
the  logic  of  their  finding  as  to  the  in- 
vasion of  the  Ontario  boundaries  on  the 
limits  of  Assiniboia  is  that  a  proclama- 
tion by  a  bailiff  of  Lord  Selkirk  or  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  did  limit 
or  interpret  the  territorial  operation  of 
the  Crown's  Proclamation,  of  1791. 
The  converse  proposition  :  whether 
Lord  Selkirk  or  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  by  the  so-called  '  proclama- 
tion '  had  not  intruded  upon  the 
Crown's  limits  of  Upper  Canada,  was 
not  considei'ed  by  the  Committee. 

The  agreement  between  the  two 
political  sovereignties  of  Canada  and 
Ontario,  referring  this  question  of  the 
disputed  boundaries  of  Ontario  to  arbi- 
tration became  binding  on  each  gov- 
ernment when  approved  as  Orders  in 
Council,  by  the  Representatives  of  the 
Crown  in  the  Dominion  and  Province 
respectively,  and  pledged  the  good 
faith  and  honor  of  the  Crown  that  the 
agreement  would  be  carried  out  ;  and 
therefore  for  the  purposes  of  this 
arbitration,  must  be  treated  as  subject 
to  all  the  incidents  of  a  Treaty  between 
two  independent  states. 

In  a  similar  case  of  an  agreement 
between  subordinate  governments  in 
India,  the  English  Court  of  Chancery 
thus  held  :  '  It  is  a  case  of  mutual 
treaty  by  persons  acting  in  that  in- 
stance as  states  independent  of  each 
other  ;  and  the  circumstances  that  the 
East  India  Company  are  mere  sub- 
jects, with  relation  to  this  country, 
has  nothing  to  do  with  that.  That 
Ti'eaty  was  entered  into  with  them, not 
as  subjects  but  as  a  neighbouring  in- 
dependent state,  and  is  the  same  as  if 
it  was  a  Treaty  between  two  sover- 
eigns'(a). 

It  is  a  rule  of  International  Law  that 
'  where  a  nation  has  tacitly  or  ex- 
pressly conferred  upon  its  executive 
department,  without  reserve,  the  right 
of  treating  with  other  states,  it  is  con- 
sidered as  having  invested  it  with  all 

(fi)  Nabob  of  Carnaticv.  East  India  Com- 
pany, 2  Ves.,  Jun.  60. 


THE  NORTHERN  AND  WESTERN  BOUNDARIES. 


the  powers  necessary  to  make  a  valid 
contract.  Tliat  department  is  the  or- 
gan of  the  nation  ;  and  the  alienations 
\iy  it  are  valid,  because  they  are  done 
by  the  reputed  will  of  the  nation'  (a). 

Treaties  when  made  by  the  com- 
petent power,  and  Awards  made  in 
pursuance  of  such  Treaties,  are,  ac- 
cording to  the  ethics  of  nations,  obli- 
gatory and  binding  on  states  as  pri- 
vate contracts  are  binding  upon  indi- 
viduals. If  the  Treaty  requires  an  Act 
of  the  Legislature  to  carry  it  into 
effect,  '  the  Treaty  is  morally  obligat- 
ory upon  the  legislature  to  pass  the 
law  ;  and  to  refuse  it  would  be  a 
breach  of  public  faith'  (h).  '  No  na- 
tion can  violate  public  law  and  public 
faith  without  being  subjected  to  the 
penal  consequences  of  reproach  and 
disgrace'  (o). 

In  the  future  of  Canada  and  of  the 
several  Provinces,  territorial  and  finan- 
cial disputes  may  occur,  which  may 
appropriately  be  referred  to  tribunals 
of  arbitration.  For  the  safety  of  their 
future,  and  for  the  faithful  observ- 
ance of  the  pledged  faith  and  honour 
of  the  Crown  in  their  Governments, 

(a)  Kent's  Commentaries,  vol.  i.,  p.  167. 

Qj)  Kent's  Commentaries,  vol.  i.,  p.  IfiG. 
Treaties  have  been  confirnied  by  the  following 
Imperial  Acts,  22  Geo.  III.  c.  46  ;  2  &  3  Vic. 
c  96  ;  7  Vic.  c.  12  ;  15  Vic.  c.  12  ;  25  &  26 
Vic.  0.  63 ;  31  &  32  Vic.  c.  45  ;  33  &  34  Vic.  c. 
52  ;  35  &  36  Vic.  c.  45  ;  38  &  39  Vic.  c.  22  ;  39 
&  40  Vic.  c.  80. 

(c)  Kent's  Commentaries,  vol.  i. ,  p.  182. 


Ontario  cannot  afford  to  waiver  in 
holding  firmly  and  fairly  by  the 
Award.  In  this  controversy  with  the 
Dominion  she  stands  forth  as  the  re- 
presentative of  all  the  Provinces,  and 
any  abandonment  by  her  of  this  Award 
would  establish  what  to  other  Prov- 
inces might  form  an  inconvenient  pre- 
cedent for  a  future  *  breach  of  public 
faith,'  or — repudiation. 

The  able  state  paper  of  the  18th 
Februaiy,  1882,  which  sets  forth  On- 
tario's reply  to  the  Dominion  des- 
patch, earnestly  and  temperately  dis- 
cusses the  long  and  unexplained  delay  of 
the  Dominion  rulers  in  announcing 
their  repudiation  of  the  Award.  It 
shows  the  uselessness  and  delay  of  a 
new  arbitration  and  declines  it;  and 
then  pleads  for  the  sake  of  *  the  de- 
velopment and  settlement  of  the  terri- 
tory, the  maintenance  of  order,  and 
the  due  administration  of  justice 
therein,'  the  'just  course' of  obtaining, 
without  further  delay,  the  Parliament- 
ary recognition  of  the  Award  as  a  final 
adjustment  of  the  boundaries  of  the 
Province,  adding  : — '  the  evils  already 
endured  are  beyond  recall  ;  but  the 
continuance  or  aggravation  of  them, 
from  this  time  forward  is  in  the  hands 
of  your  [Dominion]  Government '  [a) 
— words  which  will  find  many  an  echo 
throughout  Ontario. 


24. 


(a)  Ontario   Sess.  Papers,  No.  23,  1882,  p. 


THE  '  ANTIGONE'  OF  SOPHOCLES. 


389 


THE    'ANTIGONE'   OF  SOPHOCLES. 


BY    WILLIAM    H.    C.    KERR,    M.A,,    BRANTFORD. 


THE  representation  of  a  Greek  play- 
on  the  stage  of  a  Canadian  Uni- 
versity theatre  marks  an  era  in  classi- 
cal culture  amongst  us  deserving  of 
something  more  than  a  passing  notice. 
It  may,  moreover,  excite  some  interest 
in  the  approaching  performance  of  the 
Antigone  of  Sophocles,  the  tragedy 
selected  fur  representation,  if  we  pre- 
sent in  popular  form  a  brief  outline 
of  the  play,  with  some  account  of  its 
author  and  his  influence  on  Greek 
tragic  art. 

Sophocles  was  born  at  Colonus,  a 
village  situate  about  a  mile  from 
Athens,  about  500  B.C.  To  be  strictly 
accurate,  our  poet  first  saw  the  light 
five  years  after  the  dawn  of  the  fifth 
century  before  the  Christian  era,  and 
left  '  the  upper  air  '  five  years  before 
its  close.  His  long  life  was,  therefore, 
passed  in  the  most  momentous  and 
eventful  epoch  of  Grecian  history. 
His  early  childhood  witnessed  the 
heroic  struggle  of  his  countrymen 
against  the  repeated  attacks  of  the 
Persian  monarchy — a  struggle  in 
which  public  liberty  and  individual 
progress  were  matched  against  Oriental 
despotism  and  slavish  subjection,  and 
which,  fortunately  for  the  destinies  of 
Europe  and  the  history  of  mankind, 
terminated  signally  in  favour  of  the 
former.  He  was  scarcely  five  years  old 
when  he  saw  the  return  of  the  victorious 
Athenians  from  the  glorious  field  of 
Marathon.  It  reads  like  the  exploits 
of  a  fairy  tale,  that  on  that  memorable 
I  plain  a  little  band  of  ten  thousand 
Greeks,  with  '  footsteps  insupportably 
advanced,'  met  and  defeated  an  in- 
vading host  numbered  by  hundreds  of 
thousands,  the  flower  of  jNIedian  chiv- 


alry. Yet  the  researches  of  Dr.  Schlie- 
mann's  spade  on  Mount  Athos  have 
somewhat  weakened  the  sweeping 
charge  of  mendacity  brought  by  the 
the  Roman  satirist  against  the  Greek 
historians.  But  whatever  may  have 
been  the  numbers  engaged,  it  suffi- 
ciently illustrates  the  spirit-stirring 
patriotism  of  the  age  that  here  the 
warriors  of  a  single  Greek  city,  aided 
by  a  contingent  of  800  hoplites  from 
Plat?ea,  fought  and  won,  against  over- 
whelming odds,  the  most  decisive 
battle  of  historic  times. 

The  poet  ^55schylus,  the  illustrious 
predecessor  of  Sophocles  on  the  tragic 
stage,  distinguished  himself  at  Mara- 
thon, and,  ten  years  later,  from  the 
Grecian  lines,  saw  the  destruction  of 
the  proud  armament  of  the  barbarians 
off  '  the  sea-beat  isle  of  Ajax.'  It  was 
in  this  same  year  (480  B.  C.)  that 
Euripides  was  born  ;  and  so  we  have 
the  names  of  the  Greek  tragic  triad 
associated  with  "the  most  notable 
events  in  their  country's  history. 
When  the  exultant  Athenians,  after 
the  disastrous  overthrow  of  the  in- 
vaders at  Salamis,  were  marching  in 
procession  to  the  shrine  of  Minerva 
and  making  the  temple  crowned  Acro- 
polis ring  with  shouts  of  '  lo  Kalli- 
nike  !  '  it  was  the  comely  son  of  So- 
phillus,  then  only  in  his  sixteenth 
year,  who  stept  to  the  front  as  leader 
of  the  garland-bearing  train  of  youths 
who  chanted  the  song  of  triumph  in 
celebration  of  the  victory.  What  an 
auspicious  introduction  to  Athenian 
society  !  Hitherto,  he  had  only 
given  satisfactory  evidence  of  his  hav- 
ing profited  by  the  excellent  education 
his   father   had   provided  for  him  by 


390 


THE  '  ANTIGONE'  OF  SOPHOCLES. 


carrying  off  the  bays  from  his  youth- 
ful compeers  in  musical  contests  and 
in  the  exercises  of  the  palaestra,  but 
now,  on  a  great  public  occasion,  So- 
phocles is  brouglit  prominently  before 
the  notice  of  a  quickwitted  people, 
who  were  ready  to  detect  genius,  if 
they  were  often  capricious  in  their 
recognition  of  it.  It  is  said  that  great 
occasions  produce  great  men.  If,  then, 
a  great  age  is  favourable  to  the  pro- 
duction of  great  men,  Sophocles  lived 
in  a  great  age.  It  was  great  not  only 
in  the  field  of  military  glory,  but  in 
the  domain  of  art.  It  was  great  at 
Thermopylae  and  Salamis,  at  Marathon 
and  Plata^a.  But  it  produced  not  only 
Leonidas  and  Miltiades,  Cimon  and 
Themistocles.  It  was  the  age  of 
Pindar  and  Simonides  in  lyric  poetry, 
of  yEschylus  and  Euripides  in  tragedy, 
of  Eupolis  and  Aristophanes  in  come- 
dy, of  Anaxagoras  and  Protagoras  in 
philosophy  ;  of  Thacydides  and  Xeno- 
phon  in  history  ;  of  Socrates  and 
Plato  in  dialectics ;  of  Lysias  and 
Isocrates  in  oratory  ;  of  Zeuxis  and 
Parrhasius  in  painting ;  of  Phidias 
and  Polycletus  in  sculpture.  The 
architecture  of  Athens  at  this  period 
hasbeenat  once  the  admiration  and  the 
lir  of  the  builders  of  all  succeed- 
3  ;  while  in  works  of  plastic 
art  the  masterpieces  of  Phidias  to7\er 
above  the  best  efforts  of  modern  sculp- 
ture, like  his  own  Minerva  among  the 
treasures  of  the  Parthenon.  In  a 
word,  it  was  the  age  of  Pericles,  when 
Athens  not  only  took  the  lead  of 
Greece,  but  the  intellectual  hegemony 
of  the  woi-ld. 

Now  of  all  the  great  names  which 
illustrate  the  page  of  Grecian  story 
in  this  brilliant  era,  no  artist  at- 
tained greater  lustre  than  did  So- 
phocles in  his  especial  sphere — that 
of  tragedy.  '  Sophocles,'  says  Hare, 
'  is  the  summit  of  Greek  art ;  but  one 
must  have  scaled  many  a  steep  before 
one  can  estimate  his  height  :  it  is  be- 
cause of  his  classical  perfection  that 
he  has  generally  been  the  least  ad- 
mired of  the  great  ancient  poets ;  for 


little  of  his  beauty  is  perceptible  to  a 
mind  that  is  not  thoroughly  princi- 
pled and  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  an- 
tiquity.' His  contemporai-ies,  how- 
ever, fully  appreciated  him.  Twenty 
times  he  carried  off"  the  first  prize  at 
the  great  Dionysian  festivals  when 
new  tragedies  were  exhibited,  and  ten 
times  he  took  the  second  prize.  He 
wrote  one  hundred  and  thirteen  tra- 
gedies in  all.  Choerilus  presented  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pieces  of  dramatic 
composition  ;  ^schylus  and  Euripides 
about  a  hundred  each.  With  such 
astonishing  facility  were  works  of  sur- 
passing power  flung  from  the  burning 
grasp  of  inspired  intellect  in  the  early 
ages  of  the  world  !  Of  Sophocles' 
plays  seven  only  survive  to  us.  Of 
these,  the  Antigone  is  first  in  point  of 
time,  if  not  in  order  of  merit.  This 
play  was  exhibited  in  440  B.  C,  and 
it  is  said  that  some  judicious  allusions 
in  it  to  Pericles  procured  him  a  gov- 
ernment appointment,  in  pretty  much 
the  same  fashion  as  a  discreet  mani- 
pulation of  the  columns  of  a  newspa- 
per in  modern  times  paves  the  way  to 
political  preferment.  For  before  the 
invention  of  the  printing-press,  the 
stage  frequently  fulfilled  the  offices  of 
the  fourth  estate  in  affording  oppor- 
tunities for  indulging  in  favourable  or 
adverse  criticisms  of  the  statesmen 
and  the  measures  of  the  time. 

Of  the  remaining  six  tragedies  of 
Sophocles,  two  others  besides  the 
Antigone,  the  (Udipics  Tyrannus  and 
the  (Edipus  at  Colonus,  relate  the  mis- 
fortunes of  the  House  of  Labdacus. 
These  plays,  however,  were  not  repre- 
sented together,  for  Sophocles  departed 
largely  from  the  custom  which  pre- 
vailed before  his  time  of  presenting 
trilogies. 

It  will  materially  assist  the  under- 
standing of  the  Antigone,  if  we  have  a 
clear  conception  of  the  old  national 
legend  connected  with  the  family  of 
(Edipus.  The  story  is  one  of  the 
oldest  in  Grecian  mythology — old  even 
in  Sophocles'  time — the  happening  of 
these  supposed  events  dating  back  as. 


! 


THE  '  ANTIGONE'  OF  SOPHOCLES. 


391 


far  before  the  birth  of  Sophocles,  as 
he  preceded  tlie  Christian  era.  This 
tragic  tale  comes  down  to  us,  there- 
fore, with  various  enibellishmentsfrom 
the  ruddy  dawn  of  Hellenic  antiquity, 
but  its  main  features,  according  to  the 
mostauthentic  traditionsare,  concisely, 
as  follows  :  Laius,  the  son  of  Labda- 
cus,  reigned  in  Thebes,  about  the  com- 
mencement of  the  millennial  epoch 
preceding  the  birth  of  Christ.  His 
wife,  Jocasta,  was  the  daughter  of 
Menoeceus,  and  sister  of  Creon.  This 
city  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  possess 
one  of  the  most  eminent  soothsayers 
of  antiquity,  Teiresias  by  name,  whose 
ill-omened  prognostications  were  con- 
tinually working  or  unfolding  mis- 
chief. He  informed  King  Laius  that 
he  should  die  by  the  hands  of  his  ex- 
pectant heir ;  so,  as  soon  as  the 
child  was  born,  they  l)0und  its  feet 
together  and  left  it  to  die  on  Mount 
Cithseron.  A  shepherd  in  the  em- 
ploy of  the  Corinthian  king,  Polybus, 
found  the  exposed  infant  there  and 
brought  it  to  the  palace.  The  kind- 
hearted  monarch  received  the  child 
and  brought  him  up  as  his  own  son, 
naming  him  Oedipus  ('  the  swoln- 
footed),  from  his  feet  being  swollen 
by  the  cruel  bands.  On  attaining 
manhood  a  report  reached  his  ears, 
that  he  was  not  the  son  of  his  putative 
father,  so  he  set  out  for  Pytho's  rock 
to  consult  the  oracle,  whose  unwel- 
come response  was  that  '  he  should 
slay  his  father  and  marry  his  mother.' 
To  avoid  so  fearful  a  catastrophe  he 
determined  not  to  go  back  to  Corinth, 
but  took  the  road  for  Thebes,  and  on 
the  way  met  his  real  father,  Laius.  In 
an  encounter  which  took  place  be- 
tween them  as  to  the  right  of  way, 
CEdipus  in  a  rage  slew  both  Laius  and 
his  charioteer.  Unconscious  of  the 
parricidal  character  of  the  deed  just 
perpetrated,  QCdipus  wanders  uncom- 
forted  among  the  glens  and  rocky  de- 
files of  Boeotia,  a  self-exiled  outlaw, 
brooding  over  his  untoward  destiny 
and  taking  measures  [si  qua  fata  as- 
pej-a  rumpat)  to  avoid  it.     At  length 


this  fugitive  knight-errant  of  fate  ap- 
pears before  Thebes  and  finds  the 
people  in  great  distress  by  reason  of 
the  ravages  of  the  Sphinx,  a  she-mon- 
ster who  propounded  a  riddle  to  the 
citizens  and  destroyed  all  who  were 
unable  to  guess  it.  The  Thebans  had  is- 
sued a  proclamation  offering  the  king- 
dom of  Laius  and  the  hand  of  Jocasta 
in  mairiage  to  any  one  who  should 
solve  the  enigma.  Oedipus  made  the 
lucky  guess,  which  resulted  in  the 
overthrow  of  the  Sphinx,  and  there- 
upon ascended  the  throne  of  his  father 
and  married  his  mother,  Jocasta.  The 
fruit  of  this  unfortunate  alliance  were 
two  sons  and  two  daughters  :  Eteocles 
and  Polynices,  Antigone  and  Ismene. 
All  went  well  for  a  time.  But  the 
deity,  awakening  to  the  necessity  of 
punishing  this  incestuous  marriage, 
began,  after  the  approved  fashion  of 
antiquity,  to  destroy  the  people  for 
the  misdeeds  of  their  rulers.  In  this- 
respect  the  Hellenic  Zeus  was  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  the  tribal  God 
of  the  ancient  Hebrews,  who  about 
this  time,  according  to  the  received 
chronology,  was  decimating  the  land 
of  Israel  -year  after  year'  with  famine, 
on  account  of  the  excessive  but  mis- 
taken zeal  of  Saul.  Delirant  reges^ 
jdectuntur  Achivi. 

It  is  just  at  this  point  in  this  tragic 
fate-fable  that  the  Gidipus  Tyrannus 
opens.  The  suppliant  people  headed 
by  a  priest  present  themselves  before 
the  palace  and  beseech  the  king  to  ex- 
haust every  means  to  prevent  the 
ravages  of  the  plague.  Gjidipus  de- 
spatches his  brother-in-law  Creon  to 
the  shrine  of  Apollo,  and  the  oracle 
makes  answer  that  the  presence  of  the 
murderer  of  Laius  is  the  cause  of 
the  calamity.  Qlldipus  thereupon  de- 
nounces fearful  imprecations  upon  the 
murderers,  and  sends  for  Teiresias  to 
assist  in  his  discovery.  The  old  sooth- 
sayer discloses  that  CEdipus  himself  is 
the  murderer,  and  the  secret  of  his 
birth  is  unfolded.  The  denouement  is 
tragical  in  the  extreme.  Jocasta  hangs 
herself,  and    G:^dipus    in   his    frenzy, 


302 


THE  '  ANTIGONE'  OF  SOPHOCLES. 


■with  her  gold    embossed  brooch-pins, 
puts  out  his  eyes. 

Antigone  now  appears  on  the  stage 
in  the  Q^dipus  at  Coloims,  as  the  guide 
and  comfort  of  her  aged  and  stricken 
parent.       Expelled  from    Thebes    by 
Eteocles  and  Polynices,  his  wretched 
sons,  who  fell  to  (quarrelling  amongst 
themselves    about    the    government, 
unhappy    QElipus    wanders    towards 
Athens,  and,  reduced  to  beggary  and 
utter  destitution,  seeks  refuge  in  the 
consecrated  grove  of  the  Fuiies.  Here 
the  sweet  character  of  our  heroine  ap- 
pears in  the  most  amiable  light.      We 
are  at  a  loss  whether  most  to  admire 
her  exalted  piety  and  filial  affection  or 
her  sisterly  regard  and  forgiving  dis- 
position  towards   her   brother.       She 
has  been  compai-ed   to    Shakespeare's 
Cordelia,  but   the   character  of  Anti- 
gone, as  set  forth   in  this  play,  and 
the  tragedy  under  review  which  bears 
her  name,  more  nearly  approaches  the 
ideal   perfection  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion.     In  remarking  upon  this  com- 
parison, the  talented  author  of  '  Cha- 
racteristics of  Women  '  has   well  ob- 
served, that    '  as  poetical   conceptions 
the  characters  of   Coi'delia  and  Anti- 
gone rest  on  the  same  basis — they  are 
both  pure  abstractions  of   truth,  piety 
and   natural  affection ;    and   in  both, 
love  as  a  passion  is  kept  entirely  out 
of    sight — for   though    the    womanly 
character  is  sustained  by  making  them 
the  objects  of  devoted  attachment,  yet 
to  have  portrayed  them  as  influenced 
by  passion  would  have  destroyed  that 
vmity  of  purpose  and  feeling  which  is 
one    source    of    power,    and,    besides, 
would    have    disturbed    that    serene 
purity    and    grandeur  of    soul  which 
equally    distinguishes    both   heroines. 
The  spirit,  however,  in  which  the  two 
characters  are  conceived  is  as  different 
as   possible,  and   we   must  not  fail  to 
remark   that  Antigone,   who  plays  a 
principal  part   in  two   fine  tragedies, 
and  is  distinctly  and  completely  made 
out,  is  considered  as  a  masterpiece,  the 
very  triumph  of  the  ancient  classical 
drama ;     whereas     there    are    many 


among  Shakespeare's  characters  which 
are  equal  to  Cordelia  as  dramatic  con- 
ceptions and  superior  to  her  in  finish 
of  outline,  as  well  as  in  the  rich- 
ness of  poetical  colouring.'  The  pro- 
longed lament  of  Antigone  and  her 
sister  Ismene  for  the  loss  of  their 
father  at  the  conclusion  of  the  CEdipns 
at  Colomis  has  been  unjustly  con- 
demned. The  Greek  audiences  did 
not  wait,  like  our  modern  theatre- 
goers, for  a  concluding  tableau  which 
would  sum  up  the  catastroplie  and 
then  rush  for  the  doors.  Had  the  play 
ended  with  the  disappearance  of  CEdi- 
))us  in  the  mysterious  grove  without 
the  dutiful  tlu'enody  of  the  sisters,  the 
morality  of  the  piece  from  the  lofty 
Greek  stand-point  wouM  have  suf- 
fered. As  it  is,  there  is  something 
exceedingly  touching  in  the  grief  of 
Antigone.  It  is  the  sacred  outpouring 
of  a  spirit  that  finds  no  relief  in  the 
reflection  that  life  with  her  outcast 
father,  reduced  from  the  loftiest  estate 
to  abject  penury,  begging  for  herself 
and  the  blind  old  man  a  precarious 
livelihood  from  door  to  door,  might 
well  be  regarded  insupportable.  She 
wishes  to  see  her  father's  grave  and 
die  there. 

'  O,  I  was  fond  of  misery  with  him, 
E'en  what  was  most  unlovely  grew  beloved, 
When  he  was  with  me.   0  my  dearest  father, 
Beneath  the  earth  now,  in  deep  darkness 

hid, 
Worn  as  thou  wert  with  age,  to  me  thou 

still 
Wert  dear,  and  shalt  be  ever  ! ' 

Unable  to  procure  permission  to  visit 
the  spot  where  her  father  fell,  she 
prays  to  be  sent  back  to  Thebes  that 
she  may  try  to  prevent  the  slaughter 
of  her  brothers. 

We  have  been  digressing  a  little,  but 
I  trust  that  we  have  not  lost  the  thread 
of  our  story.  We  have  seen  that  the 
two  sons  of  (Edipus  quarrelled,  and 
the  result  was  that  the  yoimger,  Poly- 
nices, was  expelled  from  Thebes.  Poly- 
nices fled  to  the  court  of  Adrastus, 
King  of  Argos,  where  he  was  received 
with  favour  and  married  a  daughter 
of  Adrastus.      The  Argive   King,  in 


THE  '  ANTIGONE '  OF  SOPHOCLES. 


393 


order  to  restore  his  son-in-law  to  the 
Theban  thro.ne,  undertook  tlie  famous 
expedition  known  in  Grecian  story  as 
the  '  Seven  against  Thebes,'  which  is 
the  subject  of  one  of  the  ^-Eschylean 
dramas.  Eteocles  defended  himself 
with  great  bravery,  and  when  matters 
fared  badly  with  the  heroes  who  ac- 
companied him,  the  Thebans  proposed 
that  the  contest  should  be  decided 
by  single  combat  between  the  brothers. 
Polynices  accepted  the  challenge,  and 
in  the  fierce  duel  which  followed  both 
the  combatants  fell,  and  the  war  was 
ended. 

Creon,  the  brother  of  Jocasta,  there- 
upon assumed  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment ;  and  now  we  come  to  the  events 
which  are  related  in  the  Antigone  of 
Sophocles,  and  which  form  the  closing 
chapter  in  the  sad  (Edipodean  tragedy. 

Eteocles  fell  fighting  for  his  country, 
and  is  accorded  the  honours  of  a  pub- 
lic funeral,  but  the  rites  of  sepulture 
are  denied  to  Polynices  because  he 
had  banded  with  his  countrj^'s  foes 
against  Thebes.  A  very  limited  ac- 
quaintance with  ancient  mythology 
will  suffice  to  account  for  the  over- 
powering emotion  and  concern  with 
which  Antigone  learned  of  this  cruel 
edict  of  the  new  king  in  regard  to  the 
remains  of  her  unhappy  brother.  For 
the  repose  of  his  soul  it  was  necessary 
that  the  last  sad  offices  should  be  per- 
formed for  the  unburied  corpse  of 
Polynices,  and  it  was  regarded  as  an 
imperative  religious  duty,  binding  on 
the  conscience  of  every  passer-by,  to 
accord  burial  rites  in  such  cases,  which 
would  be  sufficiently  discharged  by 
*  the  scanty  present  of  a  little  dust  ' 
thrice  cast  on  the  deceased.  This 
pious  custom  still  survives  in  the 
Christian  formula  :  '  Earth  to  earth, 
ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.'  When, 
thei-efore,  Antigone  hears  that  Creon 
has  forbidden  the  rites  of  burial  to 
her  fallen  brother,  her  indignation 
knows  no  bounds,  and  she  resolves  at 
once  to  disobey  the  king's  commands, 
although  death  were  the  penalty  of 
her  disobedience. 
5 


The  scene  of  the  Antigone  is  laid  at 
Thebes,  in  front  of  the  royal  palace. 
The  preface  to  the  Oxford  annotated 
edition  presents  us  with  a  concise 
analysis  which  will  be  helpful  to  any 
of  our  readers  who  may  intend  to  wit- 
ness the  approaching  representation  at 
Toronto  University.  '  On  the  left  hand 
is  seen  a  street  leading  into  the  city  ; 
on  the  right,  in  the  distance,  a  plain 
skirted  by  hills,  v/hich  has  lately  been 
the  scene  of  battle.  Time,  daybreak 
on  the  morning  after  the  battle,  and 
retreat  of  the  Argive  host,  which  had 
been  beleaguering  the  city.' 

In  the  first  scene,  Antigone  enters, 
followed  by  Ismene.  Antigone  de- 
clares her  intention  to  disobey  Creon's 
decree  for  bidding  funeral  rites  to  Poly- 
nices, and  invites  her  aid.  Ismene  tries 
to  dissuade  her,  but  is  answered  with 
indignant  scorn.  Antigone  leaves  to 
execute  her  purpose.  The  Chorus  of 
Theban  elders  sing  a  pean  in  honour 
of  the  victory  over  the  Argires,  but 
are  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Creon,  who  repeats  and  justifies  his 
edict  respecting  Polynices.  Meantime, 
Antigone  has  succeeded  in  scattering 
a  few  handfuls  of  dust  over  her  bro- 
ther's body,  sufficient  to  satisfy  the 
requirements  of  religion.  While  the 
Chorus  is  tamely  submitting  to  the  be- 
hests of  Creon  and  making  excuses  for 
the  act  of  Antigone,  the  second  scene 
closes  with  the  arrest  of  Antigone  dis- 
covered in  the  pious  act  of  again  cast- 
ing earth  upon  her  brother's  corpse. 

In  the  third  scene,  Antigone  jus- 
tifies her  conduct  and  triumphs  in  it. 
Her  sister,  Ismene,  seeks  to  share  in 
Antigone's  punishment,  but  her  sister 
refuses  her  any  participation  in  the 
the  suflPering,  as  she  Iiad  selfishly  re- 
frained from  assisting  in  the  deed. 
The  Chorus  declaims  against  impiety. 

The  fourth  sC'^ne  opens  with  the  en- 
trance of  Creon's  son,  Hiemon,  who  is 
in  love  with  Antigone.  Hsemon  ad- 
vises his  father  to  beware  of  acting 
cruelly  towards  our  heroine,  who  is  a 
great  favourite  with  the  ])eople  on  ac- 
count  of  her   piety   and   nobleness  of 


394 

heart.  Not  being  able  to  move  the 
king  by  these  considerations,  Hremon 
resolves  on  self-destruction  if  Anti- 
gone is  put  to  death.  Creon,  disre- 
garding his  son's  threats,  orders  Anti- 
gone to  be  immured  in  a  rocky  cavern 
and  left  to  perish.  In  the  fifth  scene, 
Antigone  is  led  forth  to  punishment, 
and,  amid  half-hearted  consolations 
from  the  Chorus,  apostrophises  her 
tomb.  The  tragedy  closes  with  the 
introduction  on  the  stage  of  the  old 
soothsayer  Teiresias,  and  fearful  calam- 
ities are  pronounced  iipon  Creon  for 
his  impiety,  which  find  their  fulfil- 
ment in  the  death  of  Antigone  and 
the  suicide  of  her  lover,  his  son  and 
heir  to  his  throne,  and  also  of  his  wife 
Eurydice.  Creon  gives  himself  up  to 
paroxysms  of  despair,  and  the  Chorus 
concludes  by  exhorting  to  acts  of  reve- 
rence and  piety. 

In  the  concluding  scene,  a  startling 
stage  effect  is  produced  by  a  contriv- 
ance called  the  'EKKVKXyjfia,  which 
opens  and  discloses  to  the  view  of  the 
spectators  the  dead  body  of  the  self- 
murdered  Eurydice. 

An  accomplished  writer  in  the  Ce7i- 
tury  Mayazine  for  November  last,  in 
an  article  upon  '  The  Costvimes  of  the 
Greek  Play  at  Harvard,'  is  in  error  in 
saying  that  ia  the  Greek  theatre  there 
was  no  scenery,  *  no  creaking  stage 
machinery,  nor  noisy  imitation  of  Na- 
ture's music'  On  the  contrary,  the 
most  ingenious  appliances  were  suc- 
cessfully employed  in  the  representation 
of  Greek  plays — notonly  in  scenepaint- 
ing,  but  in  machinery  for  the  intro- 
duction of  deities,  by  arrangements  for 
the  uplifting  of  an  actor  to  the  cloud- 
encircled  OeoXoy^Lov,  and  for  represent- 
ing water  on  the  stage.  By  a  tackling 
of  ropes  and  pulleys,  Bellerophon  was 
made  to  rival  the  wonders  of  the  fly- 
ing trapeze.  Revolving  prisms  dis- 
closed the  appropriate  scenery  for  the 
play.  Bladders  filled  with  pebbles 
rolled  over  sheets  of  copper  represent- 
ed thunder  as  successfully  as  the 
'  noisy  imitation  of  Nature's  music  ' 
produced  by  rattling  sheets  of  zinc  in 


THE  '  ANTIGONE'  OF  SOPHOCLES. 


the  modern  theatre,  while  lightning- 
was  made  to  flash  across  the  stage  by 
polished  mirrors  reflecting  the  rays  of 
the  sun ;  for  these  representations 
were  held  in  the  day  time  and  in  the 
open  air,  in  a  theatre  hewn  out  of  the 
hill-side  rock,'capable  of  accommodat- 
ing 30,000  spectators,  or  considerably 
more  than  the  entire  adult  population' 
of  the  City  of  Toronto  !  Altogether,, 
the  Greek  theatre  is  the  most  won- 
derful outcome  of  intellectual  culture 
which  the  world  has  ever  known.  It 
is  difftcult  to  set  bounds  to  our  admi- 
ration for  a  people  who  could  worthily 
appreciate  such  exalted  sentiment — 
who  could  sit  day  after  day,  from  sun- 
rise to  sunset,  at  their  religious  festi- 
vals witnessing  such  representations, 
listening  to 

'  What  the  lofty,  grave  tragedians  taught 
In  chorus,  or  iambic,  teachers  best 

Of  moral  jjrudenee, 

High  actions  and  high  passions  best  describ- 
ing,' 

and  spend  their  evenings  in  criticising 
the  plays  exhibited,  in  canvassing  the 
merits  of  the  actors  and  the  decisions 
of  the  judges. 

The  prevailing  sentiment  underly- 
ing the  Antigone,  as  in  otliers  of  So- 
phocles' plays,  is  reverence  for  the 
gods.  The  heroine  maintains  that  the 
immutable  decrees  of  Heaven  are  not 
to  be  capriciously  contravened  or  abro- 
gated by  merely  human  ordinances,  in 
language  exceedingly  sublime.  When 
the  irate  monarch  asks  her  why  she 
disobeyed  the  royal  mandate,  she  re- 
plies that  '  no  such  mandate  ever  came 
from  Jove,  nor  from  Justice,  nor  could 
I  ever  think  a  mortal's  law  of  power 
or  strength  suthcient  to  override  the 
unwritten  law  divine,  immutable,  eter- 
nal, not  like  these  of  yesterday,  but 
made  ere  time  began  ! '  To  her  un- 
wavering constancy  in  obeying  the 
dictates  of  religion  and  in  acknowled- 
ging the  superior  obligation  of  the 
laws  of  a  Higher  Power  in  matters 
pertaining  to  conscience,  the  chaste 
and  severe  Antigone  falls  a  martyr, 
and  faces  her  doom  with  unflinching- 


THE  '  ANTIGONE'  OF  SOPHOCLES. 


heroism.  In  one  of  the  choruses  in  this 
play,  the  futility  of  fighting  against 
the  omnii)Otence  of  the  Everlasting 
God,  who  dwells  in  light  unapproach- 
able, is  described  with  a  majesty  and 
power  of  diction  scarcely  ever  equalled 
and  never  excelled  in  the  whole  range 
of  sacred  and  profane  literature. 

'  O  Jove,  what  daring  irrevei-ence 
of  mortals  can  control  thy  power, 
which  neither  the  sleep  which  leads 
the  universe  to  old  age  ever  seizes,  nor 
the  unwearied  mouths  of  the  Gods  ? 
Through  unwasting  time,  enthroned 
in  might,  thou  inhabitest  the  glitter- 
ing blaze  of  heaven  !  ' 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  char- 
acter of  our  poet's  life — and  as  to  this 
there  is  the  widest  divergence  of  opi- 
nion— he  everywhere  inculcates  reve- 
rence for  the  omnipresent  beauty  and 
sanctity  of  existence,  and  the  supreme 
authority  of  the  etei'nal  laws  of  duty 
and  of  right.  Thus  in  the  (Edipus 
Tyrannus  the  chorus  offers  a  prayer, 
which  has  been  very  much  admired  in 
all  ages,  and  which  is  imperfectly  trans- 
lated thus  :  '  O  for  the  spotless  purity 
of  action  and  of  speech,  according  to 
those  sublime  laws  of  right,  which 
have  the  heavens  for  their  birthplace 
and  God  alone  for  their  author — which 
the  decays  of  mortal  nature  cannot 
vary,  nor  time  cover  with  oblivion  ; 
for  the  divinity  is  mighty  within  them, 
and  waxes  not  old.' 

From  these  brief  extracts  it  will  be 
seen  that  Sophocles  sometimes  success- 
fully essayed  the  lofty  flights  of  the 
Titan  of  the  Greek  stage,  but  though 
he  could  not  equal  ^schylus  in  adven- 
turous daring — no  poet  ever  did — he 
surpassed  him  in  the  sustained  excel- 
lence, and  in  the  harmonious  beauty 
and  consummate  polish,  of  his  compo- 
sitions. 

Sophocles  lived,  as  we  have  seen,  to 
a  good  old  age  ;  and  down  to  the  very 
close  of  his  life,  retained  possession  of 
his  finely-balanced  faculties.  A  story  is 
told  of  him  that,  in  consequence  of  his 
partiality  for  a  grandson  who  bore  his 
name,  his  son  Jophon  charged  him  be- 


395 

fore  the  proper  court  with  dotage  and 
incapacity    to   manage   his   property. 
The  poet,  in  place  of  any  other  defence, 
read  to  his  judges  from  his  new  play, 
the  (EdipTJLS  at  Golonus,  which  he  had 
just    finished,    the    beautiful    chorus 
which  extols  the  beauty  of  his  native 
Attic  deme,  and  demanded  of  his  jud- 
ges '  if  that  was  the  work  of  an  idiot  1 ' 
!    The  judges,  we  are  informed,  bi'oke  up 
[    the  court  in  admiration,  and  escorted 
j    the  poet  in  triumph  to  his  house. 
!        This  story,  if,  like  most  good  stories, 
i    of  doubtful  authenticity,  ought  to  be 
\    true,  to  the  extent,  at  least,  that  it 
indicates  a  hearty  appreciation  by  his 
fellow-countrymen    of   the   beaut}^  of 
I    the  chorus  recited.     As  it  afibrds  a 
I    very  fine  specimen  of  the  descriptive 
j    powers  of  Sophocles,  I  make  no  apol- 
[    ogy  for  presenting  the  lay  reader  with 
I    Bulwer's  spirited  version  of  thisfamous 
i    passage. 

]        The  Chorus   informs  the  blind  old 
I    wanderer  CEdipus  that  he  has  come  to 
j    the  silvery  Colonus, — 
I 

'  Where  ever  and  aye  thro'  the  greenest  vale 
Gush  the  wailing  notes  of  the  nightingale, 
From   her  home   where  the   dark-hued  ivy- 
weaves 
With  the  grove  of  the  god  a  night  of  leaves, 
And  the  vines  blossom  out  from  the  lonely 
I  glade, 

j    And  the  suns  of  the  summer  are  dim  in  the 
!  shade, 

I    And  the  storms  of  the  winter  have  never  a 
I  breeze 

That  can  shiver  the  leaf  from  the  charmed 
trees, 

For  there,  Oh  !  ever  there, 
With  that  fair  mountain-throng- 
Who  his  sweet  nurses  were 
Wild  Bacchus  holds  his  court  the  conscious 
woods  among  ! 

Daintily  ever  there, 
Crown  of  the  mighty  goddesses  of  old, 
Clustering  Narcissus  with  his  glorious  hues 
Springs  from  his  bath  of  Heaven's  delicious 
dews. 
And  the  gay  crocus  sheds  his  rays  of  gold. 
And  wandering  there  forever 
The  fountains  are  at  play  ; 
And  Cephissus  feeds  his  river 

From  their  sweet  urns  day  by  day  ; 
The  riv^er  knows  no  dearth  : 
Adown  the  vale  the  lapsing  waters  glide, 
And  the  pure  rain  of  that  pellucid  tide 
Calls  the   rife   beauty  from   the  heart  of 
earth, 
While  by  the  banks  the  Muse's  choral  train 
Are  duly  heard — and  there  Love  checks  her 
golden  rein  ! ' 


896 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


There  is  one  section  of  the  commun- 
ity, at  least,  which,  on  reading  or  wit- 
nessing the  Antigone,  will  gladly  join 
Avith  the  Theban  Simmias  in  casting 
immortelles  on  the  grave  of  Sophocles. 
I  refer  to — the  ladies.  At  a  time 
when  but  little  honour  was  accorded 
to  women,  when  noble  sentiments  and 
heroic  daring  were  ordinarily  usurped 
by  the  sterner  sex  as  their  exclu- 
sive property,  Sophocles  exhibited  the 
female  character  in  its  most  glori- 
-ous  perfection.  Euripides,  the  mis- 
ogynist, at  this  very  period,  was  tra- 
ducing womankind,  and  denouncing 
matrimony  as  a  lottery  in  which  there 


were  no  prizes,  but  the  choice  lay  be- 
tween bad  and  worse,  as  the  natui-e  of 
women  was  wholly  vile.  However, 
the  Medea  of  Euripides  has  its  effec- 
tual antidote  in  the  Antigone  of  So- 
phocles. While  the  fair  ones  are 
wreathing  fresh  chaplets  for  their 
champion,  here  is  old  Simmias'  aflfec- 
tionate  tribute  : 

'  Wind,  gentle  evergreen,  to  form  a  shade 
Around  the  tomb  where  Sophocles  is  laid ; 
Sweet  ivy,  wind  thy  bonghs  and  intertwine 
With  blushing  ro.^es  and  the  clustering  vine  ; 
Thus  will  thy  lasting  leaves  with  beauties 

hung, 
Prove  grateful  emblems  of  the  lays  he  sung, 
Whose  soul  exalted  by  the  god  of  wit 
Among  the  Muses  and  the  Graces  writ.' 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


BY    FIDELIS. 


THE  presentation  of  the  tragedy  of 
Antigone,  at  the  University  of 
Toronto,  will  be  a  public  benefit,  if  it 
awaken  some  thoughtful  interest  in 
the  noblest  productions  of  the  dra- 
matic genius  of  Ancient  Greece.  A 
degenerate  public  that  cares  only  to  be 
amused,  and  can  enjoy  night  after  night 
the  coarse  flippancy  of  0])eras  Bovffes 
or  the  inane  trivialities  of  modern 
popular  burlesques,  might  well  feel 
ashamed  of  itself  when  brought  face 
to  face  with  the  dramas  that  enchained 
the  Athenian  populace  in  the  Amphi- 
theatre in  Athens'  most  brilliant  days, 
and  stirred  their  intense?t  enthusiasm 
to  crown  the  victor  in  the  dramatic 
contest.  The  tragedies  of  Sophocles  are 
no  facetious  trifles  or  superflcial  melo- 
dramas, but  earnest  wrestlings  with 
the  deepest  moral  problems  of  human 
life — with    the    abiding   mystery    of 


wrong  and  its  inevitable  shadow,  re- 
tribution,— 

'  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  things, 
Black  misgivings  of  a  creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realised  ; ' 

and,  notwithstanding  some  polytheis- 
tic alloy,  breathing  an  atmosphere  far 
higher  and  purer  than  much  of  the 
materialistic  popular  literature  of  the 
day.  In  that  golden  age  of  the  an- 
cient drama,  the  tragedian  was,  indeed, 
the  preacher  of  righteousness,  and  a 
preacher  who  swayed  his  audience 
with  a  power  scarcely  to  be  over-esti- 
mated. 

The  choice  of  the  Antigone  is  a 
happy  one,  since,  while  the  story  is 
one  of  the  purest  and  most  beautiful 
legends  of  heroic  Greece,  it  appeal's  to 
have  been  one  of  the  masterpieces,  if 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


897 


not  the  chef-LVceuvre,  of  its  author, 
winning  for  him  the  highest  honours 
in  the  power  of  the  State  to  bestow. 
And  Sophocles,  by  the  consent  of  com- 
petent judges,  is  counted  prhiius  inter 
pares  of  the  three  great  tragedians  of 
Gi-eece.  Less  titanic  and  impetuous 
than  ^schyhis,  he  is  also  less  mytho- 
logical and  more  human.  A  greater 
idealist  than  Euripides,  he  is  less  rhe- 
torical, and  has  greater  strength  and 
dignity.  Professor  Plumptre  places 
Sophocles  at  the  head  of  all  Greek 
poetry,  because  his  greatness  is  of 
a  higher  type  than  that  of  Homer 
himself,  '  belonging  to  a  more  ad- 
vanced and  cultivated  age,  arid  show- 
ing greater  sympathy  with  the 
thoughts  and  questionings  of  such  an 
age,  with  its  hopes  and  fears,  its  pro- 
blems and  strivings.'  And  if,  as  the 
writer  believes,  that  is  the  noblest 
poet  who  most  strongly  moves  men  to 
the  noblest  ends,  then  we  may  readily 
accord  to  Sophocles  the  honour  of 
being  the  greatest  poet  of  ancient 
Greece,  as  he  is  also  one  of  the  few 
great  poets  of  the  world. 

The  tragedy  of  Antigone,  then,  pre- 
sents not  only  Greek  drama,  but  Greek 
poetry,  at  its  best ;  and,  taken  along 
with  the  companion  tragedies  to 
which  it  is  the  sequel,  CEdipus  Tyran- 
nus,  and  (Edipus  at  Cohmus,  it  is  well 
worthy  of  a  careful  study.  For  the 
drama  of  Antii/one  is  really  only  the 
closing  act  in  the  story  of  Antigone, 
whicli  runs  through  the  whole  of  these 
three  tragedies,  though  divided  as  to 
their  pi-oduction  by  long  intervals,  the 
(Edipus  at  Colonus  being  written 
in  the  poet's  old  age.  The  tragic  his- 
tory of  the  house  of  Oedipus  formed 
one  of  the  great  centres  of  Grecian 
legend  and  poetry,  affording  to  the 
three  great  tragedians  the  theme  of 
several  of  their  finest  dramas.  To 
^schylus  it  gave  the  subject  of  four, 
of  which  lite  Seven  Chiefs  against 
Thebes  is  the  only  one  which  survives. 
With  it  Sophocles  was  undoubtedly  fa- 
miliar, and  traces  of  its  influence  on 
his  mind  appear  in  the  first  choiais  of 


the  Antigone.  Euripides,  contemporary 
with  Sophocles,  took  from  the  same 
source  two  of  his  dramas,  the  Phe- 
nissae  and  the  Suppliants,  differing, 
however,  in  some  impo.Hant  points 
from  Sophocles,  whose  presentation  of 
the  story,  as  a  whole,  is  by  far  the 
nobler  and  more  complete.  The  self- 
devotion  of  Antigone,  both  as  daugh- 
ter and  sister,  gives  us,  under  the 
the  treatment  of  Sophocles,  the  highest 
conception  of  womanly  heroism  to  be 
found  in  Greek  literature,  showing  the 
more  brightly  for  the  dark  back- 
grov.nd.  As  a  pure  white  flower  may 
grow  and  blossom  amid  the  carnage  of 
a  battle  field,  so  the  noble  nature  and 
the  self-foi'getting  devotion  of  the  The- 
ban  maiden  gleam  out  with  a  more 
brilliant  lustre  amid  the  horrors  of  the 
catastrophe  that  overwhelmed  the 
House  of  (Edipus.  As  a  heroine,  in- 
deed, Antigone  may  take  her  place 
beside  almost  any  in  the  whole  range 
of  poetry.  As  true  as  Cordelia,  and  per- 
haps more  outwardly  tender,  as  brave 
as  Jeanne  d'Arc,  as  devoted  as  Iphi- 
genia,  we  may  well  regard  her  as  the 
noblest  conception  of  womanhood 
which  the  human  mind  could  have 
formed  four  hundred  and  forty  years 
before  Christ.  And  even  in  our  own 
day,  with  all  that  Christianity  has 
done  to  elevate  woman,  and  making 
due  allowance  for  the  somewhat  dif- 
ferent ethical  standard  of  a  darker  age, 
Antigone  may  still  keep  her  place  as 
one  of  the  ideals  of  feminine  heroism 
which  we  cannot  yet  afford  to  lose. 

We  meet  her  first,  in  Sophocles,  at 
the  close  of  the  dark  tragedy  of  the 
(EdipusTyrannus,  orffidipus  the  King, 
Tyrannus  being  the  word  by  which 
kings  were  significantly  styled  in  re- 
publican Athens  in  the  days  of  Sopho- 
cles. This  tragedy  gives  us  the  catas- 
trophe which  closes  the  reign  of  (Edi- 
pus, with  the  terrible  revelation  that 
he,  the  honoured  king  and  deliverer 
of  the  Thebes  of  Cadmus  from  the 
Sphinx,  had  unwittingly  been  guilty  of 
parricide  and  incest.  Driven  to  utter 
despair  by   the  awful   discovery   and 


898 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


the  suicide  of  Jockasta,  (Edipus,  self- 
blinded  and  outcast,  prepares  to  depart 
forever  from  (he  city  over  which  he 
had  so  lately  ruled  in  the  pride  of  ab- 
solute power.  He  thus  appeals  to 
Kreon,  his  brother-in-law,  in  a  passage 
which  we  give  as  translated  by  Pro- 
fessor Pluuiptre  : 

'  But  suffer  me  on  j-on  lone  hills  to  dwell 
Where  stands  Kitlia-ron,  chosen  as  my 

tomb 
■\Vhile  still  I  lived,  by  mother  and  by  sire. 

'      And  for  my  boys,  0  Kreon,  lay  no  charge 
Of  them  upon  me.    They  are  grown,  nor 

need, 
Where'er,  they  be,  feel  lack  of  means  to 

live. 
But  for  my  two  poor  girls,  all  desolate, 
To  whom  their  table  never   brought  a 

meal 
Without   my   presence,  but  whate'er   1 

touched 
They  still  partook  of  with  me  ;  these  I 

care  for. 
Yea,  let  me  touch  them  with  my  hands 

and  weep 
To  them  my  sorrows. 
—What  say  I  ?  What  is  this  ? 
Do  1  not  hear,  ye  Gods,  their  dear,  loved 

tones. 
Broken  with  sobs,  and   Kreon,  pitying 

me. 
Hath  sent  the  dearest  of  my  children  to 

rae?' 

Then  follows  his  pathetic  lament  over 
their  sad  and  unprotected  lot,  and  his 
appeal  to  Kreon — sadly  suggestive  in 
the  light  of  late  events — to  act  towards 
them  the  part  of  a  father,  and 

'  Look  on  them  with  pity,  seeing  them 
At  their  age,   but  for  thee,  deprived  of 
alh' 

But,  notwithstanding  his  parting 
counsels,  CEldijius  seems,  at  the  last, 
moved  by  a  strong  impulse,  to  take 
his  daughters  with  him  as  the  com- 
panions of  his  dark  and  lonely  way. 
Kreon,  somewhat  impatient,  exclaims, 
as  a  modern  uncle  might  do, 

'  Go  thou,  but  leave  the  girls.' 

(Edipus  replies  with  the  entreaty, 

'  Ah,  take  them  not  from  me  ; ' 

and  is  answered  somewhat  roughly, 
with  the  intimation  that  he  must  not 


think  to  have  his  way  '  in  all  things 
all  his  life.'  The  drama  then  closes 
with  the  lesson  from  the  Chorus  : 

'  To  reckon  no  man  happy  till  ye  see 
The  closing  day  ;  until  he  pass  the  bourne 
W^hich  severs  life  from  death,  unscathed 
by  woe,' 

The  few  graphic  touches  by  which 
the  poet  brings  out  the  father's  ten- 
derness for  his  daughters,  set  before 
us  also  the  simple  patriai'chal  domestic 
life  of  Grecian  royalty,  as  we  have  it 
also  painted  for  us  by  Homer.  All 
who  remember  the  charming  episode 
of  Nausikaa  in  the  '  Odyssey,'  can 
easily  fill  in  from  imagination  the 
early  life  of  Antigone,  as  a  Theban 
princess,  brought  up  to  use  the  distaff, 
as  well  as  to  play  at  ball  with  her 
young  companions,  probably  going, 
like  Nausikaa,  with  a  joyous  train,  to 
wash  her  garments  in  the  *  fair  fount 
of  Dirke,'  forming  one  in  the  proces- 
sions that  periodically  went  to  per- 
form the  statetl  rites  in  honour  of  the 
gods — and  withal,  as  we  can  gather 
from  what  follows,  her  father's  dear- 
est child  and  most  sympathetic  com- 
panion, as  well  as  a  sister  whose  love 
could  be  counted  on  when  all  others 
should  fail,  and  should,  indeed,  prove 
to  be  '  stronger  than  death.' 

How  she  overcomes  Kreon's  opposi- 
tion to  her  going  forth  to  share  her 
father's  lonely  wanderings,  we  are  not 
told.  Perhaps  her  stronger  will  pre- 
vailed, when  the  weaker  Ismene  yield- 
ed to  pressure  and  remained  behind — 
another  case  of  Ruth  and  Orpah.  Or, 
perhaps,  detained  by  force,  she  fol- 
lowed her  father  by  secret  flight.  At 
all  events,  we  can  picture  the  blind  old 
man  and  the  graceful  maiden  thread- 
ing their  way  through  the  wild  moun- 
tain passes  of  Kithceron — theboundary 
between  Bccotia  and  Attica — depen- 
dent for  nightly  shelter  on  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  scattered  sliepherds'  huts, 
and  at  last,  approaching  the  white 
rocks  and  olive-groves  of  Colonus, 
whence  they  could  behold  afar,  amidst 
the  peaked  hills  surrounding  it,  the 
gleaming  Acropolis  of  Athens,  not  yet 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


399 


■crowned  with  its  tiai'a  of  temples,  and 
beyond,  the  bhie  waters  of  the  Sarome 
Gulf.  Here  the  second  drama  opens, 
at  Colonus,  the  birth-place  of  Sopho- 
cles, and  the  site  of  the  sacred  Grove 
of  the  P^uraenides,  who  at  Athens,  in- 
stead of  the  implacable  Erinyes,  seem  i 
to  become  the  '  gentle  powers '  of 
atonement  and  purification. 

(Edipus,  approaching  the  sacred 
grove,  asks  Antigone  what  country 
they  are  approaching,  and 

'  WTiose  the  city  near  ? 
Who  will  receive  the  wanderer  Qidipus 
And  give   him,  day  by  day,   his  scanty 

meals, 
He  asks  but  little  ;  then  that  little,  less 
Most  times  receiving,  finding  that  enough, 
For  I  have  learned  contentment ;  life's 

strange  charm 
Has  taught  me  this,  and  time's  unresting 

course,  | 

And  the  stout  heart  within  me.' 

Antigone  replies  by  describing  what 
she  sees  :  '  afar  a  city's  towers;'  nearer, 
a  spot  thick  with  clustering  laurels 
and  vines  and  olives,  from  whose 
depths  the  nightingales  'trill  forth 
their  songs,'  evidently  a  sacred  place. 
A  passing  stranger  appears,  who  tells 
them  that  the  spot  is  consecrated  to 

'  The   gentle  Powers,    all-seeing  so  they 
call  them 
The  people  here.   It  may  be,  other  names 
Befit  them  elsewhere.' 

He  tells  them,  too,  the  other  sacred 
associations  of  the  vicinity,  ending 
with  the  words  so  characteristic  of  the 
piety  of  Sophocles  : 

'  Such,    stranger,  is  our  worship  ;  not  in 
words 
Shown  chiefly,  but  much  more  in  con- 
stant use. ' 

Theseus  is  the  ruler  of  this  land — 
Theseus,  the  hero  of  so  many  legends, 
the  amorous  knight-errant  of  the  ear- 
lier tales,  and  the  chivalrous  ruler  and 
statesman  of  the  later  writers, — a  sort  ! 
of  combination  of  Lancelot  and  Ar- 
thur. In  Sophocles'  hands,  he  is 
Arthur,  as  might  have  been  expected 
from  a  poet  who  said  himself  that  he 
painted  men  as  they  ought  to  be,  rather 
than  as  they  were.    G^dipus  desires  to 


see  Theseus,  that  the  latter,  '  a  little 
helping,  much  may  gain.'  While  the 
stranger  goes  on  to  the  city,  (Edipus 
retires  within  the  sacred  grove,  when 
a  Chorus  of  old  men  approaches  and 
challenges  him  for  sacrilegious  intru- 
sion into  a  sacred  spot.  For  the  Chorus, 
so  remarkable  a  feature  in  the  Greek 
drama,  always  represents  the  'spirit  of 
the  laws '  i-eligious,  civic  and  social, 
and  must  ever  sacredly  guard  the  rtc/hf. 
A  parley  ensues,  in  the  course  of  which 
Oedipus  reveals  his  ill-fated  name,  and 
the  horror-stricken  Chorus,  desiring  to 
avert  from  their  land  a  possible  curse, 
bids  him  begone.  Antigone  intercedes, 
and  implores  their  compassion  for  one 
so  unhappy,  ending  thus  : 

'  By  all  that  is  most  dear,  I  supplicate, 
Thy  child,  thy  wife,  thy  duty,  and  thy 

God  ; 
Search  where  thou  wilt,  thou  ne'er  wilt 

find  a  man 
With   strength   to  flee  when  God  shall 

lead  him  on.' 

While  Oedipus  touchingly  represents 
that  he  is  a  sufferer  rather  than  a 
wilful  wrong-doer,  and  appeals  to  the 
reputation  of  Athens  as  '  the  one 
deliverer  of  the  stranger-guest,'  add- 
ing that  he  has  come  'God-fearing, 
cleansed,  bringing  much  pi'ofit  to  your 
people.'  The  Chorus,  impressed,  agree 
to  await  the  coming  and  decision  of 
Theseus. 

In  the  meantime  an  unexpected  ap- 
parition in  the  distance  calls  forth  an 
exclamation  from  Antigone.  In  an- 
swer to  her  father's  inquiry  she  gives 
us  a  pretty  picture  from  ancient  Gre- 
cian life  : 

'  I  see 
Advancing  near  us,  mounted  on  a  horse 
Of  Etna's  breed,  a  woman's  form.       Her 

head 
Is  shaded  by  a  broad  Thessahan  hat. 
*  »  *  « 

With  clear  bright  glance 
Advancing,  she  salutes  me,  and  declares 
It  is  mine  own  Ismene, — no  one  else  ! ' 

Ismene  has  at  last  made  good  her  es- 
cape, attended  by  one  faithful  servant, 
and  followed  the  wanderers,  whom  she 
passionately  greets  : 


400 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


'  O  dearest  ones.  My  father  and  my  sister  ! 
Of  all  uaines  sweetest.  Hard  it  was  to  fiud, 
And  now  for  weeping  it  is  hard  to  see.' 

She  brings  sad  news  of  her  brothers, 
quarrelling  for  the  sovereio;nty  of 
Thebes.  The  younger,  Eteokles,  has 
driven  away  Polynikes  the  elder,  who 
has  sought  shelter  in  Argos,  married 
the  daughter  of  the  Argive  king,  Ad- 
rastus,  and  now  threatens  his  country 
with  the  invasion  of  a  foreign  host  to 
redress  his  wrongs  and  place  liim  on 
the  throne  of  Cadmus.  An  oracle  has 
declared  that  the  return  of  Oedipus  is 
important  to  the  well-being  of  Thebes, 
and  accordingly  Kreon  will  soon  come 
to  endeavour  to  bring  him  back,  liv- 
ing or  dead.  CKdipus  indignantly  de- 
nounces the  selfish  and  unnatural  con- 
duct of  his  sons,  predicting  the  des- 
truction of  both,  and  contrasting  their 
heartless  treatment  with  the  tender 
faithfulness  of  his  daughters,  especially 
of  Antigone  : 

*  And  these. 
Girls  as  they  are,   with  such  strength  as 

they  have, 
Give  me  my  daily  food  ; — from  them  I  gain 
Freedom  from  fear  and  every  kindly  help. 

She  since  first 
Her  childhood's   nurture   ceased  and  she 

grew  strong, 
Still  wandering  with  me,  sadly  evermore 
Leads   her   old   father   through    the    wild 

wood's  paths, 
Hungry  and  footsore,  threading  on  her  way: 
And  many  a  storm  and  many  a  scorching 

noon 
Bravely  she  bears,  and  little  recks  of  home 
So  that  her  father  tind  his  daily  bread.' 

And  Ismene,  too,  had  come  to  him 
before,  it  would  seem,  to  tell  him  of 
oracles  concerning  him. 

The  Chorus  express  their  sympathy 
for  the  old  man  and  his  daughters, 
and  counsel  him  to  '  make  atonement ' 
by  the  customary  symbolical  libations, 
to  the  powers  on  whose  bounds  he  has 
unwittingly  trespassed  : — 

'  The  Gentle  Powers,  we  call  on  them  to 

meet 
Their   suppliant   gently,    and   deliverance 

give.' 

He  is  to  pour  libations  from  the  pure 
and  ever-flowing  stream,  out  of  urns 


ci'owned  *  a  young  lamb's  snow-white 
locks.'  Honey  is  to  be  mingled  with 
water,  expi^essing  the  sweetness  as  well 
as  the  purification  of  forgiveness,  but 
no  wine,  the  symbol  of  mirth  and 
revelling.  There  is  to  be  earnest 
prayer,  '  in  a  low  voice  speaking,  not 
in  lengthened  cry,'  no  '  vain  repeti- 
tions.' The  language  and  the  sym- 
bolism are  striking  enough,  but  the 
words  with  which  Q^dipiis  accompan- 
ies his  request  to  Ismene  to  perform 
for  him  these  acts  which  he  in  his 
blindness  is  unable  to  do,  might  well 
be  classed  among  the  '  unconscious 
prophecies  '  of  antiquity  : — 

'  For  one  soul  acting  on  the  strength  of  love 
Is  better  than  a  thousand  to  atone.' 

irresistibly  calling  the  thought  from 
one  of  Keble's  most  exquisite  hymns  : 

'  As  little  children  lisp  and  tell  of 
Heaven, 
So  thoughts  beyond  their  thoughts  to  those 
high  bards  were  given.' 

Ismene  goes  to  fulfil  the  appointed 
task,  while  Antigone  remains  with 
her  father.  QCdipus  is  conversing  with 
the  Chorus,  further  unfolding  to  them 
the  tale  of  his  woes,  when  Theseus  ap- 
pears, and  in  a  noble  speech,  assures 
tlie  stranger  of  his  readiness  to  be- 
friend him.  Qildipus  thanks  him  and 
promises  that  good  is  to  come  to  him 
and  to  Athens  thi^ough  the  lonely  ex- 
ile coming  thex-e  to  die,  but  warns  him 
of  coming  strife  between  Athens  and 
Thebes  (fulfilled  in  the  second  Siege 
of  Thebes),  forcibly  pointing  out  the 
changefulness  of  humaji  things  : 

'  0  Son  of  Egeus,  unto  God  alone 

Nor  age  can  come,  nor  destined  hour  of 

death 
All  else  the  great  destroyer,  Time  sweeps 

on. 
Earth's    strength     shall    wither,     wither 

strength  of  limb 
And    trust    decays,    and   mistrust  grows 

apace 
And  the  same  spirit  lasts,  not  among  them 
That  once  were  friends,  nor  joineth  state 

with  state.' 

Further  mutual  assiirances  follow,  in. 
the  course  of  which  CEdipus  says, — 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


401 


'  I  will  not  bind  thee  by  an  oath,  as  men        1 
Bind  one  of  lower  nature  ; ' 

and  Theseus  replies, 

'  Thou  should'st  gain 
No    more   by  that   than   trusting   to   my 
word. ' 

Theseus  then  leaves  OEdipus,  assur- 
ing him  that  in  his  absence  his  name 
alone  will  guard  him  from  all  harm ; 
and  then  the  Chorus  break  forth  into  an 
exquisite  lyric  in  praise  of  the  beauty  of 
Colonus,  the  poet's  birthplace.  They 
sing  of  its  white  rocks  '  glistening 
bright '  fi'om  *  thickets  freshly  green  ;' 
its  'clear-voiced  nightingales,'  'by  pur- 
pling ivy  hid,'  or  amid  the  olive  groves, 
of  the  '  fair  narcissus,'  and  '  bright 
crocus  with  its  leaf  of  gold '  growing 
beside  the  wandering  Kephisus  ;  and 
then  glide  on  into  the  praises  of  the 
'  mother  city,'  Athens  itself,  famed  in 
'  goodly  steeds  '  and  '  bounding  colts  ' 
and  'sparkling  sea.'  Antigone's  voice 
recalls  them  to  the  practical  needs  of 
the  present,  as  Kreon,  with  an  armed 
escort,  is  seen  approaching.  All  the 
worst  points  of  Kreon's  character  come 
out  in  the  following  scenes.  Fair 
spoken  and  plausible  at  first,  he  soon 
throws  off  disguise,  taunts  (Edipus 
with  unjust  and  cruel  harshness,  and 
finally  attempts  to  carry  off  his  daugh- 
ters by  force.  His  seeming  friendli- 
ness does  not  deceive  Q^^dipus,  who 
reminds  him  of  his  former  harsh  treat- 
ment, and  predicts  the  calamities  to 
fall  on  Thebes  and  his  sons,  uttering 
words  that  have  a  curious  significance, 
taken  in  connection  with  the  motif  oi 
the  closing  drama  : — 

'  And  these  my  sons  shall  gain  of  that  thy 

land 
Enough  to  die  in, — that  and  nothing  more.' 
Some    wordy   warfai^e    follows,    in 
which  we  have   some  sharp  repartees. 
Kreon  says  : — 

'  'Tis    one  thing  to  say   much,  and   quite 
another 
To  say  the  word  in  season. ' 
And  (Edipus  replies  : — 

'  Thou  of  course 
Speaking  but    little,  speakest   seasonably.' 
Kreon  soon  assumes  a  threatening 


tone,  and  informs  (Edipus  that  he  has 
already  sent  Ismene  back  to  Thebes, 
and  commands  his  escort  to  seize  Anti- 
gone and  drag  her  off  in  spite  of  her 
cries,  and  the  indignant  protest  of  the 
Chorus,  who  vainly  attempt  to  res- 
cue her.  Kreon  taunts  the  old  man 
and  defies  the  Chorus,  when  Theseus 
appears,  and  leai*ning  what  had  just 
taken  place,  instantly  commands  the 
rally  of  his  people,  horse  and  foot,  for 
the  rescue  of  the  maidens  ;  while  he 
indignantly  reproaches  Kreon  for  the 
attempt  to  gain  his  ends  by  violence, 
in  defiance  of  the  rights  of  another 
state,  and  all  law — human  and  divine^ 
suggesting,  however,  in  his  excuse, 
that  old  age  had  'robbed  him  of  his 
mind.'  He  peremptorily  demands  the 
restitution  of  the  maidens  on  penalty 
of  imprisonment.  Kreon  tries  to  jus- 
tify himself  by  again  taunting  (Edi- 
pus with  his  unconscious  crimes,  which 
as  (Edipus  remarks,  in  a  powerful 
speech,  must  recoil  on  the  head  of  him 
who  tells  the  tale  of  the  terrible  cala- 
mities— 
'.  Which  I,    poor  wretch,    against  my  will 

endured.' 
'  Not  knowing  what  I  did,  or  unto  whom, 
How  canst   thou  rightly  blame   the   un- 


conscious sm. 


Theseus  reiterates  his  demand  to 
restore  the  captives,  and  he  sullenly 
and  unwillingly  complies,  seeing  that, 
as  Theseus  says  : — 

'  Chance  has  caught  thee,  hunter 
as  thou  art ; 
For  gains,  ill-gotten  by  a  godless  fraud, 
Can  never  prosper.' 

But  he  does  not  yield  without  a 
parting  threat  : — 

'  When  we  reach  home,  we>hall  know  what 
to  do  ! ' 

And  so  he  departs  with  Theseus,  on 
whom  (Edipus  invokes  a  grateful 
blessing.  The  Chorus  then  sing  an 
ode,  following  the  rescuing  party  in 
thought,  and  praying  for  Divine  aid. 
At  its  close,  they  announce  the  return 
of  the  expedition  with  the  rescued 
maidens.  Antigone  rushes  to  her 
father  with  a  cry  of  joy  and  gratitude 
to  Theseus.     (Edipus  tenderly  says  : — 


402 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


'  My  child,   draw  near   thy  father 
and  supply 
"Support,  unhoped  for,  to  this  feeble  frame  ; ' 
and  Antigone  replies  : — 

'  Thou  shalt  have  what  thou  aak'st 
for, 
Unto  love — all  toil  is  pleasant.' 

He  asks  how  the  rescue  was  accom- 
plished, and   Antigone   refers  him  to 

'  Tlie   best  "of  men  who  brings  us  back  to 
thee  ;' 

when  Oedipus  breaks  out  into  a  grate- 
ful address,  to  ■^yhich  Theseus  replies, 
generously  saying  that  he  shall  not 
marvel  or  feel  pain  if  Qidipus  prefers 
his  daughter's  words  to  his,  adding — 

■ '  For  it  was  all  my  care  to  make  my  life, 
Not   by   my  words   illustrious,   but   by 
deeds  ;" 

and,  without  dwelling  on  the  details 
of  the  rescue,  passes  on  quickly  to  tell 
him  that  one  near  of  kin  to  him,  come 
from  Argos,  sat  as  a  sujipliant  beside 
the  altar  of  Poseiden.  This  Oedipus 
soon  divines  to  be  his  unhappy  son 
Polynikes.  He  shrinks  from  him, 
even  from  hearing  the  voice,  '  hateful 
to  a  father's  ear. '  But  Antigone  pleads 
for  the  wronged  and  suffering  brother  : 

'  He  is  thy  child  ; 
And  therefore,  O  my  father,  'tis  not  right. 
Though  he  should  prove  the  basest  of  the  base, 
To  render  ill  for  ill.     But  let  him  be. 
•Others,   ere  now,    have  thankless  offspring 

reared. 
And  bitter  wrath  have  felt.    But  they,   by 

words 
Of  friendly   coimsel,  soothed   their  souls  to 

peace. 
Yield  thou  to  us.     It  is  not  good  to  meet 
With  stiff  denials  those  %vho  ask  for  right, 
Nor  haying  met  with  good  at  others'  hands. 
To  fail  in  rendering  good  for  good  received.' 

After  a  sorrowful  lyric  from  the 
Chorus,  Polynikes  appears,  his  coming 
announced  by  Antigone  as — 

'  The  stranger  all  alone,  and  as  he  walks, 
The  flood  of  tears  pours  down  incessantly.' 

He  comes  humbly,  confessing  his 
sins  towards  his  father,  asking  forgive- 
ne.ss  and  appealing  to  his  sisters  to 
intercede  for  him.  Antigone  asks  him 
to  declare  his  errand,  and  he  relates 
the  wrongs  he  has  suffered  in  the 
usurpation  of   the  Theban  throne  by 


his  younger  brother,  Eteokles,  his  tak- 
ing refuge  as  a  suppliant  in  Argos, 
and  the  muster  of  the  confederate 
chiefs  whose  army  has  followed  him  to 
recover  the  kingdom.  He  has  come 
to  entreat  his  father  to  espouse  his 
cause ; — 
*  They  say  the   side  thou  cleavest  to,   will 

win  ; 
Wherefore,  by  all  the  fotintains  of  thy  house 
And  all  thy  household  gods,  we   pray  thee 

yield ; 
Poor  and  in  exile  we,  in  exile  thou. 
And  thou  and  I,  the  same  ill-fortune  shar- 
ing, 
Live  hangers-on  on  others.' 

But  ffidipus,  possibly  suspecting  his 
sincerity,  is  hard  and  unrelenting  to- 
wards this  Prodigal  Son,  who  deserted 
him  in  the  hour  of  distress,  and  drove 
him  forth  homeless  to  beggary  and 
exile,  uncared  for,  save  by  his  two 
daughters : — 

'  No  women  they,  but  men  in  will  to  toil  ; 
But  j'e  are  not  my  sons,  1  own  you  not.' 

And  then  he  adds  the  dark  px-ediction 
concerning  Thebes  and  the  contending 
brothers  : — 

'  It  may  not  be, 
That  any  man  shall  lay  that  city  waste. 
But  he  himself  shall  fall  witli  blood  defiled, 
And  so  shall  fall  his  brother. ' 

Polynikes  sorrowfully  submits  to 
his  father's  bitter  words,  but  as  he 
departs  he  leaves  his  sisters  a  parting 
request,  which  has  a  sad  significance, 
taken  in  connexion  with  the  end  of  the 
story  : — 

'  Give  me  honours  meet, 
A  seemly  burial,  decent  funeral  rites  ; 
And  this  your  praise,  which  now  you'll  get 

from  him 
For  whom  you  labour  other  praise  shall  bear, 
i    No  whit  inferior  for  your  love  to  me.' 

Antigone  replies  by  beseeching 
Polynikes  to  give  up  his  designs 
against  his  country,  in  a  brief  but 
touching  dialogue : — 

A. — I  pray  thee  Polynikes,  yield  to  me. 
P.  — In  what,  thou  dear  Antigone  ?  Speak 

on. 
A. — Lead  back  thy  host  to  Argos,  slacken- 
ing not, 
Nor  ruin  both  thy  country  nor  thyself  ! 
P. — It  may  not  be.  How,  known  as  coward 
once. 
Could  I  again  lead  forth  an  army  ? 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTKiONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


403 


A.  — And  why,  dear  boy,  needs't  thou  the 
wroth  again, 
What    profit   hast  thou   in  thy  coun- 
try's fall  ? 
P.— Retreat   is  base,  and  base  that  I,  the 
elder, 
Should  thus  be  mocked  and  flouted  by 
my  brother. 
A, — And  seest  thou,  how  these  his  oracles 
Go  straight  to   their  fulfilment,  that 

you  both 
Should  meet  your  death,  each  from  the 
other's  hand  ? 
P. — His  wish  begets  the  thought.  We  may 
not  yield. 

Antigone's  entreaties  and  remon- 
strances are  of  no  avail,  Polynikes 
says  at  last : 

'  Bemoan  not  thou  for  me.' 
And  she  replies  : 

'  And  who  could  keep  from  wailing,  bro- 
ther dear. 

For  thee,  thus  rushing  on  a  doom  fore- 
seen ? ' 

His  closing  words  are 
'  These  things   depend  on  God,  this  way 
or  that  ; 

To  be  or  not  to  be  ;  but  I  for  you 

Will  pray  the   (iods,    that  nothing  evil 
fall 

On  you,  who  nothing  evil  have  deserved.' 

As  he  departs,  the  sky  grows  dark 
and  distant  thunder  is  heard.  The 
Chorus  look  on  in  sympathetic  compas- 
sion, but  devoutedly  observe  : — 
*  I  cannot  speak  of  what  the  Gods  decree 
As  done  in  vain.     Time  evermore  looks 

on, 
And  sees  these  things,  now  raising  these, 
now  those.' 

As  a  thunderbolt  crashes  above, 
Qi^dipus  declares  that  the  hour  has 
come,  which  must  lead  his  steps  to 
Hades,  and  implores  that  Theseus  be 
instantly  summoned,  so  that  he  might 
fulfil  his  promise  of  bringing  good  to 
him  and  to  his  state,  by  imparting  to 
him  the  '  mystic  words  '  that  he  would 
utter  to  none  else.  Theseus  arrives,  and 
CEdipus  departs  in  company  with  him 
and  Antigone,  to  find  the  'hallowed 
grave  '  in  which  it  was  decreed  that 
his  weary  frame  should  rest  at  last. 
The  description  of  his  death  recalls  the 
Morte  (V Arthm\  of  Tennyson.    May  it 


not  have  in  part  inspired  it  ]     No  one 
but  Theseus  saw  his  end  : 

'  That  form  of  death 
He  died,  knows   no   man,  saving  Theseus 

only. 
For  neither  was  it  thunderbolt  from  Zeus, 
With  flashing  fire  that  slew  him,  nor  the 

blast 
Of  whirlwind  sweeping  o'er  the  sea's  dark 

waves. 
But   either  some   one  whom  the  Gods  had 

sent 
To  guide  his  steps,  or  gentleness  of  mood 
Had  moved  the  Powers  beneath  to  ope  the 

way. 
To  earth's  deep  regions  painlessly.  He  died. 
No  death  to  mourn  for — did  not  leave  the 

world 
Worn  out  with  pain  and  sickness  ;  but  his 

end 
If  any  was,  was  wonderful.' 

And  so  the  storm  tost  soul  is  at  rest, 
though  Ismene  seems  troubled  by  the 
thought  that  the  oracle  has  been  ful- 
filled, since  he  died  unharied — none  be- 
ing beside  to  do  this  needful  duty.  The 
Chorus  seek  to  console  the  desolate 
daughters,  who  desire  to  see  their 
father's  sepulchre,  but  Theseus  tells 
them  that  he  has  been  forbidden  ever 
to  reveal  it  to  any  mortal  ear.  The 
drama  closes  with  Antigone's  pi'ayer, 
that  Theseus  will  send  them  to  Thebes, 
if  perchance  they  may  be  able  to  end 
the  strife  raging  between  their  bro- 
thers, which  Theseus  promises  to  do, 
the  Chorus  adding  the  reflection  that 
all  is  '  fixed  and  cannot  be  undone.' 

Between  this  drama  and  the  next — 
the  closing  one  of  the  series — inter- 
venes the  first  Siege  of  Thebes  by  the 
Argive  host — one  of  the  most  promi- 
nent events  in  the  history  of  legendary 
Greece,  on  which  ^Eschylus  and  Euri- 
pides have  lavished  much  of  their  des- 
criptive power.  Sophocles  refers  to  it 
only  in  the  fine  first  Chorus  in  the  An- 
tigone. As  a  link  between  the  CEdipus 
at  Colonus,  and  the  Antigone,  yEschy- 
lus'  drama, — the  Seven  Chiefs  against 
Thehcs,  might  be  read  with  much  inter- 
est, especially  as  Sophocles  was  doubt- 
less familiar  with  it  before  he  wrote 
the  Ar.tigo)ie,  which  indeed  seems  like 
its  continuation  ;  since  the  drama  of 
yEschylus,  closes  with  the  hai'sh  man- 


404 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


date  of  Kreon,  that  the  corjDse  of  Poly- 
nikes,  together  with  those  of  the  other 
invading  chiefs,  should  be  left  nnbu- 
ried,  and  with  the  declaration  of  Anti- 
gone, that  she  herself  would,  despite 
the  edict,  pay  the  last  sad  duties  to  her 
brother.  As  there  was  no  greater  im- 
piety known  to  the  Greeks  than  the 
neglect  of  the  rights  of  sepulture,  espe- 
cially to  kindred — the  Chorus,  dreading 
both  neglect  of  religious  duty  and  re- 
bellion to  the  constituted  authoi^ity, 
is  left  divided  in  opinion,  and  so  the 
drama  closes. 

And  now  in  the  Antigone,  we  ap- 
proach the  most  painful  act  in  the  tra- 
gedy, as  well  as  the  noblest  drama  of 
Sophocles,  considered  so  by  himself. 
It  is  said  that  he  died  in  the  efforts  of 
reciting  it,  in  his  old  age.  At  all  events 
it  gave  him  the  crowning  triumph  of 
his  life — his  appointment  to  a  general- 
ship in  the  Samian  expedition.  It 
opens  with  a  dialogue  between  Anti- 
gone and  Ismene,  which  places  the 
situation  before  us.  In  this,  as  in  the 
following  Chorus,  the  writer  quotes 
fi-om  an  original  translation,  written 
before  seeing  that  of  Professor  Plump- 
tre.  Antigone  asks  her  sister  if  she  had 
heard  : 

The  new  decree  through  all  the  city  spread. 
They  tell  me  is  just  issued  by  the  king, 
Or  is  it  hid  fi-om  thee— the  dreadful  doom 
To  which  our  enemies  condemn  our  friends  ? 

Ismene  replies,  that  she  has  heard  no 
tidings,  good  or  evil,  since  the  fatal 
day,  when  her  brothers  fell  by  each 
other's  hands.  Antigone  then  tells  her 
that  Kreon,  while  honouring  the  shade 
of  Eteocles  with  seemly  rites  of  sepul- 
ture, had  decreed  that  the  corse  of 
Polynikes  should  lie — 

Unsepulchred,  unwept,— a  welcomed  feast, 
To  evil  birds  that  long  to  seize  their  prey, 
Yes  ! — the  good   Kreon   hath  commanded 

thus, 
To  thee  and  me;  I  say  it — ev'n  to  me  ! 
Nor  doth  he  count  it  as  a  trifling  thing, 
But  whoso  dareth  the  forbidden  deed, 
May  look  for  death  by  stoning  as  his  doom. 
Thus  matters  stand  ;  now  must  thou  (luick 

decide. 
Whether  thj'  soul  deserves  its  high  descent, 
Or  shames  by  cowardice  its  noble  birth. 

Ismene,   divininjr  her  sisters  moan- 


ing, shrinks  in  terror  from  the  daring 
purpose  which  Antigone  soon  dis- 
closes : — 

I  will  inter  my  brother—  thine  if  such, 
Thou  yet  will  I  call  him— thine  as  well  as 

mine, 
For  I  will  not  betray  him  in  his  need. 

Ismene  earnestly  expostulates,  remind- 
ing her  sister  of  the  calamities  that 
had  successively  fallen  on  their  house, 
ending  with  the  fratricidal  end  of  their 
brothers.  They  alone  were  left,  and 
they,  too,  should 

Miserably  perish 
If  we  should  dare  transgress  the  king's 

decree. 
And,    being   women,    too,   we   may  not 

hope. 
Unfitly  matched,  thus  to  contend  with 


And  thus,  imploring  pardon  of  the  dead, 
I  will  obey  in  this,  since  needs  I  must. 

Antigone  replies  : 

I  bid  thee  not ;  not  even  if  thou  shouldst 

wish 
AYith  all  thy  heart  to  share  the  deed  with 

me. 
Do  what  thou  deemest  best ;  but  I  will  go 
To  bury  him ;  for  thus  t'were  sweet  to 

die, 
I  shall  be  laid  by  him  I  love  so  well, 
Beloved  by  him  for  this  that  I  have  done. 
And  longer  shall  I  need  the  love  of  those 
Who  dwell  below,  than  that  of  men  on 

earth, 
Since  there  must  be  my  everlasting  rest. 
But  do  as  pleases  thee  ;  keep  thy  resolve 
Not  reverencing  what  the  gods  approve. 

Ismene  tries  to  excuse  herself,  and 
finding  it  in  vain  to  dissuade  ber  sis- 
ter, she  entreats  her  at  least  to  keep  lier 
deed  secret,  promising  herself  to  ob- 
serve strict  secresy  ;  but  Antigone  in- 
dignantly repels  the  offer,  telling  her 
rather  to  declare  the  deed,  and  thus 
cuts  short  her  sister's  entreaties  : 

Such  words  as  these  will  never  prove  thy 

love  ; 
But   rather   should    I,   with    my   dying 

breath, 
Call  thee  an  enemy  for  speaking  thus. 
Sutler  me  to  fultil  my  mournful  task. 
Evil  if  so  thou  call'st  it,  and  to  bear 
What  lies  before   me.     Nothing  shall  I 

suffer 
So  ill  as  not  to  die  a  noble  death. 
i  Ismene  replies,  sadly  : 


I 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


40; 


Go  !  since  thy  mind  is  such  ;  yet,  madly 

daring, 
Dear  to  thy  friends  thou  still  shalt  ever 

be. 

The  Chorus  follows  this  dialogue 
with  the  fine  ode,  already  referred 
to,  describing  the  siege  just  ended. 
It  is  here  rendered  into  an  irregu- 
lar rhymed  measure,  the  writer  be- 
lieving that  the  aid  of  rhyme  is  re- 
quired to  give  to  a  modern  ear  the 
lyrical  effect  produced  by  other  means 
in  the  original  Greek  : 

STROPHE    I. 

Bright  orb  of  day  !     Thy  golden  ray 
Touchetl   Thebes'   seven    gates — more 
bright 

Than  any  sun  that  drove  away 
In  former  times,  the  night. 
Thou  lustrous  eye  of  day  ! 

Kising,  with  thy  cheering  beams. 

Over  Dirke's  silver  streams, 

Urging  the  Argive  knight  away 
White  shielded,  In  full  panoply, 
Spurring  his  panting,  foaming  steed 
To  a  swifter  flight  at  its  utmost  sjjeed, 

Who  with  his  armed  band 
Of  crested  warriors  came. 
When  Folynikes  spread  the  flame 

Of  war  within  the  land  ; 

As  eagle  darts  on  snowy  wing 
Down  from  the  azure  sky. 

Making  the  distant  echoes  ring 
With  sharp  triumphant  cry  ! 

ANTISTROPHE     I. 

The  lances  gleamed  our  home  around, 
Before  our  seven  portals  frowned 

Their  long  and  close  array. 
But  ere  their  thirsty  jaws  could  grasp 

The  longed-for  Theban  prey  ; 
And  ere  the  flame  with  deadly  clasp 
H  ad  seized  the  towers  that  proudly  stand 
The  guardians  of  our  Theban  land. 
The  furious  din  of  war  that  rose 
Behind  the  troops  below. 
Dispersed,  with  all  his  flying  bands. 

The  deadly  dragon-foe. 
For  Zeus  regards,  with  angry  eye. 
The  tongue  that  boasteth  haughtily, 
And,  looking  from  his  throne  on  high 
He  saw  the  stream  of  warriors  near, 
He  heard  their  golden  armour  clash. 

Their  words  of  scornful  cheer, 
And  swiftly  with  a  lightning  flash 
He  laid  their  leader  low. 
Even  while  his  eager  steps  were  bent 
To  scale  the  topmost  battlement ; 
And  shout  forth  to  his  men  below 
The  cry  of  Victory  ! 


'  Down  falling:,  with  a  quick  rebounl, 
*The  fierce  fire-bearer  struck  the  gi'ound 

And,  raging,  breathed  his  soul  away. 
Such  things  to  these  befell 
Great  Ares  to  the  rest  a  differing  fate 
Decreed,  and  drove  them  with  resistless 

spell. 
Compelling  victory.     At  every  gate 
Leader  met  leader  matched  in  equal  fight. 
Leaving  their  armour  trophies  for  the  shrine 

Of  Zeus,  the  God  of  Might, 

Owning  his  power  divine  ; 
But  the  accursed  two 
Who  from  one  sire  and  mother  drew  their 

breath. 
Their  doubly-conquering  javelins  threw, 
And  shared  the  measure  due 
To  each, — in  common  death. 

ANTISTROPHE  II. 

But  now  since  glorious  Victory 
Hath  come  to  smile  upon  this  joyful  day 
That  greets  our  well-armed  city,  ye  forget 
The  strife  ye  scarcely  cease  to  hear  as  yet, 

And  in  the  temples  meet 

To  pass  the  livelong  night, 
In  choral  dances  with  the  measure  fleet. 
Bacchus  ordains,  who  shook  the  city's  might 

With  tread  of  joyous  feet  ! 
But  hold,  for  Kreon  comes,  whom  to  the 
throne 

The  Gods  have  called  but  late, 

Through  change  ordained  by  fate  ; 
And  he  by  herald  hath  his  will  made  known 

To  call  the  old  man  to  the  council-gate. 

Kreon  comes  to  declare  his  edict 
respecting  the  disposal  of  the  dead 
bodies  of  the  brothers,  as  previously 
denounced  by  Antigone,  death  being 
the  penalty  of  disobedience.  While 
he  is  conversing  with  the  Chorus,  one 
of  the  guards  appointed  to  watch  the 
unburied  corpse  of  Polynikes  arrives, 
to  tell,  with  much  alarm  for  himself, 
that  they  had  discovered  the  body 
sprinkled  with  earth,  which  was  be- 
lieved to  be  a  sufficient  performance 
of  burial  rites,  when  actual  sepulture 
was  impo.ssible.  Kreon  angrily  threat- 
ens death  to  the  watch   unless  they 


*  It  is  interesting  to  compare  this  Chorus 
with  ^schylus'  description  of  the  '  Seven 
Chiefs  '  in  the  drama  alluded  to.  Sophocles 
was,  of  cour.se,  familiar  with  it,  and  the  allu- 
sion to  the  '  tierce  fire-bearer '  is  evidently 
suggested  by  the  lines  describing  Capaneus  : 

'  On  his  proud  shield  pourtrayed,  a  naked 
man 
Waves  in  his  hand  a  blazing  torch  ;  beneath, 
In  golden  letters,  i  will  fire  the  city,'  &c. 
— PoUcy's  Jischylus. 


40G 


THE  STORY  OF  ANTIGONE,  AS  TOLD  BY  SOPHOCLES. 


discover  the  culprit  who  has  dared  to 
disobey  him,  and  the  guard  in  his  self- 
gratulation  at  getting  ofl"  for  the  pre- 
sent with  a  whole  skin  gives  us  the 
only  gleam  of  humour — a  rare  thing 
with  Sophocles — which  relieves  the 
gloom  of  the  tragedy.  After  another 
short  ode  by  the  Chorus,  the  guard  re- 
ap[)ears,  bringing  in  Antigone,  caught 
in  the  act  of  sprinkling,  from  a  bronze 
ewer,  the  '  three  libations '  over  the 
dead,  the  scene  being  vividly  por- 
trayed by  the  guard.  Antigone,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  meets 
^reon  with  haughty  defiance,  scorning 
any  appeal  to  his  clemency.  The 
memories  of  her  father's  and  brothers' 
wrongs  were  far  too  fresh  and  bitter 
to  make  it  possible  for  her  to  show 
even  apparent  submission  to  Kreon, 
and  she  scarcely  seems  to  remember 
that  the  death  she  fears  so  little  con- 
cerns also  her  betrothed  husband, 
Htemon,  the  son  of  Kreon.  But  Is- 
mene  enters,  Ismene,  whose  love  for 
Antigone  has  at  last  conquered  her 
fear,  and  she  now  claims  a  share  in 
the  deed  and  its  penalty,  which  Anti- 
gone strongly  denies,  with  some  of  the 
unconscious  harshness  of  an  over- 
strained heart.  Ismene  touchingly  ap- 
peals to  Kreon  to  spare  his  son's  be- 
trothed bride.  But  he,  as  when  we 
saw  him  last,  is  hard  and  unrelenting, 
determined  that  while  he  lives,  '  a 
woman  shall  not  rule.'  The  Choi'us 
pathetically  lament  the  woes  of  the 
house  of  (Edipus  and  the  haughtiness 
of  man,  Hteman  then  enters,  at  first 
seeking  by  gentle  words  to  propitiate 
his  father  and  reconcile  his  duty  as  a 
son  with  his  love  for  his  betrothed. 
But  Kreon  will  listen  to  none  of  his 
pleadings,  or  even  to  the  mild  remon- 
strance of  the  Chorus.  The  haughty 
old  man  disdains  to  learn  his  duty 
from  his  son,  and  by  his  harsh  words 
and  harsher  resolve,  at  last  provokes 
his  son  to  an  angry  altercation  which 
closes  by  Hteman's  declaration  that, 
since  he  condemns  Antigone  to  death, 
he  shall  see  him  no  more  alive. 

We  must  hasten  through  the  pain- 


ful closing  scenes  of  the  tragedy,  as 
our  space  is  almost  exhausted.  Kreon 
commands  that  Antigone  should  be 
immured  in  a  rocky  cave,  with  just 
enough  of  food  to  appease  the  dreaded 
anger  of  the  Gods  and  save  the  city 
from  the  stain  of  blood,  grimly  adding, 
that  by  invoking  Hades,  the  God  of 
her  spt;cial  worship,  she  may  perchance 
escape,  words  darkly  realised  in  the 
end.  Antigone,  led  by  on  her  *  last 
journey,'  looking  her  last  on  the  slant- 
ing rays  of  the  setting  sun,  appeals  to 
the  Chorus  in  a  touching  lament  on 
her  sad  fate,  cut  off  from  the  hopes  of 
life,  for  her,  instead  of  nuptial  rites 
or  hymeneal  song,  only  the  vaults  of  the 
dead ;  yet  unregretting  that  for  her  dead 
brother  she  had  done  that  which  even 
for  a  husband  she  had  not  dared,  since 
a  second  husband  had  been  possible, 
but,  father  and  mother  dead,  no  other 
brother  could  ever  be  hers; — a  thought 
so  characteristic  of  ancient  as  opposed 
to  modern  modes  of  feeling,  that  it  is 
difficult  for  modern  readers  to  appre- 
ciate its  force. 

Antigone  has  gone  to  her  living 
tomb,  but  Kreon's  turn  is  come.  His 
stubborn  will  must  bow  at  last.  The 
augur  Teiresias  comes  to  warn  him  of 
fearful  judgment  from  the  Gods  im- 
pending over  a  lazid  defiled  by  unbu- 
ried  dead,  impending  imminent  over 
his,  Kreon's,  own  home  and  hearth. 
Kreon  reluctantly  yields  to  a  pressure 
he  cannot  resist,  and  hastens  with  a 
band  of  men  to  inter  the  mangled  re- 
mains of  Polynikes  and  release  Anti- 
gone from  her  rocky  sepulchre.  But 
for  this  he  is  too  late.  Death  has- 
already  released  the  despairing  maiden 
— hastened  by  her  own  hands,  with 
'  twisted  cords. 'Hsemon  in  despair  slays 
himself  beside  her  corpse,  and  the  old 
man  returns — subdued  at  last,  bearing 
in  his  arms  the  dead  body  of  his  only 
surviving  son — the  elder,  Menakeus— 
having  sacrificed  himself  during  the 
siege  for  the  deliverance  of  the  city. 
But  another  blow  yet  is  to  fall  on  the 
head  of  the  broken-hearted  old  man, 
sensible  too  late  of  his  error.  His  wife» 


WINE  OF  CHIOS.  407" 

Eurydike,  overwhelmed  by  the  death  j  The  grey  haired  man  learns  wisdom  at  the- 
of  her  son  is  dead  also,  by  her  own   I  ^  * 

hand.  The  drama  closes  with  Kreon's  |  These  words  suggest  other  words, 
mournful  lament,  that  his  punishment  '  written  ages  before  in  Judea,  about 
is  greater  than  he   can   bear,  and  the    I    <  doing  justly  and  loving  mercy,  and 

walking  humbly  with  God.'     To  the 
Gx-eek  poet    was  not  vouchsafed  the 


significant  reflection  of  the  Chorus 

Man's  highest  blessedness  is — to  be  wise 


And,  in  all  things  that  touch  the  Gods,  to  '•  fu^er  revelation,  but  his  spiritual  in- 

show  I  sight  and  his   true  heart  gave  him  a 

grrSTSdVbSriX''%'.fS,  :  f"P\«  "f  <^  t™*   «'»'  was  greater 

When  life  is  past.  :  than  she  knew. 


WINE  OF   CHIOS. 

BY  E.  T.  F.,  QUEBEC. 


CHIAN  wine  !     The  wine  of  Homer  I 
For  the  bard,  while  yet  a  boy, 
Wandered  through  the  groves  of  Chios, 

Knew  the  wine-cup's  thrilling  joy. 
Here  the  Mighty  Mother  taught  him 

How  to  strike  the  sounding  lyre, 
How  to  sing  the  songs  of  heroes, 
Songs  that  set  the  soul  on  fire. 

Crown  the  goblet,  crown  with  roses  : 

Fill  with  Chian  to  the  brim  ; 
Let  us  drink  to  grand  old  Homer 
In  the  wine  that  gladdened  him. 

Oh,  the  wonder  and  the  rapture, 

When  the  storm-wind  swept  the  sky,. 
From  the  strand  to  watch  the  surges 

Foaming,  racing,  thundering  by. 
Joy  of  joys  !  to  front  the  darkness 

Kindled  by  the  levin's  glow, 
While  the  firm  earth,  as  in  terror, 

Shook  and  trembled  to  and  fro. 

Or,  in  calm,  how  sweet  to  linger, 

By  the  sea-flat,  glassy  still, 
While  the  day-god,  Hyperion, 

Tinged  with  flame  the  western  hilL 
Silent  all  things,  as  if  Nature 

Listened,  waiting  evermore 
For  some  Delphic  inspiration 

From  some  spirit-haunted  shore. 


408 


WINE  OF  CHIOS. 

Wearied,  once,  he  lay  at  noonday 

Sleeping  in  a  forest  glade, 
And  the  ilex-trees  above  him 

Stooped  to  kiss  him  with  their  shade. 
Swift,  to  greet  the  youthful  singer, 

Came  the  land's  divinities, 
Came  the  naiads,  came  the  wood-nymphs, 

Came  the  hamadryades. 

The  mighty  gods  of  old  Olympus, 

Zeus,  and  all  the  twelve,  were  there, 
Standing  in  a  semi-circle 

Round  our*  Homer,  young  and  fair. 
Sleeping  was  he,  yet  right  kingly 

Shone  his  forehead,  clear  and  broad. 
And  his  hair,  in  golden  wavelets, 

Swept  the  flower-enamelled  sod. 

Tiien  said  Zeus,  '  Behold,  I  make  him 

Monarch,  through  all  time  to  reign, 
Tiirough  the  ages  shining  star-like. 

Never  more  to  sink  or  wane. 
King  o'er  human  hearts  and  passions, 

Summoner  of  smiles  and  tears, 
The  young  shall  bless  him,  and  the  aged, 

Hearing,  shall  forget  their  years.' 

Then,  in  turn,  each  bright  Olympian, 

Forward-pacing,  calm  and  slow, 
Bestowed  a  gift.     Apollo  gave  him 

Words  with  living  fire  aglow  ; 
Ares,  skill  to  sing  of  battles  ; 

Aphrodite,  thoughts  of  love ; 
Old  Poseidon,  dreams  of  ocean 

Mirroring  the  stars  above. 

So  the  rest :  each  fitly  giving 

Worthiest  offerings  :  last  of  all. 
Lord  of  the  winged  sandals,  Hermes, 

Crowned  with  light  celestial. 
Holding  forth  the  famed  caduceus, 

Wreathed  with  flowers  incarnadine. 
Touched  the  slumberer's  lips,  half-parted, 

With  an  eloquence  divine. 

So  they  vanished.     Grove  and  mountain 

Felt  their  parting  ;  and  a  thrill 
Ran  through  all  the  glorious  landscape, 

Darkening  with  a  sudden  chill. 
Through  the  vistas  of  the  green-wood. 

Flowery  glade,  and  mossy  stream. 
Went  a  murmuring,  went  a  sighing. 

Like  the  wailing  of  a  dream. 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 

The  hours  sped  onward.     From  the  horizon 

Waves  of  splendour  upward  rolled  : 
The  western  sky,  to  greet  che  day-god, 

Opened  wide  its  gates  of  gold. 
The  boy,  awakening,  passed  in  silence 
Homeward,  through  the  forest  hoar, 
Lit  by  the  star  of  eve,  that  hailed  him 
Priest  and  prophet  evermore  ! 

Crown  the  goblet,  crown  with  roses  ; 

Fill  with  Chian  to  the  brim  ; 
Let  us  drink  to  grand  old  Homer 
In  the  wine  that  gladdened  him. 


409 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


BY    ROSE    E.    CLARKE,    ELORA. 


EVERYBODY  writes,  or  ought 
to  wi-ite,  with  a  purpose.  The 
purpose  I  have  in  view  is  soon  told. 
In  the  public  mind  there  exists  but  a 
vague  idea  of  the  character  of  the  in- 
terior economy  of  Canadian  Convents 
in  which  so  many  of  our  girls,  Protes- 
tant and  Catholic  alike,  receive  their 
education. 

A  short  time  ago  I  was  a  boarder  in 
one  of  those  institutions,  after  some 
preparatory  training  in  another,  and 
my  object  is  to  tell,  plainly  and  unre- 
servedly, what  a  few  months'  sojourn 
therein  afforded  me  opportunity  to 
note,  in  the  hope  that  more  light  will 
thereby  be  shed  upon  a  matter  of 
which  many  have  very  erroneous  ideas, 
and  others  know  nothing  at  all. 

On  a  clear,  frosty  morning,  a  few 
days  after  Christmas,  I  climbed  the 
ten  steps  and  rang  the  bell  at  the 
broad  front  door   of  the  Convent  in 

O Street,  in  one  of  our  Canadian 

cities.  This  demand  for  admission 
was  responded  to  by  a  bright,  modest- 
looking,  little  French  girl,  who  con- 
ducted me,  through  a  hall,  into  a  me- 


dium-sized but  cheerful  parlour.  I 
inquired  for  the  Lady  Superior,  and 
the  little  portress  went  in  search  of 
her.  While  I  waited,  I  had  time  to 
obsei've  my  surroundings.  The  floor 
of  the  parlour  was  painted  a  quiet 
grey,  and  covei-ed  with  strips  of  car- 
pet. A.  davenport,  a  book-case,  a 
stove,  a  sofa,  and  some  chairs,  were 
the  only  furniture  in  the  room,  which 
looked  as  clean,  neat,  and  bright  as 
woman's  heart  could  wish.  In  a  few 
moments,  the  Lady  Superior  entered. 
She  was  a  woman  well  advanced  in 
life,  and  had  a  pre-occupied  air  which 
seemed  to  say,  '  I  have  left  important 
work  on  your  account,  and  I  hope  you 
will  repay  me  for  my  sacrifice.'  In 
truth,  as  I  afterwards  discovered,  she 
was  a  thorough  business  woman,  one 
of  those  who  could  rule  and  manage  a 
kingdom,  and  many  a  gentleman,  ar- 
ranging with  her  for  his  daughter's 
tuition,  has  been  heard  to  regret  that 
her  great  executive  ability  was  lost  to 
the  world.  But  it  was  not  lost.  She 
had  assumed  a  duty  within  those  con- 
vent walls,  and  well  did  she  perform 


410 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


it  as  her  judgment  directed.  She 
cared  for  her  pupils,  and  did  her  ut- 
most for  them,  but  the  object  of  her 
affections  was  her  convent,  and  the 
chief  aim  of  her  life  was  to  further  its 
interests  and  to  increase  and  extend 
its  power.  She  received  me  kindly, 
and  in  a  few  words  I  stated  my  busi- 
ness. She  was  quite  willing  to  admit 
me  into  the  Convent,  provided  I  could 
furnish  a  letter  of  introduction  from 
a  clergyman,  promise  to  observe  the 
rules,  and  would  pay  the  necessary 
fees  in  advance.  All  this  I  was 
a%le  to  do,  and  agreed  to  keep  the 
rules  without  more  specific  knowledge 
of  their  character.  I  had  a  fair  idea 
of  what  was  meant,  and  felt  sui'e  that 
a  detailed  statement  of  laws  and  by- 
laws would  be  but  a  w^aste  of  time, 
and  that  I  could,  as  Ma  tante,  Ste. 
Stanislaus,  assured  me,  learn  them  as 
I  went  along.  *  Ma  tante,'  I  ought  to 
explain,  was  the  title  by  which  the 
pupils  addressed  the  nuns.  The  bar- 
gain thus  concluded,  I  returned  to  the 
city  and  had  my  baggage  conveyed  to 
my  new  home.  The  Lady  Superior 
met  me  again,  and  introduced  me  to 
the  Lady  Assistant,  otherwise  Ma  tante 
Ste.  Eulalie,  as  a  good  child  who  had 
come  to  live  with  them,  and  who,  she 
did  not  doubt,  would  remain  with  them. 
I  laughingly  warned  her  against  an- 
swei'ing  for  my  goodness,  and  turned 
to  speak  to  the  second  nun.  I  dis- 
covered in  the  few  moments'  conver- 
sation I  then  had  with  her,  that  while 
she  possessed  less  worldly  shrewdness, 
she  had  probably  acquired  more  liter- 
ary culture  than  the  Lady  Superior. 
When  I  had  warmed  myself,  Ma  tante 
Ste.  Eulalie,  conducted  me  up  stairs, 
and  through  the  widest,  cleanest,  and 
best-lighted  corridors  I  had  ever  seen. 
Pausing  before  a  large  door,  she  said, 
'  This  is  the  work  room,  and  I  think 
the  few  young  ladies  who  are  now 
with  us  will  be  found  here.'  We 
entered  a  large,  airy,  bright  room 
with  walls  of  spotless  white,  two  of 
which  were  lined  with  cabinets  and 
drawers,  used  for  holding  the  sewing 


and  fancy  work,  and  the  name  of  the 
pupil,  to  whose  use  each  different  com- 
partment was  devoted,  was  neatly 
written  on  the  outside.  Wooden  set- 
tees were  ranged  around  the  walls 
and  the  sides  and  ends  of  a  long  table 
which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
A  sewing  machine  completed  the  fur- 
niture. There  were,  perhaps,  ten  girls, 
of  different  ages,  in  the  room,  to  the 
older  of  whom  Ma  tante  introduced 
me.  They  were  very  kind  and  cordial 
and  soon  made  me  feel  quite  at  home. 
One  girl,  with  a  Teuton  face  and  name, 
I  won  forever,  by  speaking  to  her  a 
few  words  in  her  own  language.  A 
little  French  girl  was  equally  pleased 
when  talked  to  in  such  French  as  I 
could  command.  The  others  were 
English.  It  was  near  the  close  of  the 
Christmas  vacation,  and  those  present 
were  either  recent  arrivals,  or  had 
homes  so  remote  as  to  be  compelled 
to  spend  the  short  holidays  at  the 
Convent.  They  were  permitted  ta 
amuse  themselves  almost  as  they 
pleased.  Some  were  doing  fancy  work,^ 
some  were  reading,  others  chatting 
together,  and  two  or  three  were  play- 
ing cards.  '  Playing  cards  ! '  I  hear 
the  reader  exclaim.  Yes  ;  playing 
cards.  Is  there  anything  horrible  in 
that  ]  These  children  played  cards 
as  others  play  '  tag  '  and  jump  with  a 
skipping  rope,  as  a  pleasant  pastime. 
They  had  no  thought  of  evil  or  of  the 
abuse  of  an  amusement,  harmless  in 
itself,  and  they  derived  as  much  men- 
tal enjoyment  from  their  games  as 
others  got  physical  benefit  from  active 
exercise.  After  awhile,  other  young^ 
ladies  dropped  in  from  difl'erent  parts 
of  the  house.  Some  of  these  were 
French,  and  chatted  away  in  that 
language  with  a  volubility  which  quite 
astonished  me,  though  I  soon  laughed 
at  my  own  wonder,  and  thought  my- 
self as  simple  as  the  English  traveller 
who,  on  visiting  France,  remarked 
how  amazing  it  was  that  the  Aery 
children  spoke  French. 

My  Geiman  friend  offered  to  shew 
me  through  the  home,  but  thanking. 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


411 


her  for  her  proffered  courtesy,  I  said 
that  I  preferred  finding  it  out  bit  by 
bit.  Soon  a  bell  rang,  and  they  tokl 
me  it  was  for  prayers.  At  the  close 
of  every  forenoon's  work,  the  pupils 
were  expected  to  repair  to  the  chapel 
to  say  a  few  prayers,  and  the  devo- 
tional pai't  of  the  school  routine  was 
kept  up  during  the  holidays.  We 
went  quietly  down  stairs  and  passed 
through  a  large  room,  with  beautifully 
painted  walls  and  ceiling,  at  one  end 
of  which  was  a  raised  platform.  By 
the  number  of  musical  instruments 
ranged  round  the  room,  I  judged  this 
to  be  the  music  hall  ;  and,  on  asking 
one  of  the  girls  if  I  was  right  in  my 
conjecture,  she  whispered  in  the  afiirm- 
ative.  We  crossed  this  room,  and, 
passing  down  another  stairway,  en- 
tered the  chapel.  The  dazzling  white 
light,  which  I  had  noticed  in  the  other 
rooms,  was  softened  here  by  rich  cur- 
tains on  the  windows,  and  by  floral 
and  other  decorations.  Everything  in 
the  room  suggested  the  idea  of  purity. 
The  walls  and  ceiling  were  delicately 
and  beautifully'  tinted  ;  the  wood-work 
was  white,  and  the  pews  and  priedleux 
were  of  a  plain  brown  colour.  A  lovely 
calla  lily  bloomed  on  a  side  altar, 
while  the  other — that  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin — was  radiant  with  light  and 
enriched  with  tasty  decoration.  At 
the  Virgin's  feet,  on  a  wisp  of  straw, 
lay  the  infant  Jesus,  and  the  pretty 
sight  carried  the  thoughts  of  the  on- 
looker far  back  to  the  night  when  the 
angels  announced  the  glad  tidings  to 
the  shepherds  on  the  plain.  The  chan- 
cel was  covered  with  a  carpet  of  a 
quiet  pattern,  and  the  centre  altar 
and  some  pedestals,  on  which  baskets 
of  flowers  rested,  were  of  pure  white 
marble.  A  few  pictures  of  sacred  sub- 
jects were  on  the  walls  ;  and  sitting  in 
this  place,  listening  to  the  simple 
hymn  of  the  girls,  it  was  not  wonder- 
ful that  the  thoughts  were  almost  un- 
consciously directed  to  that  city  of 
clear  gold,  the  foundations  of  whose 
walls  are  brilliant  with  precious  stones. 
I'rayers  over,  we  walked   out   rever- 


ently, two  by  two,  through  the  back 
door  of  the  chapel,  down  stairs  and 
across  a  large  room,  a  hasty  glance  at 
the  contents  of  which  discovered  a 
number  of  wooden  seats,  Indian  clubs, 
parallel  bars,  other  calisthenic  appli- 
ances, a  piano,  and  a  stove.  This  was 
the  play-room.  Here,  as  I  afterwards 
found,  the  pupils  walked,  talked,  ran, 
played,  danced  and  amused  themselves 
to  their  hearts'  content.  Girls  might 
be  seen  in  groups,  during  the  time  al- 
lotted for  recreation,  amusing  them- 
selves as  their  varying  tastes  suggested. 
Some  walked  quietly  up  and  down, 
dissipating  the  hour  of  dolcefar  niente 
in  pleasant  conversation,  or,  it  might 
be— for  Mrs.  Grundy  was  here  as  else- 
whex-e  —  discussing  the  promotion, 
wrong  doing,  or  punishment  of  some 
companion.  Some  were  pui'suing  each 
other  in  girlish  romp  or  were  balanc- 
ing poles  in  their  hands,  keeping  time 
to  the  music  of  the  piano.  Others 
were  dancing  round  among  the  groups  ; 
and  some  were  scrambling  through  a 
quadrille.  What  are  known  as  round 
dances  were  rigorously  prohibited, 
and  woe  to  the  fool-hardy  pair  who 
attempted  to  '  trip  the  light-fantastic  ' 
in  a  waltz.  At  one  end  of  the  room, 
a  chair  on  an  elevated  dais,  reached 
by  ascending  steps,  was  observed,  and 
here  one  of  the  nuns  sat  to  watch  over 
and  control  the  sports.  We  passed 
from  this  room  into  another  which 
had  rather  a  gloomy  appearance.  This 
was  the  refectory.  Its  furniture  con- 
sisted of  a  few  cupboards  and  several 
long  tables.  Only  one  of  these  was 
spread,  and  grace  being  said  by  one 
of  the  pupils,  we  seated  ourselves 
around  it.  Dinner  consisted  of  good 
soup,  beefsteak,  potatoes  and  veget- 
ables, with  pie  for  dessert.  Every- 
thing was  plentiful  and  fairly  cooked, 
and  the  ceaseless  chatter  helped  to 
make  it  a  merry  meal.  Ordinarily,  a 
nun  sat  at  the  head  of  each  table,  and 
did  the  carving,  and  sometimes  the 
pupils  had  to  eat  their  meals  in  silence, 
but  on  this  occasion  there  was  no  res- 
traint.    After  dinner,  we  went  back 


41: 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


to  the  work-room,  and  thence  to  the 
dormitory,  where  some  of  the  girls 
dressed  and  went  out  for  a  walk. 
Others,  however,  sat  down  to  overtake 
their  arrears  in  mending  which  had 
been  put  off  until  the  last  days  of  the 
vacation.  Requiring  a  few  articles 
for  my  own  use,  I  went  into  the  city 
with  my  German  friend,  and  purchased 
a  few  cakes  of  soap,  some  towels,  and 
black  and  white  net  veils.  The  pupils 
were  required  to  provide  themselves 
with  all  toilet  appliances,  and  the 
veils  were  worn  over  our  heads  in  lieu 
of'  hats  when  w-e  entered  the  chapel. 
The  black  veil  was  for  everyday  wear, 
while  the  white  one  figured  on  Sun- 
days and  special  occasions  ;  and  it  was 
a  pretty  sight  to  see  the  long  line  of 
girls  with  flowing  veils  which  covered 
their  heads  and  shoulders  and  fell  al- 
most to  the  floor.  Returning  to  the 
Convent,  we  went  in  at  a  side  door, 
and  up  several  flights  of  narrow  stairs. 
My  companion  led  the  way,  through 
a  maze  of  halls,  until  we  came  to  the 
principal  stairwa}^,  up  which  we  as- 
cended to  the  dormitory.  Let  nie  de- 
scribe this  place.  On  entering,  you 
saw  three  rows  of  white  curtains 
looped  up  in  pairs,  and  divided  by 
narrow  partitions  reaching  to  within 
about  five  feet  of  the  ceiling.  The 
little  apartments  thus  formed  were 
called  alcoves,  and  were  the  sleeping 
rooms  of  the  girls.  Over  the  centre 
of  each  was  a  number,  by  which  the 
pupils  knew  their  respective  rooms, 
which  were  small,  being  about  eight 
feet  long  and  six  feet  wide.  At  the 
head  of  each  bed  stood  a  wardrobe, 
with  shelves  and  pegs,  and  here  the 
pupils  kept  their  clothing.  Opposite 
to  this  was  a  little  triangular  shelf,  on 
which  rested  the  basin,  ewer,  and 
other  toilet  accessories.  These  little 
rooms  were  very  snug,  and  we  slept 
with  great  comfort  from  half-past 
eight  until  six,  a  long  time  some  may 
think,  and  yet  many  a  girl  yawned 
and  grumbled  as  she  rose  from  her  bed 
in  the  morning,  in  response  to  the 
second  bell.     But  there  was  no  help 


]   for  it.     Up  she  must  get,  and  her  un- 
I    willingness  availed  not.     Once  in  a- 
[    while,   some  one,    more   daring  than 
1    the  rest,  or  overcome  by   laziness,  or 
j    perhaps     by    a  real   or    fancied   mal 
I   de  tete,  remained   in    stolid   indiffer- 
ence to  the  morning  call.     The  nun  in 
charge,   as  she  walked  up  and  down, 
taking  occasional  glances  behind  the 
curtains,  would  see  that  this  particular 
young  lady  had  not  risen,  and  enter  to 
demand    the    reason,    often    saying  : 
1    *  Mainselle,  pourquoi  est  ce  que  vous  iie 
vous    avez   pas    leve  ? '       Mam'selle, 
j    would  wail  forth  :   'Afa  tante,  fai  mal 
j    de  tete.'  or   whatever    the    particular 
ailment  might  be.      '  Ma  tante  '  would 
I    shrug  her  shoulders  and  depart,  mut- 
I    tering  '  Vous  perdrez   votre    mat  que.'' 
j    The    prospect   of    a    mark     less    for 
punctuality  rarely  acted  as  a  stimu- 
lus to   '  Mam'selle,'  who  had  made  up 
her  mind  for  a  half  hour's  extra  sleep, 
and  was  determined,  mark  or  no  mark, 
to  enjoy  it.     If  '  Mam'selle  '  appeared 
at  breakfast,  she  probably  got  a  piece 
of  toast,  and  was  bored  all  day  by  the 
kind  inquiries  of  her  companions,  and 
the  advice  and  solicitude  of  the  nuns, 
until,  long  before  night,  wearied  by  so 
much  unwonted  attention,  she  heartily 
repented  of  her   morning's  ruse.     Or, 
if   '  Mam'selle '   were    really    ill,    and 
could  not  go  to  breakfast.  Ma  tante  le 
medicin  would  have  her  transferred  to 
the  infirmary.      Here,   unless  her  ill- 
ness were  very  severe,  Khe  quickly  re- 
covered, for  her  companions  were  for- 
bidden  to  enter,  and  it  was   rather 
cheerless  work  to  be  there  depending 
for   amusement    on    a    few   religious 
books,  and  yet  within  earshot  of  the 
buzz    of    work    in    the    surrounding 
rooms.     The  infirmary  contained  two 
beds,  a  screen,  a  couple  of  easy  chaii-s, 
and   a    medicine    chest,    besides    the 
usual    furniture  of    a    bed-room,  and 
was    comfortably    carpeted    and    cur- 
tained.   Upon  the  whole,  it  was  not  a 
bad   place  for  a  lazy  girl  to  lounge 
in  for   half  a  day   or  so,  and  many  a 
one  yielded  to  the  temptation.   It  was 
often  amusing  to    watch    the   efforts 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


413 


■which  the  girls  made  to  visit  the  pa- 
tient.    This,    as  I  have   said   before, 
was,  in  school  phrase,  '  strictly  forbid- 
den,' but   the    door  was   only  a    few 
steps  from  a  hall  through  which  we 
often  passed,  and  more  than  once  did 
some   daring   young  lady    defy    '  the 
ruling  powers  '  and  venture  in.    With 
bowed  head,  and  with  many  blushes, 
T  must   confess  to   stolen  chats  with 
some  poor  prisoner  in  the  sick  room. 
It  was    managed    thus  :     In   passing 
through    the   hall    we  could    almost 
touch  the  door,  and,  if  the  coast  were 
clear  of  nuns,  could  listen  a  moment; 
to  find  out  if  any  one  was  with  the 
sick  girl.     If  no  sound  was  audible, 
a  hurried  whisper  gave  the  signal  for 
an  interview,  and  as  the  patient  was 
generally  on  the  alert,  and  almost  sure 
to  hear,  she  would,  in  response,  hold 
open  the  door  while  her  visitor  glided 
swiftly   in.     Then    ensued  a  hurried 
conversation,    carried   on   in   muffled 
tones,  both  being  on  the  qui  vive  lest 
the  infirmarian  should  enter,  and  find 
there  the  forbidden  intruder.    On  one 
occasion — even  now  I  shiver  as  I  think 
of  it — I  was  nearly  caught  i7i  flagrante 
delicto.     We  heard  the  coming  infirm- 
arian, and  I  bolted  behind  a   screen. 
How  ray  heart  beat,  and  how  confused 
was  my  poor  friend,  the  patient !     I 
felt  sure  that  every  moment   would 
bring   discovery,   exposure,    and  dis- 
grace.    But  Ma  tante  passed  from  the 
room  as  innocent  of  my  presence  as 
when   she   entered,    and   I    breathed 
freely.     Escaping  as  soon  as  possible 
from  my  ridiculous  and  yet   disagree- 
able position,  it  was  many  a  day  be- 
fore I   ventured  back.     I  hear  some 
one  ask,  '  What  would  have  been  the 
consequences  had  you  been  found  in 
so  compromising  a  situation  1 '     Nei- 
ther death  nor  expulsion  would  have 
been  the  penalty.     Exposure  and  re- 
px-imand  — nothing  more — awaited  the 
culprit.     None  but  those  having  ex- 
perience of  the  force  of  public  opinion 
in  a  convent  can  have  conception  of 
the  terror  in  which  all  stood  of  these 
apparently  slight  punishments.     Ma 


tante,  the  detective,  would  simply  say, 
'  Mam'^elle   vous  aurez  une   mauvaise 
marque,'  and  would  draw  out  a  detest- 
able little  diary,  in   which  she  would 
record  oflTender,  offence,  and  the  *  mau- 
vaise marque.'     I  have  made  a  lengthy 
digression,  and   must  resume  my  de- 
scription.    Let  me  pass  quickly  over 
the  doings  of  the  next  two  or  three 
days.     Any    one  can  easily  imagine 
how  precious  was  each  swiftly  passing 
moment  of  the  last  days  of  vacation. 
More  pupils  were  constantly  coming 
in,  a  few  of  them  being  new,  but  the 
majority  were   returning  full  of  bril- 
liant accounts  of  how  they  had  spent 
those   glorious   Christmas    days  with 
father,  mother,  and  friends,  and  how 
some  one  (this  was  told  in  a  whisper  to 
a  cherished  confidante),  had  been  there 
veiy  often,  and  was  as  true  and  hand- 
some as  ever,  and  how  they  had  wished 
it   might   last   for   ever,    and    school 
and  study  come   no   more.     On    the 
appointed  day,   however,   all   had  to 
rise  when  the  half-gong  sounded  its 
summons.     Then  did   those   who  for 
the  i)ast  two  weeks  had  been  enjoying 
delightful  morning  naps,  fully  realize 
that  dissipation  was  at  an  end,  and 
work  begun.     Dressing  was  supposed 
to   be  accomplished  in  half  an  hour, 
though  many  an  improvident  (Zen2o/st'//(? 
who  had  neglected  to  leave  everything 
in  readiness  the  night  before,  might  be 
seen  frantically  searching  for  collar  or 
veil,  almost  maddened  by  the  '  Depe- 
chez  vous,  of  Ma  tante  in  charge,  and 
perhaps,  in  the  end,  would  hastily  and 
ignominiously    join   the   ranks,    still 
without  the  necessary  veil.     In  some 
instances    its    absence    was    rendered 
more  marked  by  the  use  of  a  hat,  and 
thereon  Ma  tante  would  cast  one  scorn- 
ful glance,  which,  had  it  been  a  modest 
hat,  must'have  annihilated  it.     Then 
we  went  quickly   to   the  chapel,  and 
quietly  took  our  places.     Mass  over, 
the  nuns,  excepting  the  one  in  charge, 
withdrew,  and  one  of  the  girls  read  the 
morning  prayers.     Next  came  fifteen 
minutes  meditation  on  a  previously- 
read    selection    from    some   religious 


4U 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


work,  after  which  we  went  down  to 
breakfast.  At  this  meal  we  had  por- 
ridge, with  maple  syrup,  the  meat  and 
potatoes  of  the  previous  day  warmed 
over  in  some  very  appetizing  form, 
with  plenty  of  bread  and  butter  and 
coffee.  On  fast  days  we  were  some- 
times supplied  with  eggs  for  breakfast 
instead  of  meat,  though  not  often,  for 
eggs  were  high-priced  in  the  city  in 
winter.  The  meals  were,  generally 
speaking,  wholesome,  though  there 
was  often  a  sad  lack  of  variety,  and 
upon  each  successive  day  of  the  week 
wp  knew  in  advance  what  we  were 
going  to  have  for  dinner.  Taking  des- 
sert, for  example  :  on  Sunday,  a  dish 
of  mixed  candy  formed  the  closing  tid- 
bit ;  Monday  brought  pie ;  on  Tues- 
day you  would  have  been  right  in  pre- 
dicting that  sticks  of  prime  home-made 
taffy  awaited  you  ;  Thursday  was  in- 
variably mai'ked  by  apples  ;  on  Friday 
Sucre  a  la  crane — the  bonne  houche  of 
the  week — made  your  mouth  water 
in  anticipation ;  and  on  Saturday  you 
were  safe  to  count  on  pudding.  Thus 
it  was  wuth  everything,  and  those  who 
move  amid  the  world's  bustle  would 
scarcely  believe  how  we  discussed  the 
dishes  before  and  after  meals,  and  how 
each  told  her  special  grievance.  Some 
one  had  wanted  more  coffee,  and  the 
supply  had  given  out.  '  It  was  too 
bad  !  she  would  complain  to  the  Lady 
Superior.'  Some  one  else  had  noticed 
that  the  butter  was  really  rancid,  and 
considered  it  shameful,  as  our  chief 
support  \\as  bread  and  butter  •  and 
one,  more  imaginative  than  her  com- 
panions, found  fault  with  the  quality 
of  the  bread,  and  accounted  for  it  by 
wildly  stating  that  all  the  scraps  from 
the  bakers'  shops  were  gathered  by 
some  second-hand  dispenser,  and  made 
into  loaves  in  a  manner  which,  accord- 
ing to  Alam'selle,  was  more  realistic 
than  appetizing.  We  shuddered  at  the 
picture,  and  vowed  to  abstain  from 
bread,  but  next  meal  brought  a  fresh 
supply,  light,  white  and  flaky,  which 
speedily  caused  us  to  forget  the  sour 
batch   served   to    us   the   day  before. 


Thus,  you  may  perceive,  we  had  our 
little  dissatisfactions,  and  uttered  our 
complaints  to  ourselves,  but  they  rarely 
went  further.  On  the  'whole,  we  were 
forced  to  acknowledge  that  we  ran  no 
risk  of  starving,  and  got  quite  as  mucli 
variety,  and  as  many  delicacies  as 
we  could  reasonably  expect,  when  we 
considered  the  very  moderate  sum  we 
paid  for  board  and  tuition. 

But  I  must  proceed  with  the  days' 
work.  After  breakfast,  came  im^nage, 
or  housekeeping.  This  was  another  of 
our  petty  grievances.  Every  girl  had 
a  certain  share  of  sweeping  and  dust- 
ing to  do.  Some  did  their  work  in  the 
class-rooms,  a  few  in  the  chapel,  and 
others  tidied  the  music-hall,  while  the 
rest  wielded  the  broom  in  the  dorma- 
tory.  Our  operations  were  superin- 
tended by  a  nun,  who  exacted  good 
work  from  all.  Still  there  were  many 
complaints  that  a  certain  few  were 
lazy,  and  did  scarcely  anything,  while 
others,  who  pleaded  weakness  or  other 
ailment,  and  threatened  to  leave  unless 
relieved  from  the  irksome  task,  were 
compromised  with  by  being  given  but 
little  dusting  or  tidying  to  do.  It  may 
readily  be  seen  how  this  caused  much 
discussion  amongst  those  who  had  '  to 
grin  and  bear  it,'  but  it  ended,  like  all 
other  protests,  in  talk.  Manage  over, 
we  dressed  for  our  morning  walk,  and 
filed  off,  two  and  two,  through  several 
of  the  most  retired  streets.  This  was 
another  grievance.  '  Why  don't  they 
take  us  on  Front  Street,  where  we  can 
see  something  or  somebody  1'  was  a 
frequent  interrogation.  The  speaker 
might  have  truthfully  added,  '  and 
where  somebody  could  see  us.'  But  the 
nvms  were  far  too  wise  to  incite  the 
girls  to  unladylike  behaviour  by  plac- 
ing such  temptation  in  their  way. 
Idlers  there  are  on  the  principal  streets 
of  every  large  city,  who  would  and 
do  find  amusement  in  flirting  with 
foolish  boarding-school  misses,  and  the 
latter,  because  it  is  wrong  and  for- 
bidden, often  meet  their  advances,  and 
thus  get  themselves  into  trouble  and 
bring  discredit  upon  the  institution  to 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


415 


which  they  are  attached.  The  nuns 
knew  well  that  some  of  the  girls  under 
their  charge  had  early  imbibed  wrong 
ideas  of  what  was  commendable — 
ideas  which  even  their  training  had 
not  been  able  to  wholly  eradicate,  and 
all  they  could  do  for  them  was  to  de- 
prive them  of  opportunities  for  making 
themselves  ridiculous.  One  girl,  mis- 
chief-loving, and  wanting  in  self-res- 
pect, was  wont  to  make  herself  so 
<;onspicuous  by  the  injudicious  use  of 
her  pocket-handkerchief,  that  it  be- 
came necessary  to  deprive  her  of  her 
■daily  walk,  and  she  was  allowed  in- 
stead an  airing  on  the  balcony.  I  cite 
these  examples  to  show  how  carefully 
the  girls  are  guarded,  and  how  neces- 
sary is  the  sui)ervision.  When  we  got 
back  from  our  walk,  it  was  almost 
nine,  so  we  proceeded  to  the  study 
hall.  This  room,  like  all  the  rest,  Avas 
large,  airy,  and  well-lighted — always 
•clean,  and,  in  common  with  the  other 
departments,  possessed  an  inviting 
look,  difficult  to  describe,  but  plainly 
perceptible  to  all  who  entered  it.  Here 
the  senior  pupils  remained  until  the 
school  bell  rang.  The  juniors  had  a 
separate  room.  In  fact,  the  latter  were 
never  allowed  to  mingle  with  the  older 
girls,  and  took  their  meals,  and  spent 
their  recreation  hours  by  themselves, 
besides  occupying  a  separate  dormi- 
tory. It  was  a  wise  regulation,  keep- 
ing the  little  ones  childlike,  and 
leaving  theyoung  ladies  untrammelled. 
At  nine,  the  day-pupils  arrived,  and 
the  classes  were  formed.  One  class  re- 
mained in  the  study-hall,  and  the 
•others  went  to  the  different  class-rooms, 
which  were  distinguished  by  the  name 
of  the  nun  presiding  in  each.  Class 
was  over  about  eleven,  and  then  came 
what  was  known  as  '  Christian  Doc- 
trine.' In  other  words,  the  pupils  had 
to  commit  to  memory,  be  able  to  ex- 
plain, and  give  authority  for  a  certain 
number  of  answers  to  questions  in 
advanced  catechism.  After  this,  there 
were  the  closing  forenoon  prayers,  and 
then  dinner  at  half  past  eleven.  It  may 
not  be  out  of  place  to  give  here  an  idea 


of  the  instruction  given  in  the  Convent, 
and  the  mode  of  teaching.  French  and 
English  were  the  languages  which  re- 
ceived most  attention.  There  was  a 
German  teacher,  but  her  class  was 
small.  On  one  day,  the  English  pupils 
would  recite  in  French,  while  the 
!  French  girls  leai-ned  English.  The  next 
day,  they  all  devoted  themselves  to 
their  own  language.  It  was  an  excel- 
lent place  to  learn  French,  and  the 
French  girls  seemed  to  make  rapid 
progress  in  English,  speaking  with 
wonderful  fluency  and  correctness. 
Music  was  well  taught  by  skilful  and 
painstaking  teachers;  while  drawing, 
painting,  and  fancy  work  recei^ed  car:;- 
ful  attention.  Indeed,  the  nuns  felt  it 
their  sacred  duty  to  do  their  utmost 
for  each  pu])il,  and  though,  like  all 
teachers,  they  met  with  many  discour- 
agements, they  never  ceased  to  make 
every  possible  exertion  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  their  charges.  They 
woi'ked  in  unison,  and  it  was  often  a 
mystery  to  me  how  so  many  women — 
for  even  nuns  are  mortal  and  have  their 
weaknesses — agreed  so  well.  Of  course 
the  spirit  of  emulation  between  the 
classes  manifested  itself  among  the 
teachers,  and  on  particular  occasions, 
they  must  have  had  their  little  jealou- 
e'Si,  envies  and  triumphs,  but  these 
feelings  never  interfered  with  the  har- 
mony of  the  school.  All  seemed  to 
recognise  the  wisdom  of  forbearance, 
and  to  know  the  value  of  peace.  In 
truth,  the  Convent  was  a  little  king- 
dom. The  Lady  Superior  was  chief 
ruler,  and  the  other  nuns  were  an  ex- 
ecutive council.  The  pupils  were  the 
subjects,  and  they  found  the  yoke  easy 
to  bear,  and  obedience  was  made  a 
delight.  The  rules  were  few.  Silence 
was  required  during  class  and  study 
hours,  in  passing  through  the  corri- 
dors, and  in  the  dormitory  and  refec- 
tory, unless  when  special  permission 
was  given  to  converse.  Lessons  had  to 
be  prepared,  and  respect  and  obedi- 
ence were  the  right  of  every  nun,  and 
the  duty  of  every  pupil.  French  had 
to  be  spoken  by  all  at  recreation  on 


416 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION: 


French  nights,  and  English  on  Englisli 
nights.  These  alternated,  and  it  was 
a  sensible  regulation,  for  the  words 
learned  at  such  times  find  an  abiding 
place  in  one's  memory,  and  can  always 
be  recalled  with  the  recollection  of  the 
circumstances  under  which  they  were 
used,  while  sentences  acquired  by  study 
can  seldom  be  connected  in  our  minds 
with  any  pleasing  incident  which 
makes  it  impossible  to  forget  them. 
But  it  is  needless  to  enlarge  on  any- 
thing so  self-evident. 

After  dinner,  recreation  was  allowed 
until  one  o'clock.  Then  an  hour  was 
devoted  to  music  practice,  and  instruc- 
tion in  sewing  and  fancy  work.  Arith- 
metic was  taught  until  half-past  three. 
Afternoon,thanksgiving  and  luncheon, 
collation  as  it  was  callea,  filled  in  the 
time  until  four,  after  which  came  a 
half-liour  of  recreation,  followed  by  an 
hour's  rehearsal  of  the  morrow's  work, 
and  then  evening  prayers  until  six, 
when  we  had  tea.  When  our  evening 
meal  was  over,  we  had  recreation  again 
until  half-past  seven,  and  we  studied 
until  half-past  eight,  when  the  gong 
sounded  for  bed.  We  went  upstairs 
immediately,  and  by  nine  o'clock  the 
gas  was  turned  out,  and  the  house  was 
scill.  Thus  was  the  ordinary  day  spent. 
It  was  an  even-way,  a  monotonous 
life,  but  it  had  its  enjoyment.  We 
knew  that  our  play  hours  were  few 
and  short,  and  we  made  the  most  of 
them.  We  had  no  more  time  for  study 
than  we  really  needed,  and  it  was  im- 
portant that  not  a  moment  should  be 
wasted.  Religious  exercises  were  fre- 
quent, and  it  was  well  to  make  a  virtue 
of  necessity  and  assist  at  them  with 
devotion.  The  daily  walk  had  its  in- 
cidents, and  the  appearance  of  a  new 
or  long  absent  dish  at  the  table  was  an 
event.  Then  we  had  half  holiday  on 
Wednesday  and  Saturday  afternoons, 
though  many  were  the  complaints  that 
these  were  holidays  only  in  name,  for 
those  who  aspired  to  handle  the  pencil 
got  an  hour's  work  on  these  days  ;  and 
then  there  was  always  somebody 
wanted  for  a  music  lesson  or  to  prac- 


tice, and  if  you  did  not  attend  to  your 
sewing  or  fancy  work.  Ma  tank,  who 
presided  in  the  work-room  (where  all 
assembled  to  spend  the  afternoon), 
declared  that  you  were  parasseuse. 
Wednesday  was  one  of  the  days  on 
which  your  friends  might  visit  you, 
and  upon  which,  if  you  had  shopping 
to  do,  and  were  a  very  well  behaved 
young  lady,  you  might  be  allowed  to 
go  into  the  city,  accompanied  by  one- 
of  the  older  pupils,  who  had  an  equal 
reputation  for  propriety  ;  but,  if  you; 
were  considered  at  all  untrustworthy, 
a  nun  was  deputed  to  see  that  you  be- 

i    haved    with    due    decorum  —  which 

I  was  right  and  wise,  though  several  of 
the  pupils  did  not  think  so.  If  you 
had  no  fi'iends  in  the  city,  what  then? 
It  was  impossible  to  have  shopping 
more  than  once  in  a  month,  and  many 
a  girl,  with  her  needless  repining, 
spoiled  for  herself  and  her  companions- 

I  what  might  have  been  a  very  pleasant 
and    profitable    afternoon.      Saturday 

I  afternoon  was  dreaded  by  all,  for  then 
came  the  general  menage.  On  that  day 
very  careful  sweeping  had  to  be  done, 
and  all  the  furniture  had  to  be  moved 
and  carefully  dusted  with  damp  cloths, 
after  which  it  was  critically  inspected 
by  Ma  tank  in  charge,  who  awarded 
marks,  and  gave  praise  or  blame,  ac- 
cording to  the  quality  of  the  work.  Of 
coui'se  these  labours  made  every  one 
dusty,  and  was  followed  by  a  general 
bathing  and  donning  of  clean  gar- 
ments. On  this  afternoon,  too,  the 
clean  clothes  came  up  the  elevator 
from  the  laundry  and  were  distributed. 
Unmarked  or  torn  articles  always 
brought  a  sharp  reproof  for  their 
owner ;  and,  after  this  inspection,  each 
piece  of  clothing  was  passed  around 
from  one  to  the  other,  until  it  reached 
the  person  to  whom  it  belonged.  Dres- 
sing over,  we  went  down  staii'S,  and 
those  who  wished  to  '  confess,'  visited 
the  chapel,  while  others  looked  over 
their  lessons  for  Monday  in  the  study-^ 
hall.  After  tea,  there  was  a  general 
mending,  and  nearly  every  pupil  might 
be   seen  repairing  a  torn  garment  or 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


417 


stitching  on  a  button.  We  went  up- 
stairs on  Saturday  night  half  an  horn- 
earlier  than  usual,  that  we  might  have 
ample  time  before  the  light  wtmt  out 
to  get  everything  in  readiness  for 
Sunday.  On  Sunday  morning  we  had 
mass  at  the  usual  hour,  followed  by 
breakfast,  which  was  generally  a  little 
better  than  the  week  day  matutinal 
meal.  After  breakfast  we  talked  for  a 
short  time,  and  then  went  to  another 
mass,  to  which  friends  of  the  Convent 
were  invited.  Many  people  from  the 
city  attended,  and  it  was  quite  a 
treat  to  us  to  catch  these  glimp.sesof  the 
outside  woi^ld.  During  the  next  recre- 
ation, the  pupils  might  often  be  heard 
discussing  the  new  dress  worn  by  Ma- 
dame L ,  or  eagerly  endeavouring 

to  discover  the  name  of  the  handsome 
dark  gentleman  who  occupied  the  front 
seat.  This  latter  inquiry  was  made 
sub  rosa,  you  may  be  sure,  for  no  one 
coveted  a  lecture  on  the  impropriety  of 
looking  around  in  the  chapel,  instead 
of  attending  to  prayers.  But  human 
nature  is  human  nature,  even  in  a 
Convent. 

This  part  of  the  day's  devotion  over, 
we  had  an  hour  for  recreation,  which, 
if  the  weather  permitted,  we  generally 
spent  in  promenading  on  the  galleries. 
After  this,  we  studied  until  dinner 
time,  and  that  meal  being  over,  we 
were  at  liberty  to  divert  ourselves 
until  half-past  two.  Sometimes,  if  the 
day  were  fine,  we  were  taken  for  a  long 
walk,  often  staying  out  two  or  even 
three  hours.  We  always  got  home  in 
time  for  collation  at  four,  served  on 
Sundays  in  the  study-hall,  and  consist- 
ing of  two  cakes,  which,  the  girls  used 
to  declare,  only  made  them  long,  like 
Oliver  Twist,  for  more.  At  half-past 
four,  we  had  benediction  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  followed  by  a  sermon.  We 
had  a  good  choir,  and  the  singing  was 
very  fine,  many  people  coming  from 
the  city  to  assist  at  the  service.  We 
studied  until  tea-time,  and  after  that 
amused  ourselves  until  half  past  seven, 
when  we  all  assembled  in  tlie  study- 
hall  to  pass  through   the  dreadful  or- 


deal, familiarly  known  as  '  lecture 
marks.'  Every  girl  kept  a  book,  in 
which  she  recorded  the  marks  of  merit 
and  demerit  obtained  by  her  daily.  On 
Saturday  these  books  were  handed  in 
to  the  nuns,  who  compared  them  with 
their  own,  and  corrected  any  mistakes. 
At  half-past  seven  on  Sunday  evening, 
the  Lady  Superior,  attended  by  the 
niTus,  came  to  the  study-hall.  One  of 
the  nuns  read  the  result  of  each  girl's 
labours  for  the  week,  and  the  young 
lady  whose  name  was  called  stood  up. 
If  any  nun  had  to  find  fault  with  her 
conduct  she  made  her  complaint  then. 
The  Lady  Superior  demanded  an  ex- 
planation from,  and  administered  a 
rebuke  to,  the  condemned,  who  stood 
there,  under  the  gaze  of  all,  blushing 
and  ready  to  burst  into  tears,  or  else 
bearing  a  look  of  assumed  defiance. 
No  wonder  the  pupils  dreaded  this 
hour,  for  it  was  a  severe  trial  and 
a  keen  punishment  for  those  who 
had  been  negligent  or  in  any  way  un- 
observant of  the  rules.  It  is  quite 
impossible  for  any  one  who  has  not 
had  experience  of  convents,  to  know 
the  awe  in  which  the  young  ladies 
stand  of  the  nuns,  and  the  deep  re- 
spect and  reverence  they  feel  for  them. 
I  have  heard  the  girls  say  of  a  nun,  '  I 
could  almost  hate  her,  but  I  respect 
the  dress  she  wears  and  the  woi-k  she 
does ; '  and  those  girls  would  consider 
it  a  positive  crime  to  have  rebellious 
feelings  towards  one  of  their  teachers, 
and  would  prayerfully  strive  to  be 
dutiful  and  submissive  in  all  things. 
Some  may  wonder  at  this,  and  think 
it  impossible  with  Protestant  girls 
who  do  not  believe  in  the  religion  of 
the  nuns,  but  even  they  become  im- 
pressed with  the  idea  that  these  la- 
dies are  consecrated  to  the  work  of 
education,  and  must  not  be  resisted  in 
their  efibrts  to  do  good.  Besides,  al- 
most any  one  can  understand  that,  in 
the  eyes  of  impressionable  girlhood, 
cut  off  from  the  world,  the  ruling  au- 
thorities, let  them  be  what  they  may, 
seem  all  powerful  ;  and  this  is  still 
more  likely  to  be  the  ca?*^  when  they 


418 


A  PEEP  AT  CONVENT  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION. 


are  generally  kind,  and — in  almost 
every  instance — lovable.  The  English 
•convent  in  which  I  was  first  domiciled 
was  under  the  management  of  a  difter- 
■ent  Order;  and,  while  it  resembled  the 
institution  I  have  described  in  many 
■ways,  the  nuns  seemed  to  have  even 
a  better  method  of  maintaining  disci- 
pline. They  entered  more  into  the 
every-day  life  of  the  pupils,  discovered 
the  workings  of  their  minds,  encour- 
raged  and  aided  them  in  their  efforts 
to  improve,  and  made  themselves  ap- 
pear necessary  to  their  existence.  The 
.aftection  of  these  children  for  their 
teachers  was  really  touching,  and  a 
striking  example  of  the  influence  of 
good  women  over  those  with  whom 
they  come  in  contact.  It  may  be  sup- 
posed that  this  influence  might  be 
wrongly  directed,  or  used  to  secure 
more  members  for  the  Oi'der,  but,  in 
the  English  Convent  of  which  I  speak, 
the  nuns  were  particularly  careful 
not  to  encourage  the  pupils  to  join 
them,  while  the  French  sisters  never 
went  further  than  exhorting  them  to 
think  seriously  of  their  life's  work, 
and  to  decide  whether  it  was  to  be 
wrought  out  in  a  Convent  or  in  the 
world  outside  its  walls.  Once  T  re- 
member the  Lady  Superior  saying  to 
me,  that  as  I  felt  sure  I  would  never 
be  a  nun,  she  hoped  I  would  find  a 
good  husband,  and  become  useful  as  a 
wife,  for  she  had  little  faith  in  an 
old  maid's  life.  Comparing  the  large 
number  of  pupils  who  annually  pass 
through  these  institutions  with  the 
iew  who  remain  in  them,  we  must 
acquit  the  nuns  of  endeavouring  to 
proselytize  weak-minded  young  ladies, 
or  else  agree  that  they  ate  remarkably 
unsuccessful  in  their  efibrts. 

In  these  few  pages  I  have  drawn 
a  picture  of  the  daily  life  of  the  Con- 
vent, and  though  the  colouring  is  not 
brilliant,  and  rather  poorly  put  on, 
the  reader,  I  trust,  will  agree  with  me 
in  concluding  that  the  monotony  I 
have  portrayed  is  endurable,  and  is 
■conducive  to  good  health  and  serenity 
of  mind,  which  after  all  are  synonyms 


for  ha})piness.  But  sometimes  there 
were  ripples  on  the  generally  placid 
surface  ;  a  break  would  occur  in  the 
routine,  and  we  were  always  glad  of 
the  relief  which  it  afforded.  It  might 
be  caused  by  a  holiday,  a  visit  from 
some  distinguished  individual,  or 
a  private  or  public  entertainment. 
Such  events  were  not  without  their 
advantages.  They  were  generally 
known  to  us  in  advance  and  were 
carefully  prepared  for,  and  the  train- 
ing which  the  pupils  thus  received 
went  far  to  fit  them  for  the  easy  and 
graceful  performance  of  social  duties 
in  after  life.  In  fact,  the  careful  super- 
vision of  convent  pupils  in  these  par- 
ticulars exerts  an  important  after  in- 
fluence, for  it  is  rare  to  find  one  who 
has  been  subject  to  such  discipline 
awkward  or  ill-at-ease  in  society  ;  and 
it  is  safe  to  add  that  the  pupil  will  be 
neither  bold  nor  presuming  if  she 
faithfully  follow  the  teaching  thus 
imparted.  A  few  words  may  be  al- 
lowed me  to  sum  up  the  benefits  of  a 
convent  education.  I  can  truly  say 
that  where  there  is  material  to  work 
upon,  and  no  great  weight  of  opposing 
influence,  the  nuns  generally  succeed 
in .  moulding  their  pupils  into  well- 
mannered,  unaffected  young  ladies, 
possessed  of  sufficient  information  to 
enable  them  to  converse  intelligently, 
and  with  accomplishments  which  make 
them  desirable  companions.  A  solid 
education  they  can  scarcely  be  said  to 
possess.  They  will  probably  be  good 
readers,  good  writers,  fair  grammar- 
ians, well  up  in  history  and  geography, 
but  possessing  an  imperfect  knowledge 
of  mathematics  and  the  sciences.  They 
get  a  smattering  of  all  these,  however, 
for  advanced  pupils  study  Euclid, alge- 
bra, botany,  entomology,  and  zoology. 
They  also  devote  some  time  to  astro- 
nomy, and  often  talk  quite  learnedly 
of  the  diff"erent  constellations.  If  they 
have  any  musical  ability,  and  devote 
a  sufficient  time  to  it,  they  generally 
become  good  musicians.  Drawing  and 
painting  are  given  much  attention  to  ; 
and  French  and  German,  in  my  opin- 


AVE  ATQUE  VALE. 


419 


ion,  are  taught  in  a  much  more  tho- 
rough and  practical  manner  than  in 
Provincial  High  Schools.  In  fine,  no 
matter  who  she  may  be,  a  young  lady 
will  always  be  largely  benefited  by  a 
year  or  two  of  convent  education.  If 
she  should  chance  to  learn  nothing 
more,  she  will  be  taught  patience, 
charity,  and  amiability,  and  these  go 
far  towards  making  a  lovable  charac- 
ter. Let  me  add  that  the  religious 
opinions  of  Protestants  are  treated 
with  the  greatest  respect,  and  that  qo 
attempt  is  made  to  change  their  views. 
I  know  many  who  have  been  educated 
in  convents,  but  recall  only  one  who 
joined  the  Catholic  Church.  Those 
who  have  been  educated  in  convents 
usually  lose  much  of  their  prejudice 
against  the  Church  of  Rome,  but  this 
does  not  interfere  with  the  faith  they 


cherish.  In  closing,  I  may  say  that 
if  I  have  enlightened  any  one  hitherto 
ignorant  on  this  subject,  or  have  suc- 
ceeded in  dissipating  the  prejudices  of 
others,  I  shall  be  amply  rewarded. 
Let  those  who  are  interested  in  public 
institutions  visit  our  convents,  and 
sec  for  themselves  the  interior  work- 
ings of  these  important  aids  to  the  ed- 
ucation of  our  people.  They  will  be 
welcomed  by  the  nuns,  who  are  always 
glad  to  receive  visitors  desiring  inform- 
ation, and  I  am  satisfied  that  after  an 
inspection  they  will  have  a  more  ele- 
vated idea  than  they  before  possessed  of 
these  women,  who  willingly  relinquish 
all  of  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  the 
world,  and  devote  their  lives  to  the 
cause  of  education,  hoping  only  for 
food  and  clothing,  and,  when  their 
labours  are  over,  a  place  in  Heaven. 


AVE   ATQUE   VALE. 

HENRY   WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW, 
B.    1807.      D.   1882. 

BY  CHARLES  PELHAM  MULVAM',  TORONTO. 


*   A   VE  ET  VALE  ! '     Full  of  years  and  honours, 
-lA_     Thou  diest,  oh  singer,  whose  songs  shall  not  die  ! 
Thou  livest,  oh  Poet  in  thy  work's  survival, 
All  conscious  life  laid  by  ! 

Even  now  around  thy  tomb  thy  peers,  the  peerless, 
Holmes,  Whittier,  P^merson,  fit  mourners,  stand — 
Their  torch  and  thine  what  hand  shall  claim  when  pissing 
Into  the  Silent  Land  ? 


'  Farewell !  we  greet  thee  ! '  in  the  kindly  silence, 
To  the  frail  personal  life  of  earth  farewell, 
We  greet  thee.  Teacher,  whom  the  years  eternize 
In  all  Men's  love,  live  well  ! 


420  ^^^  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 

Live  in  the  pride  of  that  Supreme  Republic, 
To  whom  the  trophies  of  thy  fame  belong, 
Through  the  far  years  though  filled  with  mightier  music 
Thine  her  first  voice  of  song  ! 

A  lyric  undertone  heard  in  the  twilight, 
Mid  Home's  sweet  memories,  in  the  Children's  Hour 
A  sound  of  sea-waves  breaking  in  the  moonlight 
Beneath  the  dark  Church  tower  I 

The  Slave  set  free,  the  Young  Man's  heart  turned  Psalmia 
How  trite,  yet  true,  our  boyhood's  favourite  page  ! 
Yet  still  for  Truth,  Peace,  Freedom,  well  preluding 
The  keynote  of  the  age  ! 

And  to  the  rough  New  World's  uncultured  ferment 
Teaching  the  nobler  lore  of  years  gone  by  ! 
By  Beauty's  spell  our  young  Atlantis  drawing 
To  Europe's  heart  more  nigh  I 

Xor  bloomed  thy  verse  a  hothouse-born  exotic  ; 
Thine  that  sweet  idyl  of  our  Northern  shore. 
Where  still  the  pines  'repeat  Evangeline's  story,' 
Mid  the  Atlantic's  roar. 

Thee,  by  thy  grave  this  day,  we  may  not  flatter, 
Nor  claim  thy  portion  with  the  bards  sublime. 
Who  sit  supreme  with  Homer,  Milton,  Shelley, 
Above  the  '  sands  of  Time.' 

And  yet,  dear  singer  of  our  Homeland  music, 
No  humble  place,  no  fading  wreath  be  thine. 
Accept,  forgive,  that  mid  thy  laureate  honours 
Our  Maple  chaplet  twine. 


THE    POWER    OF    DISALLOWANCE    AND    ITS    NATIONAL 
IMPORTANCE. 

BY  THE  HON,  EX  SPEAKER  COCKBURN,  Q C,  OTTAWA. 

XL 


IT  was  not  my  purpose  to  have  made 
any  further  remarks  on  this  sub- 
ject, but  certain  criticisms  which  have 
appeared  in  contra  version  of  the  posi- 
tion taken  by  me  in  the  March  num- 


ber, have  induced  me  to  resume  its 
discussion,  with  the  view  of  placing 
before  the  readers  of  the  Canadian 
Monthly  a  brief  resume  of  the  rea- 
sons which  establish,  beyond  question, 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


421 


the  true  meaning  of  those  disputed 
clauses  of  the  Union  Act,  according 
to  the  intention  and  spirit — as  well  as 
the  letter — the  latter  of  which  is  seem- 
.ingly  admitted. 

The  veto  power,  as  every  student 
knows,  is  an  essential  element  of  our 
system  of  Monarchical  Government :  no 
legislation  under  British  rule  can  have 
existence  independently  of  it.  The 
Acts  of  all  the  Colonial  Legislatures 
are,  and  must  continue  to  be,  subject 
to  the  veto  in  the  hands  of  the  Sove- 
reign. This  powei*,  as  it  existed  in 
respect  of  the  old  Provinces  of  British 
North  America,  now  included  in  the 
Confederation,  was  in  the  most  formal 
manner  made  over  to  the  Central  Gov- 
ernment of  the  Dominion,  so  far  as  it 
applied  to  future  legislation  by  the 
Provinces  ;  and  although  copies  of  all 
the  Acts  prepared  by  the  Dominion 
Parliament  are  required — as  was  the 
case  under  the  old  Provinces — to  be 
transmitted  to  the  Secretary  of  State 
for  the  Colonies  (so  that  Her  Majesty's 
right  of  veto  may  be  exercised  or  not 
exercised)  thei-e  is  no  similar  provision 
as  to  the  acts  of  the  Local  Legislatures, 
nor  is  Her  Majesty's  Government  kept 
advised  thereof,  the  right  of  veto  in 
respect  of  the  same  having  been  trans- 
fei^red  to  the  Dominion. 

A  question  as  to  a  New  Bruns- 
wick School  Act  was  submitted  by  the 
Impei'ial  authorities  to  the  highest 
court  of  resort — the  Judicial  Commit- 
tee of  the  Privy  Council — and  the  fol- 
lowing reply,  under  date  of  13th  Sep- 
tember, 1872,  was  officially  communi- 
cated to  the  Secretary  of  State  for  the 
Colonies. 

'  It  appears  to  His  Lordship  (the 
Lord  President  of  the  Privy  Council) 
that,  as  the  power  of  confirming  or  dis- 
allowing Provincial  Acts  is  vested  by 
the  Statute  (the  B.  N.  A.  Act  of  1867) 
in  the  Governor- General  of  the  Do- 
minion of  Canada,  acting  under  the 
advice  of  his  constitutional  advisers, 
there  is  nothing  in  the  case  which 
gives  to  Her  Majesty  in  Council  any 
jurisdiction  over  thia  question.' 


This  dictum  is  in  perfect  harmony 
with  the  Confederation  scheme,  as 
agreed  upon  at  Quebec,  namely,  that 
the  Federal  authority  should  be  sub- 
stituted for  that  of  the  Crown  in  re- 
spect of  the  Provincial  Governments 
and  Legislatures. 

It  is  proper  to  note  the  advance  in 
self-government  which  this  constitu- 
tional change  has  effected.  Under  the 
system  before  Confederation  the  legis- 
lative acts  of  the  Provinces  could  have 
been  vetoed  (under  similar  powers  of 
disallowance)  by  the  Crown,  acting 
under  the  advice  of  Imperial  Minis- 
ters who  were  in  no  way  responsible 
to  the  people  of  those  Provinces,  and, 
although  it  may  be  said  that  the  veto 
was  seldom  used,  yet  it  was  certainly 
exercised  time  and  again,  for  during 
the  Union  of  Upper  and  Lower  Can- 
ada, from  1841  to  1867,  we  find  that 
no  fewer  than  nine  Acts  of  the  Legis- 
lature were  disallowed  or  refused  the 
Boyal  assent,  some  of  which  were 
purely  local  and  provincial  in  their 
character. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  veto  of  Pro- 
vincial Acts  under  our  present  system 
of  government  can  only  be  effected  by 
the  Governor-General  with  the  advice 
of  his  Canadian  Ministers  who  are  re- 
sponsible directly  for  such  advice  to 
the  Dominion  Parliament,  which  is  the 
proper  Court  of  Impeachment,  should 
they  err  in  such  advice.  Thus  respon- 
sible government,  in  respect  of  the  dis- 
allowance of  Provincial  Acts,  is  more 
effectually  secured  to  the  people  of  the 
respective  Provinces  under  Confedera- 
ation  than  it  ever  was  before  ;  and  we 
do  not  find  that  the  occasions  for  the 
exercise  of  the  power  have  numerically 
increased.  Keeping  in  view  the  large 
increase  of  legislation  that  has  taken 
place,  the  number  of  Ontario  Acts,  for 
instance,  that  have  been  disallowed 
since  Confederation  is  four  ;  while  the 
whole  number  of  disallowed  Acts 
throughout  the  Dominion  is  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  thirty,  as  against  a 
a  total  number  of  acts  that  were  passed^ 
in    all    the    provinces  of  over   5,000 


422 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


In  this  connection  it  is  also  worthy  I 
of  notice,  that  no  fewer  than  eight  of 
the  Acts  of  the  Dominion  Parliament 
have,  since  Confederation,  been  disal- 
lowed, or  refused  the  Royal  assent,  by 
Her  Majesty  acting  upon  the  advice 
of  her  Imperial  Ministers,  some  of 
which  were  so  disallowed,  or  refused, 
not  for  reasons  of  Imperial  policy,  but 
for  reasons  of  State  bearing  on  the 
interests  of  Canada — as  so  stated — 
notably  the  Act  to  reduce  the  Governor- 
General's  salary,  which  was  passed  in 
1868;  and  yet,  if  we  turn  to  sec.  91, 
and  indeed  to  the  whole  context  of  the 
B.  N.  A.  Act,  we  find  that  the  legis- 
lative powers  of  the  Dominion  Parlia- 
ment are  far  more  absolute,  as  well  as 
more  extensive,  than  any  that  were 
conferred  on  the  Provinces  in  sec.  92. 

Is  there,  then,  it  may  be  asked,  any 
good  reason  for  the  contention  that 
the  Provinces  were  intended  to  occupy 
the  anomalous  position  of  entire  free- 
dom from  the  veto  power  in  cases 
within  their  jurisdiction,  while  the 
provision  as  to  disallowance  of  Domi- 
nion Acts,  couched  in  the  very  same 
language,  preserve  (and  must  ever  pre- 
serve) to  Her  MHJesty  in  Council  a 
complete  control  over  all  the  legisla- 
tion of  the  Dominion  1 

In  order  to  arrive  at  a  clear,  and 
we  may  hope  conclusive,  answer  to 
this  important  question,  we  must  turn 
to  the  Official  Acts,  the  public  speeches, 
and  the  debates  just  before  and  at  the 
time  of  the  passing  of  the  Union  Act. 

The  Quebec  Conference  closed  its 
labours  on  the  31st  October,  1864, 
the  result  being  the  adoption  of  a 
series  of  resolutions  which  formed  the 
basis  of  the  Act  of  Union  subsequently 
passed  by  the  Imperial  Parliament, 
and  known  as  the  British  North  Ame- 
rica Act  of  1867. 

After  the  close  of  the  Conference, 
the  delegates  visited  the  chief  cities 
of  the  different  Provinces,  and  made 
known  publicly  the  purport  of  the  re- 
solutions that  had  been  so  adopted. 

At  Toronto,  in  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber of  that  year,  before  a  very  large 


and  enthusiastic  audience,  the  Hon. 
George  I]ro\vn,  as  President  of  the  Ex- 
ecutive Council  of  the  Province  of 
Canada,  gave  the  official  explanation 
in  a  speech  of  great  power  and  clear- 
ness of  detail.  The  Hon.  gentleman 
is  reported  inter  alia  to  have  spoken  as. 
follows  : — 

'The  various  details  of  the  Con- 
federation scheme  were  brought  up 
for  consideration  by  the  Conference  in 
the  form  of  resolutions.  Those  reso- 
lutions were  separately  discussed,, 
amended,  and  adopted ;  and,  as  finally 
adopted  by  the  unanimous  consent  of 
the  whole  Conference,  they  now  stand 
on  record.'    .... 

'  There  was  one  point  to  which  he 
was  desirous  of  calling  particular  at- 
tention, namely,  to  the  fact  that  in 
framing  their  constitution  they  had 
carefully  avoided  what  had  proved  a 
great  evil  in  the  United  States,  and 
that  is  the  acknowledgment  of  an  in- 
herent sovereign  power  in  the  separate 
States,  causing  a  collision  of  authority 
between  the  general  and  States  Gov- 
ernments which,  in  times  of  trial,  had 
been  found  to  interfere  gravely  with 
the  efficient  administration  of  public 
affairs.  In  the  Government  to  be 
formed  under  this  new  constitution, 
while  we  have  committed  to  the  local 
government  all  that  necessarily  and  pro- 
perly belongs  to  the  localities,  we  have 
reserved  for  the  general  government 
all  those  powers  which  will  enable  the 
legislative  and  administrative  pro- 
ceedings of  the  central  authority  to  be 
carried  out  with  a  firm  hand. 

'  With  this  view  we  have  provided 
that  the  whole  of  the  judges  through- 
out the  Confederation,  those  of  the 
County  Courts  as  well  as  of  the  Supe- 
rior Courts,  are  to  be  appointed  and 
paid  by  the  General  Government.  We 
have  also  provided  that  the  General 
Parliament  shall  be  specially  charged 
with  the  performance  of  all  obliga- 
tions of  the  Provinces,  as  part  of  the 
British  Empire,  to  foreign  countries. 
The  Lieutenant-Governors  of  the  dif- 
ferent sections  are  to  be  appointed  by 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


42: 


the  General  Government,  and  tlie 
power  of  disallowing  all  bills  passed 
by  the  local  legislatures  is  to  be 
vested  in  the  Governor- General  in 
Council.  In  this  way  we  will  have  a 
complete  chain  of  authority,  extend- 
ing from  Her  Majesty,  the  Queen,  to 
the  basis  of  our  political  fabric' 

The  Governor  General,  having  trans- 
mitted to  Her  Majesty's  Government 
a  copy  of  the  Resolutions  adoi)ted  at 
the  Quebec  Conference,  the  same  was 
acknowledged  in  a  despatch  by  the 
Colonial  Minister  of  the  3rd  Decem- 
ber, 1864,  in  which  occur  the  follow- 
ing passages  : — 

'  Her  Majesty's  Government  have 
given  to  your  despatches,  and  to  the 
resolutions  of  the  Conference,  their 
most  deliberate  consideration.  They 
have  regarded  thexn  as  a  whole,  and  as 
having  been  designed,  by  those  who 
have  framed  them,  to  establish  as  com- 
plete and  perfect  a  union  of  the  whole 
into  one  Government,  as  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  and  a  due  con- 
sideration of  existing  interests,  would 
admit. 

•  They  accept  them,  therefore,  as 
being,  in  the  deliberate  judgment  of 
those  best  qualified  to  decide  upon  the 
subject,  the  best  framework  of  a  mea- 
sure to  be  passed  by  the  Imperial  Par- 
liament for  attaining  that  most  desir- 
able result But  upon  the 

whole,  it  appears  to  Her  Majesty's 
Government  that  precautions  have 
been  taken  which  are  obviously  in- 
tended to  secure  to  the  Central  Gov- 
ernment the  means  of  effective  action 
throughout  the  several  Provinces,  and 
to  guard  against  those  evils  which 
must  inevitably  arise  if  any  doubt 
were  permitted  to  exist  as  to  the  re- 
spective limits  of  central  and  local 
authority.  They  are  glad  to  observe 
that  although  large  powers  of  legisla- 
tion are  intended  to  be  vested  in  local 
bodies,  yet  the  principle  of  central 
control  has  been  steadily  kept  in  view. 
The  importance  of  this  principle  can- 
not be  overrated.  Its  maintenance  is 
essential  to  the  practical  efficiency  of 


the  system,  and  to  its  harmonious 
operation  both  in  the  general  admin- 
istration and  in  the  Governments  of 
the  several  Provinces.' 

It  will  be  apparent  from  this  de- 
spatch, and  from  the  subsequent  de- 
bates in  tlie  British  Parliament,  that 
any  plan  of  confederation  which  did 
not  provide  for  a  supreme  central  con- 
trol over  the  Provincial  Governments- 
and  Legislatures  would  not  have  been 
sanctioned  by  Her  Majesty's  Govern- 
ment, nor  would  any  such  measure 
have  been  submitted  by  them  to  the 
Imperial  Parliament. 

The  Legislature  of  the  Province  of 
Canada  met  in  February,  1865,  when 
the  Quebec  resolutions  were  submitted 
and  carried  in  both  Houses  by  large 
majorities.  It  would  be  tedious  to  refer 
at  any  great  length  to  the  Deljates, 
which  exhausted  the  whole  subject^ 
under  a  sharp  and  determined  criti- 
cism directed  against  the  whole  and 
every  part,  feature,  form,  and  condi- 
tion of  the  scheme,  and  led  by  able 
and  talented  exponents  of  every  con- 
ceivable theory  of  Government,  the 
statu  quo  of  the  {n-esent  colonial  con- 
dition, the  legislative  against  the  strict- 
ly federal  system,  and  the  union  of  a 
legislative  and  federal  system  as 
against  both.  The  following  extracts 
from  some  of  the  speeches  delivered  in 
the  Assembly  which  bear  specially  on 
the  subject  of  the  supreme  authority 
in  regard  to  the  proposed  autonomy  of 
the  provinces  will  show  how  tho- 
roughly this  subject  was  sifted,  ana- 
lysed, and  understood. 

See  the  Confederation  debates  : — 
Sir  John  Macdonald  said  :  *  Here 
we  have  adopted  a  different  system 
(from  that  of  the  United  States),  we 
have  strengthened  the  General  Govern- 
ment, we  have  given  them  all  the  great 
subjects  of  legislation,  we  have  con- 
ferred on  them  all  the  powers  which 
are  incident  to  sovereignty 
We  have  avoided  all  conflict  of  juris- 
diction and  authority  .  .  .  and  we 
will  have  in  fact,  as  I  said  before,  all 
the  advantages  of  a  Legislative  Union 


424 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


under  one  administration,  with,  at  the 
same  time,  the  guarantees  for  local 
institutions  and  for  local  laws  which 
are  insisted  on  by  so  many  in  the  Pro- 
vinces now  I  hope  to  be  united  .  . 
,  .  With  respect  to  the  local  gov- 
ernments, it  is  provided  that  each  shall 
be  governed  by  a  chief  executive  officer 
who  shall  be  nominated  by  the  Gene- 
ral Government.  As  this  is  to  be  one 
united  Province,  with  the  local  gov- 
ernments and  legislatures  subordinate 
to  the  General  Government  and  Legis- 
lature, it  is  obvious  that  the  chief 
executive  officer  in  each  of  the  Pro- 
vinces must  be  subordinate  as  well. 
The  General  Government  assumes 
towards  the  local  governments  pre- 
cisely the  same  position  as  the  Impe- 
rial Government  holds  with  respect 
to  each  of  the  colonies  now.' 

Mr.  George  Broivn  :  '  We  have  re- 
tained in  the  hands  of  the  General 
Government  all  the  powers  necessary 
to  secure  a  strong  and  efficient  admin- 
istration of  public  affairs.  By  vesting 
the  appointment  of  the  Lieutenant- 
Governors  in  the  General  Government 
;and  giving  a  veto  for  all  local  mea- 
I  sures,  we  have  secured  that  no  injus- 
tice shall  be  done  without  appeal  in 
local  legislation.' 

Sir  A.  Dorion  (speaking  contra)  : 
'  When  I  look  into  the  provisions  of 
this  scheme,  I  find  another  most  objec- 
tionable one  ;  it  is  that  which  gives 
the  General  Government  control  over 
all  the  Acts  of  the  local  legislatures. 
What  difficulties  may  not  arise  under 
this  system  1  Now,  knowing  that  the 
General  Government  will  be  party  in 
its  character,  may  it  not,  for  party 
purposes,  reject  laws  proposed  by  the 
local  legislatures,  and  demanded  by  a 
majority  of  the  people  of  that  locality. 
.  .  We  shall  be  (I  speak  as  a 
Lower  Canadian),  we  shall  be  at  its 
mercy,  because  it  may  exercise  its 
right  of  veto  over  the  local  parlia- 
ments.' 

Sir  John  Base  :  '  There  can  be  no 
difficulty  under  the  scheme  between 
the  various  sections,   no  clashing   of 


authority  between  the  local  and  cen- 
tral governments  in  this  case,  as  there 
has  been  in  the  case  of  the  Americans. 
The  powers  of  the  local  governments 
are  distinctly  and  strictly  defined,  and 
you  have  no  assertion  of  sovereignty 
on  the  part  of  the  local  governments 
as  in  the  United  States,  and  of  powers 
inconsistent  with  the  rights  and  secur- 
ity of  the  whole  community.  Then 
the  other  point  which  commends  itself 
so  strongly  to  my  mind  is  this,  that 
there  is  a  veto  power  on  the  part  of 
the  General  Government  over  all  the 
legislation  of  the  local  Parliaments. 
That  was  a  fundamental  element  which 
the  wisest  statesmen  engaged  in  the 
framing  of  the  American  Constitution 
said,  that,  if  it  was  not  engrafted,  it 
must  necessarily  end  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  Constitution 

Now,  sir,  I  believe  this  power  of  ne- 
gative, this  power  of  veto,  this  con- 
trolling power  on  the  part  of  the  Cen- 
tral Government,  is  the  best  protection 
and  safeguard  of  the  system  ;  and  if 
it  had  not  been  provided,  I  would 
have  felt  it  very  difficult  to  reconcile 
it  to  my  sense  of  duty  to  vote  for  the 
resolutions.' 

Mr.  Alexander  Mackenzie  :  '  Person- 
ally, I  have  always  been  in  favour  of 
a  Legislative  Union  where  it  can  be 
advantageously  worked  ;  if  it  could  be 
adapted  to  our  circumstances  in  these 
colonies,  I  would  at  this  moment  be 
in  favour  of  a  Legislative  Union  as  the 
best  system  of  government.  . 
It  is  quite  clear  that  if  the  Legislative 
Union  could  not  be  worked  well  with 
Upper  and  Lower  Canada,  it  would 
work  still  worse  with  the  other  Pro- 
vinces brought  in.  There  remained, 
therefoi-e,  no  other  alternative  than  to 
adopt  the  Federal  principle.     .     .     . 

'  The  veto  power  is  necessary  in  or- 
der that  the  General  Government  may 
have  a  control  over  the  proceedings  of 
the  local  legislatures  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent. The  want  of  this  power  was 
the  great  source  of  weakness  in  the 
United  States. 

Mr.     Dunkin    (speaking    contra)    : 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


425 


■*  There  is  in  the  United  States  system 
a  clear  and  distinct  line  drawn  between 
the  functions  of  the  General  and  State 
Oovernments.  Some  may  not  like 
the  idea  of  State  sovereignty,  and 
many  may  wish  that  more  power  had 
been  given  to  the  General  Government. 
But  this  much  is  plain,  that  it  is  not 
proposed  to  allow  anything  approach- 
ing State  government  here.     .      .     . 

'  And  there  is  the  strange  and  ano- 
malous provision  that  not  only  can  the 
General  Government  disallow  the  Acts 
of  the  Provincial  Legislatui'es,  and 
control  and  hamper  and  fetter  provin- 
cial action  in  more  ways  than  one,  but 
that  whenever  any  Federal  Legislation 
contravenes,  or  in  any  way  clashes 
with  provincial  legislation,  as  to  any 
matter  at  all  common  between  them, 
such  Federal  Legislation  shall  override 
it  and  take  its  place.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  a  continuance  of 
such  a  system  for  any  length  of  time 
without  serious  clashing  is  absolutely 
impossible. ' 

Mr.  Morris  :  '  I  now  proceed  to  state 
my  belief  that  we  shall  find  great  ad- 
vantage in  the  future  in  the  possession 
of  a  strong  Central  Government  and 
local  or  municipal  Parliaments  such 
as  are  proposed  for  adoption.  I  believe 
the  scheme  will  be  found  in  fact  and 
in  pi-actice — by  its  combination  of  the 
better  features  of  the  American  system 
with  those  of  the  British  Constitution 
— to  have  very  great  practical  advan- 
tages.' 

il/r.  Hope  Mackenzie. — '  I  look  upon 
it  as  a  scheme  more  national  than  fed- 
eral in  its  character,  as  looking  more 
to  a  national  union  of  the  people  than 
a  union  of  sections,  and  it  is  chiefly  be- 
cause of  this  feature,  that  it  commends 
itself  to  my  judgment.  The  hon.  mem- 
ber for  Lotbiniere(Mr.  Joly)  dissented 
from  this  view,  and  argued  that  unless 
the  supreme  power  was  placed  in  the 
seperate  Provinces,  it  could  not  be  ac- 
•cep table  to  Lower  Canada,  as  other- 
wise their  institutions  would  be  en- 
dangered, and  yet  he  elaborated  an 
argument  to  prove   the  fleeting   and 


unstable  character  of  federation  estab- 
lished on  the  only  principle  he  seems 
disposed  to  accept  .  .  .  Now,  sir, 
while  the  hon.  gentleman  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  because  of  the 
supreme  central  power  that  is  provided 
in  the  scheme,  I  take  it  just  because  of 
that  controlling  central  power.' 

Sir  Richard  Caitwright. — '  In  eveiy 
state  which  deserved  the  name  of  an 
Empire,  the  supreme  authority  of  the 
central  power  in  all  that  concerns  the 
general  welfare  has  been  acknowledged, 
.  even  where  there  may  be 
some  conflict  of  jurisdiction  on  minor 
matters,  every  reasonable  precaution 
seems  to  have  been  taken  against  leav- 
ing behind  any  reversionary  legacies 
of  sovereign  state  rights  to  stir  up 
strife  and  discord.' 

Mr.  Scohle. — 'A  careful  analysis  of 
the  scheme  convinces  me  that  the 
powers  conferred  on  the  general  or 
central  government,  secux-es  to  it  all 
the  attributes  of  sovereignty,  and  the 
veto  power  which  its  executive  will 
possess,  and  to  which  all  local  legisla- 
tion will  be  subject,  will  prevent  a 
conflict  of  laws  and  jurisdiction  in  all 
matters  of  impoi-tance.' 

The  result  of  this  prolonged  debate 
is  well  known,  the  address  was  carried 
in  the  Upper  House  by  a  majority  of 
30  ;  the  yeas  being  45,  and  the  nays 
15;  and  in  the  Lower  House  the 
majority  was  58;  the  yeas  being  91, 
and  the  nays  33,  Of  the  minority  in 
the  Lower  House  only  8  were  Upper 
Canadian  members,  and  of  those  not 
one  raised  his  voice  against  the  power 
of  disallowance  being  placed  in  the 
hands  of  the  Central  Government,  their 
opposition  proceeded  on  other  grounds 
which  attacked  the  whole  scheme,  so 
that,  so  far  as  the  Province  of  Ontario 
is  concerned,  her  representatives  were 
unanimous  on  this  question,  admit- 
ting that  the  objections  of  the  eight 
dissenting  members,  as  to  the  union 
generally,  had  been  overcome. 

It  is  not  necessary  that  we  should 
follow  the  varied  fortunes  of  Confeder- 
ation in   the  Maiitime  Provinces,  as 


426 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE, 


we  have  to  deal  for  the  moment  with 
the  question  as  it  is  being  interpreted 
in  Ontario,  it  is  enougli  to  say  that 
the  pro-confederates  in  those  provinces 
ultimately  carried  the  day,  and  thus 
the  measure  became  ripe  for  the  ac- 
tion of  the  Imperial  Government  and 
Parliament. 

On  the  19th  of  February,  1867,  the 
Earl  of  Carnarvon,  then  Colonial 
Minister,  moved  the  second  reading  of 
the  British  North- America  Bill  in  the 
House  of  Lords — the  Bill  having  been 
first  introduced  into  that  House,  passed 
all  its  stages  there  before  being  sent  for 
concurrence  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. The  following  extracts,  bear- 
ing upon  the  question  under  consider- 
ation, are  taken  from  his  lordship's 
very  able  speech  on  the  occasion.  He 
said  : 

'  My  lords,  I  now  pass  to  that  which 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  delicate  and  the 
most  important  part  of  tins  measure 
— the  distribution  of  powex's  between 
the  Central  Parliament  and  the  local 
authorities.  In  this  is,  I  think,  com- 
prised the  main  theory  and  constitu- 
tion of  Federal  Government ;  on  this 
depends  the  practical  working  of  the 
new  system.  And  here  we  navigate 
a  sea  of  difficulties.  There  are  rocks 
on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left.  If 
on  the  one  hand  the  Central  Govern- 
ment be  too  strong,  then  there  is  risk 
that  it  may  absorb  the  local  action, 
and  that  wholesome  self-government 
by  the  provincial  bodies,  which  it  is  a 
matter  both  of  good  faith  and  political 
expediency  to  maintain  ;  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  Central  Government 
is  not  strong  enough,  then  arises  a 
conflict  of  State  rights  and  preten- 
sions, cohesion  is  destroyed,  and  the 
effective  vigour  of  the  central  autho- 
rity is  encroached  upon.  The  real  ob- 
ject which  we  have  in  view  is  to  give 
to  the  Central  Government  those  high 
functions  and  almost  sovereign  powers 
by  which  general  principles  and  uni- 
formity of  legislation  may  be  secured 
on  those  questions  that  are  of  com- 
mon import  to  all  the  Provinces,  and, 


at  the  same  time,  to  retain  for  each 
Province  so  ample  a  measure  of  mun- 
icipal liberty  and  self-government  as 
will  allow,  and  indeed  compel,  them 
to  exercise  those  local  powers  which 
they  can  exercise  with  great  advan- 
tage to  the  community 

'  In  closing  my  observations  on  the 
distribution  of  powers, I  onght  to  point 
out  that  just  as  the  authority  of  the 
Central  Parliament  will  prevail,  when- 
ever it  may  come  in  contact  with  the 
local  legislatures,  so  the  residue  of 
legislation,  if  any,  unprovided  for  in 
the  specific  classification  which  I  have 
explained,  will  belong  to  the  central 
body.  It  will  be  seen,  under  the  91st 
clause,  that  the  classification  is  not  in- 
tended to  "  restrict  the  generality  "  of 
the  powers  previously  given  to  the 
Central  Parliament,  and  that  those 
powers  extend  to  all  laws  made  for  the 
"  peace,  order  and  good  government  " 
of  the  Confederation — terms  which, 
according  to  precedent,  will,  I  under- 
stand, carry  with  them  an  ample  mea- 
sure of  legislative  authority.  I  will 
add,  that  while  all  general  Acts  will 
follow  the  usual  conditions  of  colonial 
legislation,  and  will  be  confirmed,  dis- 
allowed, or  reserved  for  Her  Majesty's 
pleasure  by  the  Governor-General,  the 
Acts  passed  by  the  Local  Legislature 
will  be  transmitted  only  to  the  Gover- 
nor-General, and  be  subject  to  disal- 
lowance by  him  within  the  space  of 
one  twelvemonth.'   . 

The  Mil)  quis  of  Normandy  seconded 
the  motion,  in  a  speech  directed  to- 
wards other  portions  of  the  Bill. 

Earl  Eussell,  after  some  general  re- 
marks, said  :  '  He  had  to  express  his 
regret  that  this  was  not  a  legislative 
instead  of  a  Confederate  union.  He 
feared  that  seperate  local  legislatures 
would  be  attended  with  great  incon- 
venience, and  that  the  work  of  the 
Confederation  could  only  be  done  by 
a  single  legislature. 

Lord  Monck  said  :  •  A  noble  earl 
had  alluded  to  the  present  scheme  as 
a  confederation,  and  had  stated  that 
he  would  rather  have  had  a  legislative 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


union.  The  weakness  of  a  confede- 
rate union  was  generally  supposed  to 
reside,  in  the  absence  of  sufficient  au- 
thority, in  the  central  power.  But 
not  one  of  the  sources  of  weakness  of 
federal  union  was  to  be  found  in  this 
confederation.  The  union  was  not 
created  by  the  act  of  the  States  them- 
selves— the  supreme  authority  and  the 
executive  authority  were  both  to  be 
possessed  by  the  central  power — and 
for  all  purposes  of  union  the  Central 
Government  acted  directly  through 
its  own  officers  upon  the  people  of  the 
United  Provinces.  The  central  power 
also  reserved  to  itself  the  complete 
conti-ol  over  the  legislative,  the  execu- 
tive, and  the  judicial  authorities.' 

Lord  Lynden  having  made  some  re- 
marks of  approval,  the  motion  was 
agreed  to. 

On  the  26th  February ,  after  a  speech 
in  opposition  and  an  amendment 
moved  by  Lord  Campbell  on  grounds 
not  affecting  this  question,  the  Bill 
was  read  a  third  time,  then  passed  and 
sent  to  the  Commons. 

In  the  House  of  Commons  on  the 
28th  February— 

Mr.  Adderly  moved  the  second 
reading  of  the  Bill,  the  following  ex- 
tracts from  his  speech  have  reference 
to  the  subject  of  our  present  enquiry 
— he  said  :  '  The  power  of  the  Provin- 
cial Legislatures  in  reference  to  legis- 
lation will  be  confined  to  a  certain 
number  of  essential  subjects.  The 
Governor-General  will  have  a  veto  on 
all  legislation  ;  and  the  Central  Legis 
lature  will  be  invested  with  a  general 
power  of  providing  for  the  good  gov- 
ernment and  peace  of  the  country  ; 
but  without  derogating  from  the  gen- 
eral power  certain  specitied  powers  are 
enumerated  for  the  Central  Legisla- 
ture. It  will  be  seen  that  by  these 
provisions,  arrangements  are  made  as 
far  as  possible  for  insuring  the  unity 
and  strength  of  the  Central  Govern- 
ment.' 

Mr.  Cardwell — '  I  admit  there  is  a 
provision  not  in  the  Bill  which  I 
should  have   been  glad   to  have  seen 


427 

there,  namely,  the  overruling  and  con- 
trolling power  on  the  pax't  of  the 
Central  Legislation  which  was  given 
in  the  New  Zealand  Act,*  but  I  think 
the  noble  Earl  at  the  head  of  the  Co- 
lonial Office,  and  my  right  hon.  friend, 
are  perfectly  right  in  not  pressing  the 
question  more  at  the  {)resent  mo- 
ment. ...  As  the  matter  now 
stands,  the  Bill  gives  to  the  Governor- 
General  an  actual  veto  over  every 
measure  passed  by  the  Local  Legisla- 
tures, and  it  allows  the  Local  Legisla- 
tures only  to  deal  with,  those  questions 
which  are  supposed  to  be  matters  of 
local  concern.' 

Mr.  Bright,  Mr.  Watkin,  Sir  John 
Pakington,  Mr.  Baillie  Cochi-ane,  Mr. 
Chichester  Fortescue,  Mr.  Hadfield, 
and  Ml'.  Marsh,  also  addressed  the 
House,  but  tlieir  observations  were 
directed  to  other  featui^es  of  the  mea- 
sure. 

The  motion  was  agreed  to  and  the 
Bill  read  and  committed.  On  the  4th 
March,  the  House  was  moved  into 
Committee,  and  after  some  slight 
amendments  to  the  previous  clauses. 
On  clause  91  bing  moved — 

Mr.  E.  IV.  T.  Hamiltoa  said—*  He 
wished  to  know  how  a  conflict  of  juris- 
diction between  the  Parliament  of 
Canada  and  the  Provincial  Legislature 
was  to  be  settled. 

Mr.  Adderly  said  — '  He  did  not 
think  that  any  serious  conflict  of  the 
kind  anticipated  by  the  hon.  member 
could  take  place  so  long  as  a  supreme 
power  was  vested  in  the  Governoi"- 
General  to  veto  Acts.' 

Mr.  Roebuck  said — *  The  f  ramers  of 
the  American  constitution  foresaw 
this  difficulty  and  provided  a  Supreme 
Court,  whose  province  it  was  to  decide 
whether  even  the  laws  passed  by  Con- 
gress were  illegal.  This  Bill  contained 
no  provision  to  pi-event  the  passing  of 
unconstitutional  laws.  In  other  words, 


*  By  the  New  Zealand  Act,  15  &  16  Vic. 
ch.  72.  Kec.  53,  power  was  given  to  the  Gen- 
eral Assemblj-  to  make  laws  overriding  the 
laws  of  the  Provincial  bodies,  in  addition  to 
the  veto  held  by  the  Governor. 


428 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


tlie  Canadian  Parliament  would  be 
supreme.' 

Mr.  Cardwell  said  such  questions 
could  be  raised  in  the  Colonial  Law 
Courts,  and  would  be  ultimately  set- 
tled by  the  Privy  Council  in  England. 

The  clause  was  agi-eed  to,  and  the 
Bill  was  reported  with  amendments. 

On  March  8th,  the  amendments 
were  concurred  in,  and  the  Bill  was 
read  a  third  time  and  passed,  and  on 
the  28  th  March  it]  received  the  royal 
assent. 

Since  the  new  constitution  under 
this  Statute  went  into  full  operation, 
a  period  of  over  fourteen  years  has 
elapsed,  during  which  an  official  in- 
terpretation has  been  put  upon  the 
clause  conferring  the  power  of  disal- 
lowance ;  by  the  Dominion  Ministers 
of  Justice,  Dominion  Orders  in  Coun- 
cil, and  certain  official  correspondence 
and  statements  by  Ministers,  which  it 
is  now  proposed  to  consider  in  con- 
nection with  this  enquiry. 

A  return  was  made  to  the  House 
of  Commons  on  1st  March,  1877,*  of 
all  correspondence  between  the  Fed- 
eral and  Colonial  Governments  con- 
cerning the  disallowance  of,  or  other 
action  taken  upon.  Provincial  Acts 
passed  and  Provincial  Bills  reserved. 
This  return  gives  the  papers  in  con- 
nection with  each  Act  or  Bill,  the  re- 
port of  the  Minister  of  Justice  thereon, 
and  the  Order  in  Council  approving 
of  such  report,  Mr.  Todd  saysf  that 
up  to  the  end  of  1878,  there  had  been 
in  all  twenty-seven  Bills"  disallowed  ; 
of  which  three  were  from  Ontario, 
two  from  Quebec,  four  from  Nova 
Scotia,  twelve  from  British  Columbia, 
six  from  Manitoba,  while  there  were 
none  from  Prince  Edward  Island,  and 
none  from  New  Brunswick.  This 
enumeration  would  seem  only  to  in- 
clude the  disallowed  Acts,  not  the  re- 
served Bills,  upon  which  action  was 
taken  by  the  Dominion  Government. 
I  have  extracted  from  the  above  re- 

*Sess.  Papers,  1877.  vol.  10.  No.  89. 
tSee  Todd's  Par.  Gov't  in  the  Colonies,  p. 
371. 


turn,  all  those  cases  in  which  the  dis- 
allowance and  the  withholding  of  the 
Governor-General's  assent  was  founded 
on  reasons  other  than  incompetency 
of  jurisdiction.  Some  cases  have  oc- 
curred since  the  above  return,  besides 
the  Stream's  Bill,  but  they  will  make 
no  material  diffiirence  in  the  conclu- 
sions to  be  arrived  at. 

No.  1.  From  Prince  Edward  Island. 

*  The  Land  Purchase  Act  of  1874,' 
was  reserved  for  the  assent  of  the  Gov- 
ernor-General. The  assent  was  refused 
for  the  reason  that  the  Act  was  objec- 
tionable, in  that  it  did  not  provide  for 
an  impartial  arbitration  in  which  the 
proprietors  would  have  representation 
for  arriving  at  a  decision  on  the  nature 
of  their  rights  and  the  value  of  the 
property  involved,  and  also  for  secur- 
ing a  speedy  settlement  of  the  matters 
in  dispute.  The  report  of  Mr.  Four- 
nier.  Minister  of  Justice,  was  con- 
curred in  and  approved  by  Council, 
12th  December,  1874. 

No.  2.  From  Prince  Edward  Island. 

'  The  Act  to  Amend  the  Land  Pur- 
chase Act  of  1875  '  was  reserved  for 
the  assent  of  the  Governor- General. 
This  assent  was  withheld  for  the  rea- 
son that  it  (the  Bill)  was  retrospective 
in  its  effect ;  that  it  dealt  with  the 
rights  of  parties  then  in  litigation  or 
which  might  yet  fairly  form  the  sub- 
ject of  litigation,  and  that  there  was 
an  absence  of  any  provision  saving 
the  rights  and  pi-oceedings  of  persons 
whose  properties  had  been  dealt  with 
under  the  Act  of  1875.  Mr.  R.  W. 
Scott,  Acting  Minister  of  Justice,  con- 
curred in  by  Council,  21st  July,  1876, 

No.  3.  From  Manitoba. 

*  An  Act  respecting  Land  Survey- 
ors '  was  reserved  and  assent  withheld 
for  the  reason  that  the  bill  was  pre- 
mature and  unnecessary  as  reported 
by  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  ap- 
proved of  by  the  Minister  of  Justice, 
Mr.  Blake;  concurred  in  7th  Febru- 
ary, 1876. 

No.  4.   From  Manitoba. 
'  An  Act  to  amend  the  Act  intituled 
the  Half-breed  Land  Protection  Act,' 


THE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


passed  in  1875,  38th  Victoria.  Dis- 
allowed on  the  report  of  the  Minister 
of  the  Interior,  that  no  notice  of  it 
had  been  piiblished  in  the  Manitoba 
Gazette  as  provided  in  one  of  its  clauses 
and  recommending  its  disallowance 
especially  as,  in  his  opinion,  the  ori- 
ginal Act,  37  Vict.  c.  44,  afforded  all 
necessary  pi'otection  to  the  purchase 
of  half-breed  land  rights.  Concurred 
in  by  the  Minister  of  Justice,  Mx-. 
Blake,  and  approved  of  by  Council, 
7th  October,  1877. 

In  addition  to  the  foregoing,  the 
case  of  the  Quebec  Act,  39  Vic,  chap. 
7,  intituled  '  An  Act  to  compel  As- 
surers to  take  out  a  License,'  may  be 
properly  referred  to.  The  Minister 
of  Justice,  Mr.  Blake,  made  a  lengthy 
report  upon  the  constitutionality  of 
the  Act,  and  he  also  supervised  its 
policy  as  to  an  objectionable  feature 
in  these  woi'ds  :  *  The  undersigned 
feels  bound  to  point  out  that  in  one 
particular  this  Act  is  specially  objec- 
tionable. .  .  .  This  Act  requires 
payment  by  the  Companies  of  a  tax  of 
one  per  cent,  upon  the  premiums  for 
renewals  of  life  policies,  although  made 
before  the  passing  of  the  Act.  .  .  . 
This  seems  objectionable  on  principle, 
and  calculated  to  produce  a  feeling  of 
insecurity  abroad  with  reference  to 
Provincial  legislation,  and  the  under- 
signed recommends  that  the  attention 
of  the  Lieutenant-Goveinior  be  called 
to  the  provision  with  a  view  to  its 
amendment  next  Session.' 

From  the  five  cases  just  enumerated 
it  is  very  plain  that  the  Dominion 
Government  of  that  day  had  not,  nor 
have  the  Government  of  the  present 
day,  put  the  construction  upon  the 
90th  section  which  is  being  contended 
for.  They  have  not  considered  that 
the  power  of  disallowance  merely  im- 
posed on  the  Governor  General  and 
his  fifteen  ministers  the  non-political 
duty  of  checking  the  legal  mistakes 
which  are  sometimes  found  in  the 
Acts  of  the  Local  Legislatures, 

A  distinction  has  been  drawn  be- 
tween the  case  of  a  reserved  Bill,  from 


429 

which  the  Governor-General's  assent 
has  been  withheld,  and  the  case  of  an 
Act  passed  which  has  been  disallowed, 
if  all  other  things  are  equal  between 
the  two  Prince  Edward  Island  Bills, 
and  the  '  Ontario  Streams  Act  ' — 
and  on  the  faca  of  the  reports  of  the 
Ministers  of  Justice,  they  are  on  all 
fours  with  each  other  —there  can  be 
no  real  difference  so  far  as  the  exercise 
of  the  power  of  disallowance  is  con- 
cerned— the  Governor-General  is  given 
no  more  right  to  decide  upon  the  ques- 
tion of  policy  in  one  case  than  in  the 
other,  tlie  argument  is  that  he  must 
not  enquire  into  the  policy  at  all,  be- 
cause the  Provincial  Legislatures  hold 
exclusive  powers  —  then  what  gave 
him  jurisdiction  in  the  Prince  Edward 
Island  cases  ?  the  reservation  by  that 
Government,  and  the  implied  assent 
to  his  so  acting  which  such  reservation 
gives  1  But  consent  can  never  give  ju- 
risdiction, that  can  only  be  drawn  from 
thestatute;  the  truth  is  that  these  three 
cases  must  stand  or  fall  together, 

Mr.  Blake,  on  the  31st  of  March, 
1875,  in  moving  certain  resolutions  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  with  reference 
to  the  erroneous  position  maintained 
by  the  Colonial  Minister,  in  regard  to 
the  u.se  of  the  power  of  disallowance 
(alluded  to  in  the  former  paper),  made 
use  of  this  language  : 

'  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  observe 
that  no  more  delicate  function  could 
be  discharged  by  the  Executive  autho- 
rity, than  the  function  entrusted  to  it 
by  this  90th  clause.  I  can  conceive  of 
no  function  which  has  to  be  exercised 
with  greater  caution,  under  greater 
restraint,  or  with  a  more  careful  pre- 
vision of  its  consequences  to  the  future 
of  the  Confederacy,  than  the  power  of 
disallowing  Acts  of  the  Local  Legisla- 
tures.' 

The  sentiments  so  enunciated  by 
Mr.  Blake,  were  concurred  in  by 
the  then  prime  minister,  Mr.  Mac- 
kenzie, by  Sir  John  Macdonald, 
and  the  late  Mr.  Holton,  the  only 
three  gentlemen  who  spoke  on  the 
question.     But  let  us  enquire  had  all 


430 


IHE  POWER  OF  DISALLOWANCE. 


this  caution,  and  all  this  delicacy,  re- 
ference to  the  merely  legal  super- 
vision of  the  bills,  or  had  it  not  special 
and  unmistakable  reference  to  the 
political  aspect  of  the  question  1 

Sir  John  Macdonald  said  quite  re- 
cently in  the  House  of  Commons, 
when  the  disallowance  of  the  Streams' 
Bill  had  been  alluded  to,  that  'he 
trusted  that  this  power  would  be  al- 
ways used  so  as  to  cause  as  little  fric- 
tion as  possible.'  The  truth  seems  to 
be,  that  there  is  little  or  no  difference 
of  opinion  among  the  statesmen  of  the 
I^ominion  so  far  as  the  theory  of  the 
veto  power  is  in  question,  it  is  only  'in 
another  place'  that  such  unsound  doc- 
trine as  we  have  read  and  heard,  has 
been  taught  and  promulgated. 

But  it  is  not  alone  on  the  Dominion 
side,  th'at  the  principle  of  supervision 
over  the  policy  of  the  local  Acts  and 
Bills  has  been  asserted,  but  on  the  side 
of  the  Provinces  also  the  assent  to  the 
exercise  of  this  power  has  been  given 
in  many  cases  where  amendments 
have  been  promised  in  the  following 
session  to  meet  objections  that  had  been 
pointed  out  to  the  local  authorities 
by  the  Minister  of  Justice.  In  some 
cases,  supervision,  in  others  actual 
disallowence  has  been  invited  by  the 
Local  Governments,  as  for  example  in 
the  Goodhue  Will  case,  and  in  the 
case  of  the  Orange  Bills  from  Ontario,* 
and  among  the  other  provinces  Quebec, 
Prince  Edward  Island,  Manitoba  and 
British  Columbia,  have  assented  so 
far  that  they  have  submitted  without 
protest,  to  the  exercise  of  the  power  ; 
New  Brunswick  alone  so  far  as  I 
have  seen,  has  taken  ground  against 


*In  the  Goodhue  Will  case,  1871,  the  Act 
had  been  assented  to  by  the  Lieut-Governor 
— Sir  Wm.  Howland  -who,  however,  called 
the  attention  of  the  Dominion  Government 
to  it  in  these  words  :  '  I  regard  the  principle 
involved  in  the  Bill  and  sanctioned  by  the 
Assembly  as  very  objectionable  and  forming 
a  dangerous  precedent.'  The  two  Orange 
Society  Bills,  1873,  were  expressly  reserved 
by  the  Local  Government  for  the  Governoi^ 
General's  assent.  All  three  Bills  were  within 
the  competency  of  the  Ontario  Legislature. 


Dominion  interference  with  her  local 
legislation  and  she  had  strong  ground, 
for  protest,  for  if  ever  danger  thi-eat- 
ened  the  Legislative  rights  of  the  Pro- 
vinces, it  was  when,  in  1 87  3,  a  resolution 
was  adopted  in  the  House  of  Commons 
i-equiring  Ministers  to  advise  His  Ex- 
cellency the  Governor  General  to  dis- 
allow two  Acts  that  had  been  passed 
by  the  Legislature  of  New  Brunswick, 
respecting  schools  and  school  rates. 
The  debate  on  this  motion  (Mr.  Cos- 
tigan's)  brought  upon  the  floor  of  the 
Parliament  of  the  Dominion  a  ques- 
tion of  burning  local  interest  which 
was  beyond  the  competency  of  the 
DominionParliament  to  legislate  upon, 
and  which  was  within  the  competency 
of  the  Legislature  of  the  Province. 
Fortunately  the  resolution  was  not 
acted  upon,  the  advice  was  not  given, 
and  the  Acts  were  left  to  their  legal 
operation,  and  thus  the  danger  of 
what  might  have  proved  a  serious  con- 
stitutional conflict  passed  away. 

We  should  not  fall  into  the  too  com- 
mon error  of  supposing  that  our  writ- 
ten constitution  is  a  mere  creation  of 
our  own,  as  if  we  could  remake  it  ac- 
cording to  caprice  or  pleasure.  When 
the  Confederacy  was  consummated,  we 
surrendered  our  Provincial  systems 
and  existences.  We  had  nothing  left  ; 
nothing  in  reserve.  All  the  old  chart- 
ered constitutions  were  repealed  and 
swept  away  as  if  they  had  never  been ; 
and  to  the  British  North-America 
Act,  the  great  charter  of  our  national 
life,  we  can  alone  look  for  a  true  un- 
derstanding of  our  political  rights  and 
duties  as  citizens  and  subjects.  What 
was  done  previously  by  conferences 
and  legislatures  may  properly  have 
been  considered  in  the  light  of  com- 
pact, and,  therefore,  revocable,  but 
now  all  this  is  changed  and  all  de- 
bateable  questions  are  closed.  We  can- 
not go  behind  our  constitutional  char- 
ter ;  if  that  is  clear  in  its  language, 
we  are  in  duty  bound  to  accept  it  as 
our  fixed  rule  of  conduct.  In  this 
paper  we  have  unconsciously  sinned  in 
looking  back,  but  it  was  for  the  pur- 


/iV  MEMORIAM  .  DEAN  GRASETT. 


431 


pose  of  showing  that  in  respect  of  the 
Disallowance  clause,  the  compact  and 
the  intention  of  its  framers  was  in 
strict  accord  with  the  Statute. 

In  view  of  the  two  principles  which  are 
involved,  and  which  need  not  necess- 
arily clash  with  each  other — both  being 
needful  and,  therefore,  reconcilable — 
the  conservation  of  federal  authoi'ity 
•on  the  one  hand,  and  constitutional 
freedom  of  local  action  on  the  other, 
it  is  obvious  that  the  veto  is  an  essen- 
tial condition  of  our  government ;  and 
vrhilst  it  is  agreed  on  all  sides  that 
this  power  must  be  used  with  discre- 
tion and  caution,  it  would  be  difficult, 


nay  impossible,  to  lay  down  defined 
rules  for  its  exercise,  for  the  exigen- 
cies of  this  year  may  not  be  exigen- 
cies of  next ;  reasons  of  public  policy 
may  arise  from  com[)lications  internal 
or  external,  which  are  now  unseen, 
and  which  may  render  it  necessary  in 
the  public  interest  to  check  legislation 
in  some  given  direction,  and,  there- 
fore, the  hands  of  that  Executive, 
which  is  specially  charged  with  peace, 
order  and  good  government,  should  be 
fi"ee  to  use  this  reserve  power  when 
the  occasion  demands  for  the  security 
and  well-being  of  the  Dominion. 


HENRY  J.  GRASETT,  D.  D. 


^ertJt  of  ^0voxxio, 
^ovxx  i8tlj  3utte,  1808.  picU  20tlj  l^avtXy,  1882. 


*  rr^HE  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed,' 
I  Words  of  sweet  comfort  to  us  all. 
Who  would  not  if  we  could  recall, 

Our  saint  from  his  eternal  rest. 

Eternal  rest  !  where  nought  is  heard 
Of  party  strife  or  envy's  spleen  ; 
Nor  is  the  atmosphere  serene 

By  any  breath  of  slander  stirred. 

Of  few  shall  men  more  truly  say  : 

'  He  kept  the  faith,  he  fought  the  fight 
And  never  swerved  to  left  or  right 

Of  what  he  felt  to  be  the  way.' 

By  many  loved,  by  some  reviled, 
By  not  a  few  misunderstood. 
He  strove,  while  mind  and  body  could, 

To  serve  and  preach  the  Uudefiled. 

Nigh  seven  and  forty  years  have  fled — 
Perchance  scarce  one  the  day  recalls — 
Since  first  within  St.  James'  walls 

He  fed  us  with  the  living  Bread. 


How  many  a  blood-washed   soul  since 
then. 
Who  learned  through  him  his  Lord  to 

love, 
Hath  blessed  him  in  the  choirs  above 
And  welcomes  now  his  voice  again. 

Nor  health  nor  strength  he  counted  dear 
To  feed  the  flock  his  Master  gave  ; 
Knowing  that  they  forever  save 

Their  lives,  who  dare  to  lose  them  here. 

The  field  he  sowed  must  others  reap  ; 
But  he  and  they  shall  joy  together 
Somewhere  in  brighter ,  calmer  weather, 

And  smile  to  think  they  once  could  weep. 

He  sleeps — Ah  yes,  he  doeth  well  ! 

His  course  was  run,  his  work  complete. 

He  rests  at  last  at  Jesus'  feet. 
How  then  should  hearts  that  ache  rebel  ? 

G.  R.  G. 


432 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


YOUNG   PEOPLE. 


SIR  WM.  NAPIEE  AND  LITTLE  JOAN. 

BY  CELIA  THAXTEK. 

Sir  William  Napier,  one  bright  day, 

Was  walking  down  the  glen, — 
A  noble  English  soldier, 

And  the  handsomest  of  men. 

Through  fields  and  fragrant  hedge-rows 

He  slowly  wandered  down 
To  quiet  Freshford  village, 

By  pleasant  Bradford  town. 

With  look  and  mien  magnificent, 

And  step  so  grand,  moved  he  ; 
And  from  his  stately  front  outshone 

Beauty  and  majesty. 

About  his  strong  white  forehead 
The  rich  locks  thronged  and  curled. 

Above  the  splendour  of  his  eyes, 
That  might  command  the  world. 

A  sound  of  bitter  weeping 

Came  up  to  his  quick  ear: 
He  paused  that  instant,  bending 

His  kingly  head  to  hear. 

Among  the  grass  and  daisies 

Sat  wretched  little  Joan, 
And  near  her  lay  her  bowl  of  delf. 

Broken  upon  a  stone. 

Her  cheeks  were  red  with  crjnng. 
And  her  blue  eyes  dull  and  dim  ; 

And  she  turned  her  pretty,  woeful  face, 
All  tear-stained  up  to  him. 

Scarce  six  years  old,  and  sobbing 

In  misery  so  drear  ! 
'  Why,  what's  the  matter.  Posy  ? ' 

He  said,  '  come,  tell  me,  dear.' 

'  It's  father's  bowl  I've  broken : 

'Twas  for  his  dinner  kept: 
I  took  it  safe,  but  coming  back 

It  fell,'— again  she  wept. 

'  But  you  can  mend  it,  can't  you  ?  ' 

Cried  the  despairing  child 
With  sudden  hope,  as  down  on  her. 

Like  some  kind  god,  he  smiled. 

*  Don't  cry,  poor  little  Posj' ! 

I  cannot  make  it  whole, 
But  1  can  give  you  sixpence 

To  buy  another  bowl.' 

He  sought  in  vain  for  silver 

In  purse  and  pockets,  too. 
And  found  but  golden  guineas. 

He  pondered  what  to  do. 


'  This  time  to-morrow.  Posy,' 

He  said,  '  again  come  here. 
And  I  will  bring  your  sixpence, 

I  promise  !    Never  fear ! ' 

Away  went  Joan  rejoicing, — 

A  rescued  child  was  she  ; 
And  home  went  good  Sir  William, 

And  to  him  presently 

A  footman  brings  a  letter. 
And  low  before  him  bends  : 

'  Will  not  Sir  William  come  and  dine 
To-morrow  with  his  friends  ?  ' 

The  letter  read  :  '  And  we've  secured 

The  man  among  all  men 
You  wish  to  meet.     He  will  be  here. 

You  will  not  fail  us  then  ? ' 

To-morrow  !     Could  he  get  to  Bath 
And  dine  with  dukes  and  earls, 

And  back  in  time?  That  hour  was  pledg 
It  was  the  little  girl's  ! 

He  could  not  disappoint  her, 

He  must  his  friends  refuse. 
So  '  a  previous  engagement ' 

He  pleaded  as  excuse. 

Next  day  when  she,  all  eager, 
Came  o'er  the  fields  so  fair, 

As  sure  as  of  the  sunrise 
That  she  should  find  him  there. 

He  met  her,  and  the  sixpence 

Laid  i»  her  little  hand. 
Her  woe  was  ended,  and  her  heart 

The  lightest  in  the  land. 

How  would  the  stately  company, 

Who  had  so  much  desired 
His  presence  at  their  splendid  feast 

Have  wondered  and  admired  ! 

As  soldier,  scholar,  gentleman, 

His  praises  oft  are  heard  : 
'Twas  not  the  least  of  his  great  deeds 

So  to  have  kept  his  word  ! 


A  HEROIC  DEED. 

BY  DANIEL  WISE,  D.   D. 

*  A  ship  ashore  !  a  ship  ashore  !  '  was 
the  cry  which  rang  through  the  streets 
of  St.  Andrews,  Scotland,  one  fearful 
winter  day,  more  than  threescore  years 
ago.  This  thrilling  cry  roused  every  in- 
habitant. Citizens,  students  from  the 
university,  and  sailors  rushed  with  pale 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


43.S 


faces  and  rapid  steps  along  the  street  to- 
ward the  bay,  to  the  eastward  of  the 
town.  Standing  on  the  shore,  the  crowd 
was  terror-stricken  and  paralyzed 
through  beholding  a  vessel  stx'anded  on 
a  sand-bank  but  a  few  rods  from  the 
beach.  She  was  shrouded  in  surfy  mist. 
The  waves  dashed  furiously  against  her, 
and  broke  over  her  decks  with  irresis- 
tible fury.  Yet,  through  the  thick  air 
and  the  driving  sleet,  the  people  on  the 
shore  could  now  and  then  catch  glimpses 
of  the  doomed  crew  clinging  with  the 
clutch  of  despair  to  the  rigging  of  the 
wreck.  There  were  many  bold,  brave 
men  in  that  sympathizing  crowd  of  spec- 
tators, but  none  who  dared  to  venture 
through  the  mighty  surges  to  save  those 
ill-fated  sailors.  It  seemed,  indeed,  to 
the  stoutest  heart,  too  mighty  a  task  for 
mortal  man  to  attempt.  All  could 
sympathize  with  the  wrecked  ones  :  none 
but  God,  they  thought,  could  save 
them. 

But  there  was  one  heroic  soul  in  that 
eager,  wistful  crowd,  who  thought  that 
man,  with  God's  help,  might  snatch 
those  perishing  men  from  the  door  of 
doom.  He  was  a  young  man,  a  uni- 
versity student,  strong  in  body,  but  still 
stronger  in  spirit.  '  Bring  me  a  rope! ' 
he  cried.     *  I  will  try  to  save  them. ' 

A  strong  rope  was  brought,  and  fast- 
ened about  his  waist.  Followed  by  the 
prayers  of  many  and  the  good  wishes  of 
all,  this  chivalric  youth  struggled,  with 
desperate  courage,  through  the  terrific 
surf  into  the  deep  water  beyond.  Then, 
with  the  strength  of  a  young  giant, 
guided  by  the  skill  of  the  experienced 
swimmer,  he  slowly  worked  his  way  to- 
ward the  vessel's  side.  He  had  nearly 
reached  it,  when  his  friends,  alarmed  by 
the  length  of  time  and  slowness  of  his 
progress,  began  pulling  him  back.  Then 
his  courage  rose  to  the  sublimest  height 
of  self-sacrifice.  He  forgot  himself. 
He  would  save  the  man  clinging  in  des- 
peration to  yon  vessel's  shrouds,  or  per- 
ish in  the  attempt.  Grasping  the  knife 
that  he  carried  between  his  teeth,  he  cut 
the  rope  by  which  his  kind-hearted 
friends  were  drawing  him  to  shore  and 
safety.  He  buffeted  the  rougli  waves 
successfully.  He  reached  the  breaker- 
swept  deck  of  the  stranded  sloop.  After 
a  word  of  cheer  to  the  crew,  he  took  a 
fresh  rope,  plunged  anew  into  the  surg- 
ing waters,  and  swam  back  to  the  beach. 

But  four  days  of  starvation,  unrest, 
and   exposure   had   robbed  those   poor 


creatures  on  board  the  wreck  of  both 
courage  and  strength.  Not  one  of  them 
dared  to  escape  by  means  of  the  rope. 
What  then  1  Must  they  perish  ?  Nay; 
not  yet.  The  brave  student  will  risk  his 
life  again  in  their  behalf.  Many  speak 
harshly  of  their  lack  of  pluck.  He  pities 
their  weakness.  He  rushes  int(j  the 
surf  once  more,  struggles  through  the 
crested  waves,  boards  the  sloop,  and 
brings  ofl'  a  man  to  the  shore.  Six  times^ 
he  makes  the  perilous  trip,  and  saves  a 
human  life  each  time.  The  seventh 
time,  his  charge  is  a  boy,  so  weak  and 
helpless  that  he  loses  his  hold  upon  him, 
twice,  and  twice  he  dives  for  him  into 
the  seething  depths  and  brings  him  up. 
Finally,  he  reaches  the  beach  with  tha 
limp,  corpse-like  lad,  the  last  of  the  res- 
cued crew.  The  crowd  which  had 
hitherto  watched  the  gallant  young  hero's 
movements  with  breathless  stillness,  now- 
broke  forth  into  aloud,  triumphal  cheer, 
which  neither  the  roar  of  the  wind  nor 
the  thunder  of  the  waves  can  drown. 
They  recognise  the  presence  of  a  genuine 
hero. 

The  name  of  this  noble  young  scion 
of  true  chivalry  was  John  Honey,  one 
the  college  friends  of  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Chalmers.  His  effort  on  that  memorable 
day  cost  him  his  life, — not  directly, 
however,  for  he  lived  a  few  years  ;  but 
the  seeds  of  a  mortal  malady  were  sown 
by  his  humane  exertions  on  that  grand- 
est day  of  his  life.  He  died  at  Bendochy, 
in  1814,  and  Chalmers  preached  such  a 
grand  and  thrilling  sermon  beside  his 
open  grave  as  led  one  who  heard  it,  to 
say,  '  1  have  seen  many  scenes,  1  have 
heard  many  eloquent  men,  but  this  I 
have  never  seen  equalled  or  even  imi- 
tated. ' 

The  man  was  worthy  of  such  a  sermon. 
No  deed  of  war,  no  act  of  knightly 
chivalry,  ever  rose  to  a  loftier  height  of 
moral  nobleness  than  young  Honey's 
rescue  of  those  Scottish  sailors. 

It  was  bold,  brave,  cool,  perilous, 
persistent,  and,  above  all,  humane.  It 
was  indeed  and  in  truth  heroism  of  the 
highest  type. 


THE  MUSICAL  SCHOLARSHIP. 

BY    AMY    KEY. 

He  lingered  on  the  steps  of  the  college, 
reading  over  and  over  and  over  again 
the  announcement  on  the  notice  board 
by  the  great  entrance  door,     A  concert 


434 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


was  just  ovei",  atid  the  audience  came 
trooping  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the 
pleasant  afternoon  sunshine. 

He  approached  the  stream  of  spec- 
tators once  or  twice,  and  then  drew  back, 
too  shy  to  speak.  But  at  last,  when 
they  had  nearly  all  gone,  he  made  a 
violent  eftort,  and  touched  the  arm  of  a 
man  who  walked  alone,  humming  the 
last  air  that  had  been  played  by  the  or- 
chestra,— a  brown-faced,  kind-eyed  man. 
He  looked  at  the  boy. 

"  What  is  it,  youngster  ?  " 

"  The  notice,"  the  boy  returned  eager- 
ly.    "  Is  it  sure  to  be  quite  true  ? " 

"Let  us  see,"  said  he,  putting  the 
boy  aside  and  approaching  the  board. 
He  was  short-sighted,  and  he  slowly 
drew  out  a  pair  of  spectacles  and  put 
them  on.  The  notice  set  forth  that  on 
the  J  0th  of  September  a  musical  scholar- 
ship was  to  be  awarded.  The  competit- 
ors would  be  required  to  play  a  move- 
ment of  Beethoven's  on  the  violin,  and 
the  successful  candidate  would  be  re- 
ceived into  the  college  for  three  years, 
free  of  all  cost. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  quite  true  !  Are  you 
thinking  of  trying  for  it  /" 

The  boy's  face  flushed.  He  looked  in 
an  agony  of  shyness. 

"  I — I  shall  ask  Herr  Linders  about 
it,''  he  continued. 

'  'All,  he  plays  in  the  open-air  concerts. 
Is  he  your  master  ?' 

' '  He  is  very  good  to  me.  He  teaches 
me  in  the  evening." 

The  brown  eyes  behind  the  spectacles 
looked  kindly  at  the  boy. 

"  I  have  seen  you  before.  You  work 
in  the  gardens,  don't  you  ] " 

Emboldened  by  the  kind  voice,  he  told 
his  little  story.  His  mother  was  a  sold- 
ier's widow,  and  lived  in  the  lodge  of  the 
public  gardens.  He  (Karl)  had  charge 
of  the  chairs  at  the  concerts  and  weeded 
the  garden  and  made  himself  generally 
useful.  His  great  desire  was  to  be  a 
musician. 

His  new  friend  listened,  and  asked 
questions,  and  advised  him  about  the 
scholarship  so  kindly,  so  very  kindly, 
that  Karl  did  not  know  how  to  thank 
him.  He  ran  home,  feeling  wonderfully 
happy,  to  tell  his  mother  and  sister  about 
it  all.  Then  he  rushed  across  the  street 
to  Herr  Linders's  ;  and  they  chose  the 
piece  he  was  to  play,  and  he  set  to  work 
at  once  upon  it. 

On  the  10th,  the  examination  was  to 
take  place.     It  was  about  a  week  before 


that  Karl  came  home  one  evening  and 
found  liis  mother's  brother  sitting  in  the 
parlour.  Karl  had  only  seen  him  once 
or  twice.  He  lived  in  Berlin,  and  was 
very  well-to-do  in  the  world.  When 
Karl's  father  died,  he  had  come  to  ar- 
range his  sister's  affairs  for  her,  and  had 
obtained  for  her  their  present  home  and 
settled  on  her  a  small  annual  income. 
So  he  was  the  benefactor  of  the  family, 
and  the  children  were  brought  up  to 
fear  and  reverence  him.  He  was  a 
thorough  man  of  business,  yet  hard  and 
somewhat  unfeeling.  Karl's  delicate, 
nervous  temperament,  his  love  of  music, 
his  excitability,  were  among  the  things 
that  it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  under- 
stand. 

He  sat  with  his  handkerchief  over  his 
head  and  his  pipe  in  his  hand,  talking 
down  his  sister's  remonstrances,  when 
Karl  came  in. 

"  Your  uncle  has  been  good  enough  to 
come  to  see  us,  Karl,"  said  his  mother. 

Karl  greeted  his  uncle  respectfully, 
and  sat  down  before  him  to  be  questioned; 
but  his  uncle  had  no  enquiries  to  make, 
only  a  statement  for  Karl  to  listen  to. 

"  I  came  down  on  your  account,  Karl," 
he  said  slowly,  putting  his  pipe  on  the 
table  and  looking  at  his  nephew. 

"  My  very  good  friend,  Herr  Klette, 
needs  an  apprentice;  and  he  has  con- 
sented to  take  you,  you  will  be  bound  to- 
morrow. I  will  take  you  to  him  and 
make  all  arrangements.  Then  you  will 
be  put  on  the  way  to  maintain  yourself, 
and  your  mother  and  sister." 

Karl  could  not  speak  :  he  clasped  his 
hands  and  looked  appealingly  at  his 
mother. 

"  Herr  Klette  is  an  iron  master,"  went 
on  his  uncle,  as  the  boy  did  not  speak. 
"  In  his  workshops,  you  will  learn  to  be 
a  skilful  worker  in  iron,  a  good  trade  at 
all  times." 

"  The  scholarship,"  cried  Karl  to  his 
mother,  not  to  his  uncle. 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  that,"  said 
his  uncle.  "  Put  that  childish  nonsense 
out  of  your  mind  altogether  :  you  are  to 
be  apjirenticed  to  Herr  Klette." 

"  I  cannot,  I  will  not,"  cried  poor 
Karl :  he  was  trembling  with  the  agony 
of  the  moment.  ' '  Mother,  mother,  dear, 
speak  for  me. " 

His  mother  said  something  in  a  low 
voice,  but  her  brother  waved  her  aside. 

"  This  is  nothing  to  you,  Lisa  :  this 
matter  lies  between  the  boy  and  me." 
He  turned  to  Karl,  who  had  got  up  from 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


485 


"his  chair  and  stood  with  hands  out- 
atretched  toward  his  mother.  "  You  are 
a  boy,  a  child  :  you  must  have  your  life 
arranged  for  you.  You  are  not  to  idle 
away  your  time  in  foolish  playing  :  you 
have  to  work." 

"  Oh,  1  will  work.  I  shall  do  better 
as  a  musician  :  I  shall  indeed,  uncle!  " 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it." 

"  Only  let  me  wait,  only  let  me  try  for 
this  scholarship,  and  then  I  will  go  to 
Herr  Klette.      t  will  do  anything." 

"  Do  you  think  men  of  business  can 
wait  about  on  boys  like  you  ?  I  have 
come  down  for  the  purpose  :  you  must 
go  to-morrow." 

"It  is  only  a  few  days,  "  said  his 
mother,  timidly. 

Her  brother  turned  sharply  upon  her. 

"  Do  3'^ou  want  him  to  be  a  burden 
upon  you  all  your  days, — on  me,  I  mean? 
I  tell  you,  if  you  encourage  him  in  this 
nonsense,  I  will  throw  you  all  over,  and 
you  may  try  to  do  without  me.  It's  for 
the  boy's  good.  He  will  thank  me  one 
of  these  days."  Karl  ti-ied  to  speak, 
but  he  could  not  make  a  sound  :  he  was 
choking  with  emotion. 

"  You  hear  what  I  saj',  Karl, — either 
you  come  with  me  to  Herr  Klette  to- 
morrow, or  I  shall  give  up  helping  3'our 
mother  altogether." 

"  O  Karl,  Karl,  your  uncle  means  it 
all  for  your  good,"  his  mother  cried. 
Karl  could  say  nothing.  He  looked  at 
his  uncle  and  his  mother,  and  with  a 
sort  of  inarticulate  cry,  lie  rushed  from 
the  room.  He  shut  himself  in  his  own 
room  and  locked  the  do<>r.  His  mother 
came  up  after  tea  and  called  to  him,  but 
he  would  not  let  her  come  in.  The 
night  fell  and  the  stars  came  out,  and 
the  moon  rose  full  and  beautiful  in  the 
blue  heavens .  Karl  opened  his  window, 
and  looked  at  the  moon  and  stars,  half- 
wondering  lion'  they  could  be  so  calm 
and  lovely  when  his  miseiy  was  so  great. 
Then  he  got  his  violin,  and  tried  to  play, 
but  the  music  was  more  than  he  could 
bear.  He  huddled  the  violin  away,  and 
burst  into  sobs.  It  was  very  hard  for 
him.  His  mother  was  watching  outside, 
and  when  she  heard  him  begin  to  play 
she  got  close  to  the  door,  and  when  he 
ceased  she  tapped  softly,  and  Karl  let 
her  in. 

"  I  will  go  with  uncle  to-morrow,"  he 
said,  trying  to  speak  cheerily  ;  and  then 
he  hid  his  face  on  his  motlier's  shoulder, 
and  tinished  his  sobs  there. 

Herr  Klette  lived  on  the  other  side  of 


the  city.  They  had  a  long  walk,  and 
his  uncle  took  Karl  into  a  shop  and 
bought  hinf  some  dinner.  But  Karl 
could  not  eat,  though  he  felt  it  was 
kindly  meant.  He  was  too  miserable  to 
eat. 

They  had  to  wait  a  long  while,  but  at 
last  they  were  shown  into  a  small  room 
where  Herr  Klette  was  writing.  He 
spoke  to  Karl's  uncle  apart,  and  then 
called  Karl  to  him.  He  put  his  hand  on 
his  shoulder  and  drew  him  to  the  light. 

"  Hallo  !  why,  its  my  musical  young 
friend,"  he  exclaimed.  Karl  recognised 
him  instantly.  It  was  the  brown-faced 
gentleman  he  had  spoken  to  on  the  col- 
lege steps  after  the  concert.  "Why 
have  you  given  up  the  scholarship  ?  " 

"  That  was  out  of  the  question,"  broke 
in  his  uncle.  "  A  musician  is  no  use  at 
all,  Herr  Klette. " 

"  Oh,  this  mustn't  be,"  exclaimed  Herr 
Klette.  "  Why,  your  nephew  will  be 
famous  one  of  these  days.  I  have  heard 
about  his  playing  from  his  master.  He 
is  safe  to  win  the  scholarship.  Why,  he 
is  born  to  be  a  musician." 

He  drew  Karl's,  uncle  aside,  and 
talked  to  him  for  some  time.  Presently, 
he  came  back  to  Karl.  "  You  are  going 
to  try  for  the  scholarship,  my  boy  ;  and 
if  you  fail,  well  then  we  will  see  about  ' 
apprenticeship.  Your  uncle  did  not 
know  what  a  valuable  chance  you  were 
nearly  missing." 

And  Karl  went  home  unapprenticed. 
Next  week,  the  competition  was  held, 
and  he  was  given  the  first  place. 

He  is  now  one  of  the  most  promising 
musicians  iu  Germany. 

THE  SPEED  OF  THE  WING. 

A  writer  in  Frasi-rs  MtKjazinp.  says  : 
"  The  speed  at  which  some  wings  are 
driven  is  encjcmous  It  is  occasiimally 
so  great  as  to  emit  a  di-utnniing  sound. 
To  this  source  the  buzz  of  the  fly, 
the  drone  of  the  bee,  and  the  boom  of 
the  beetle  are  to  be  referred.  When  a 
grouse,  partridge,  or  pheasant  suddenly 
springs  into  the  air,  the  sound  produced 
by  the  whirring  of  its  wings  greatly 
resemble  that  produced  by  the  con- 
tact of  steel  with  the  rapidly  revolv- 
ing stone  of  the  knife-grinder.  It  has 
been  estimated  that  the  common  fly 
moves  its  wings  three  hundred  and 
eighty  times  per  second,  i.e..,  nineteen 
thousand  eight  hundred  times  per  min- 
ute,— and  that  the  butterfly  moves   its 


436 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


wings  nine  times  per  second,  or  five  hun- 
dred and  forty  times  per  minute.  These 
movements  represent  an  incredibly  high 
speed  even  at  the  roots  of  the  wings,  but 
the  speed  is  enormously  increased  at  the 
tips  of  the  wings,  from  the  fact  that  the 
tips  rotate  upon  the  roots  as  centres.  In 
reality,  and  as  it  has  been  already  indi- 
cafced,  the  speed  at  the  tips  of  the  wings 
increases  in  proportion  as  the  tips  are 
removed  from  the  axis  of  rotation  and 
in  proportion  as  the  wings  are  long. 
This  is  explained  on  the  principle  well 
understood  in  mechanics.  If  a  rod  or 
wing  hinged  at  one  point  be  made  to 
vibrate,  the  free  end  of  the  rod  or  wing 
alv^ys  passes  through  a  very  much  grea- 
ter space  in  a  given  time  than  the  part 
nearer  to  the  root  of  the  wing.  The 
progressive  increase  in  the  spread  of  the 
wings  in  proportion  as  the  wings  become 
larger,  explains  wliy  the  wings  of  bats 
and  birds  are  not  driven  at  the  extrava- 
gant speed  of  insect  wings,  and  how  the 
large  and  long  wings  of  large  bats  and 
birds  are  driven  more  leisurely  than  the 
small  and  sliort  wings  of  small  bats  and 
birds.  That  the  wing  is  driven  more 
slowly  in  proportion  to  its  length  is 
proved  by  experiment,  and  by  observing 
the  flight  of  large  and  small  birds  of  the 
same  genus.  Thus,  large  gulls  flap 
their  wings  much  more  slowly  than  small 


gulls  ;  the  configuration  and  relative 
size  of  the  wings  to  the  body  being  the 
same  in  both.  This  is  a  hopeful  feature 
in  the  construction  of  flying  machines,  as 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  compara- 
tively very  slow  movements  will  saftice 
for  driving  the  long  powerful  wings  re- 
quired to  elevate  and  propel  flying  ma- 
chines. The  speed  of  the  wing  is  partly 
regulated  by  its  amplitude.  Thus,  if 
the  wing  be  broad  as  well  as  long,  the 
beats  are  necessarily  reduced  in  fre- 
quency. This  is  especially  true  of  the 
heron,  which  is  one  of  the  most  pictur- 
esque and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the 
slowest-flying  birds  we  have,  I  have 
timed  the  heron  on  several  occasions, 
and  find  that  in  ordinary  flights  its  wings 
make  exactly  sixty  up  strokes  and  sixty 
down  strokes, — that  is,  one  hundred  and 
twenty  beats  per  minute.  In  the  ptero- 
dactyl, the  great  extinct  saurian,  the 
wing  was  enormously  elongated,  and  in 
this  particular  instance  pr<jbabiy  from 
fifty  to  sixty  beats  of  the  wing  per  min- 
ute sufficed  for  flight.  Fifty  or  sixty 
pulsations  of  the  wing  per  minute  do 
not  involve  much  wear  and  tear  of  the 
working  parts  ;  and  I  am  strongly  of 
opinion  that  artificial  flight,  if  once 
achieved,  will  become  a  comparatively 
safe  means  of  locomotion,  as  far  as  the 
machinery  required  is  concerned." 


BOOK   EEYIEWS. 


ScotVs  Marmion  ;  with  Introduction  and 
Notes.  By  T.  C.  L.  Armstrong,M.A., 
LL.B.,  Toronto.  Canada  Publishing 
Company,  1882. 

MORE  than  any  other  of  our  English 
Classical  Poets,  Scott  requires  the 
aid  of  copious  notes,  so  as  to  make  clear 
the  constantly  recurring  allusions  to  his- 
tory and  local  folk-lore,  traditions  and 
scenery  ;  and  in  none  of  »Scott's  poems  is 
this  more  apparent  than  in  the  case  of 
the  beautiful  cJief  d'ceuvre  so  happily 
selected  as  the  subject  for  the  forthcom- 
ing   Intermediate   Examination  of  our 


Ontario  Educational  Department.  A 
poem  like  the  '  Paradise  Lost,'  or  one 
of  Shakespeare's  dramas,  an  idyl  like  the 
'  Deserted  Village,'  explains  itself,  and 
is  best  without  other  comment  than 
that  supplied  as  occasion  requires  by  an 
intelligent  teacher.  But  in  a  poem  like 
'  Marmion,'  it  is  impossible  to  follow 
the  spirit  of  the  verse  without  at  every 
step  understanding  the  historical  and 
local  allusions.  These  are  matters  which 
the  student  ought  to  search  out  for  him- 
self, his  history  and  geography  in  hand, 
with  the  aid  of  elucidatory  annotation. 
His  teacher  will  supply,  what  no  notes 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


437 


<5an  give  adequately,  the  appreciation  of 
the  poetical  form  and  matter.  Mr. 
Armstrong  seems  to  our  judgment  to 
have  been  singularly  successful  in  meet- 
ing this  requirement.  His  notes  are 
full,  pertinent,  and  just  sufficiently 
copious  to  guide  the  student  who  is 
willing  to  take  the  trouble  of  thoroughly 
working  out  the  subject,  without  ren- 
dering superfluous  the  healthy  exercise 
of  individual  effort. 

Not  the  least  useful  part  of  Mr.  Arm- 
strong's work  is  contained  in  the  Pre- 
face, which  those  who  propose  to  them- 
selves the  calling  of  teache;-,  would  do 
well  to  read  again  and  again.  Mr. 
Armstrong  says  that  in  studying  an 
English  Classic  in  schools  three  points 
are  to  be  considered;  First,  as  we  under- 
stand him,  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  work  itself,  that  is  of  the  story,  the 
dramatis  2}ersonm,  the  local  and  histori- 
cal surroundings,  the  various  allusions 
and  side  scenes  ;  and  these  are  well  and 
we  may  fairly  say,  exhaustively,  treated 
in  Mr.  Armstrong's  notes.  The  Second 
•category  will  include  '  a  knowledge  of 
the  principles  of  rhetoric  and  literary 
"criticism,'  and  the  proper  estimation  of 
literary  merit  ;  while  the  Third  will  rise 
to  a  general  view  of  the  conditions  of 
correct  art. 

The  first  of  these,  as  we  have  said, 
Mr.  Armstrong  has  sufficiently  provided 
for  in  his  notes  to  '  Marmion  '  ;  The  two 
latter  must  of  course  be  left  in  large 
measure  to  the  student's  own  power  of 
appreciating  and  assimilating  poetry, 
aided  by  the  guiding  judgment  of  his 
teacher.  But  Mr.  Armstrong  has  given 
an  important  aid  in  his  essay  on  Scott 
and  his  period,  justly  considering  that 
to  form  a  proper  estimate  of  a  great 
writer,  we  must  take  into  account  his 
literary  environment.  A  sufficient  ac- 
count of  Scott's  contemporaries  is  put 
before  the  student,  although  we  may 
not  always  agree  with  Mr.  Armstrong's 
ex  cathedra  statements,  as  for  instance, 
when  at  page  7  he  tells  us  that '  Thomas 
Moore  is  scarcely  a  natural  poet, '  what- 
ever that  may  mean,  and  that  he  '  re- 
sembles the  previous  age  (sic)  in  his 
flash  and  glitter.'  Lord  Byron  in  his 
inimitable  letters  values  one  of  the  Irish 
Melodies  as  '  worth  an  epic. '  Does  any 
language  contain  a  lyric  more  perfect 
than  '  the  last  Rose  of  Summer  '  ? 

In  his  brief  abstract  of  the  Life  of 
Scott,  Mr.  Armstrong  has  mainly  relied 
on    quotations   from   the  biography  by 


Hutton  in  '  English  Men  of  Letters.' 
Now,  we  submit,  that  Canadian  writers, 
even  in  editing  a  School  Manual,  ought 
to  aim  at  something  more  ambitious 
than  a  mere  compilation  of  what  others 
have  written  ;  though  when,  as  in  Mr. 
Armstrong's  casBjthis  is  done  honourably, 
with  full  acknowledgment  of  the  debt, 
it  is  a  very  different  thing  from  the 
clumsy  piracies  we  have  had  occasion 
elsewhere  to  notice  on  the  part  of  a 
certain  book-making  ring  in  connec- 
tion with  our  Provincial  Educational 
System.  Mr.  Armstrong's  edition  of 
'  Marmion  '  is  a  very  useful  one  for  its 
purpose,  and  is  evidently  the  work  of  a 
thoroughly  practical  teacher,  even 
though  the  literary  form  might  be  im- 
proved, and  national  Canadian  ambition 
might  suggest  a  bolder  effort  at  original 
criticism. 


Mes  Vers,   par  J.   A.  Belanger,  Outa- 
ouais  ;  A.  Bureau,  imprimeur,  1882, 

We  are  glad  to  see  that  the  success 
of  M.  Louis  Frechette  and  other  writers 
of  Lower  Canada  has  encouraged  a 
French  poet  in  our  own  province  to 
publish  a  volume  of  such  merit  as  the 
one  before  us.  M.  Belanger  is  a  writer 
of  some  humour  and  much  command  of 
the  graceful  and  melodious  rhythms 
to  which  the  forms  of  French  lyric 
poetry  so  easily  lend  themselves.  The 
first  part  of  '  Mes  Vers'  consists  of 
poems  'plus  frivoles  que  seneitx,'  em- 
bracing society  verses,  epigrams,  and 
anecdotes,  often  told  with  great  point 
and  spirit.  As  a  good  example  of  this 
we  quote  the  '  Vengeance  de  Bachel,' 
which  is  a  characteristic  story  of  the 
great  tragedienne  who  never  forgot  the 
struggles  of  her  early  days. 

VENGEANCE  DE  RACHEL. 

Rachel,  dfes  ses  debuts  faits  au  Conservatoire, 
Alia  solliciter  les  lemons  de  Provost, 
Artiste  de  talent — dont  I'art  declamatoire 
Sur  celui  de  predire  assurement  prevaut. — 
L'artiste,  la  voyant  malingre,  t^tiolee. 
En  souriant  lui  dit  quelques  mots  persiffleurs, 
Et,  d'ua  air  paternel,  poursuit  a  la  volee  : 
'— Croyez-moi,  mon  enfant,  allez  vendre  des 

fleurs. .' 
La  Rachel  se  vengea  d'une  facon  mignonne 
Du  disdain  de  l'artiste.    EUe  avait  mis  un  soir 
Tout  le  talent  possible  ^  jouer  Hermione  : 
Rappelee,  applaudie,  alors  on  put  la  voir 
Ramasser  promptement  des  bouquets  sur  la 

scfene. 
En  remplir  sa  tunique  et  s'enfuir  sans  parler, 
Au  grand  (^tonnement  d'uue  salle  fort  pleine. . 


4:3S 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


Puis  elle  entre  Ji  I'orchestre  :  on  la  voit  etaler 
iSous  les  yeux  de  Provost  son  soyeux  eventaire, 
En  disant  avec  grace  et  tombant  h,  genoux  : 
--J'ai  suivi,  voiis  voyez,  votre  avis  salutaire  ; 
Je  vends  des  fleurs,  monsieur,  m'en  achfeterez- 
vous? 

Tt  is  hardly  fair  to  a  French  poet  to 
attempt  a  presentation  of  his  verse  in  an 
English  dress,  yet  for  the  sake  of  those 
readers  of  the  Canadian  Monthly,  if 
any  there  be,  who  do  not  read  the  French 
langnage  with  ease,  we  attempt  a  ver- 
sion of  one  of  Mr.  Belanger's  playful 
jeux  d'esprit 

A  SWEET  PENANCE. 

«     Aboiit  to  wed,  a  certain  wight 
Went  to  confession,  as  was  right, 
Kelating  from  a  contrite  breast 
How  many  times  he  had  transgressed 
To  his  good  parish  priest,  who  knew 
The  world  and  human  nature  too. 
Confession  done,  the  penitent 
Arose,  but  paused  before  he  went, 
Observing  to  his  ghostly  father 
By  some  mistake,  as  he  could  gather. 
No  penance  had  been  mentioned  yet : 
Replied  the  priest,  '  But  you  forget. 
You  are  about  to  marry,  so 
In  peace,  my  son,  depart  and  go  ! ' 

The  second  part  of  the  book  is  classi- 
fied into  poems  ^ plus serieux  que  frivoles,' 
iinder  which  are  some  charming  verses 
descriptive  and  amatory.  Of  the  former 
a  good  specimen  is  '  Le  ChemUh  des 
Amoureux,'  describing  '  The  Lovers' 
Walk,'  that  beautiful  path  on  the  brow 
of  Parliament  Hill,  Ottawa,  of  which  we 
have  a  pretty  pictorial  illustration  in  the 
frontispiece  lo  '  Picturesque  Canada.' 
Being  a  poet,  as  a  matter  of  course  Mr. 
Belanger  must  write  love  verses,  and 
Mesdemoiselles  Emma,  Alzida,  Adele 
et  compagnie  have  no  reason  to  com- 
plain, but  we  jDrefer  the  verses  addressed 
to  his  wife  and  children.  Among  tlie 
religious  poems  at  the  end  of  the 
volume  is  a  pleasin^hymn  to  tlie  Virgin, 
composed  for  their  use,  and  breathing  a 
spirit  of  true  devotion  as  well  as  of 
domestic  affection.  We  quote  part  of 
the  poem  '  To  My  Wife,'  as  literally  ren- 
dered as  possible,  and  in  the  exact  metre 
of  the  original.  We  hope  that  all  the 
wives  of  French-Canadian  poets  are  as 
religious  as  M.  Belanger  recommends 
them  to  be. 


I        May  Marie 
Grant  it  be  ! 
1        Beauty  bright 
I        Yet  delight 


la  most  blest 
Boon  and  best 
Duty,  still 
To  fulfil. 


Fairest  girl, 
Pure  as  pearl ! 
With  delight 
Do  we  plight 
Love  and  Faith 
True  till  death. 


Morn  and  ev6 
Home  to  leave, 
Churchward  go. 
Kneeling  low, 
Ask  of  God 
What  bestowed 


Very  nice  advice.     How  very  good  our 
sisters,  the  married  Canadiennes,  ought 
to  be  with   such  charming  counsels  of 
perfection  thus  set  before  their  eyes  ! 
C.  P.  M. 


Address  by  Principal  Grant,  before  the 
Private  Bills'  Committee  of  the  house  of 
Commons,  on  March  16th,  1882,  with 
reference  to  the  '  Temporalities  Fund 
Bill'     Ottawa,  1882. 

Principal  Grant  has  been  doing  battle 
during  the  last  month  as  the  champion  of 
the  Presbyterian  Church  of  Canada 
before  the  Private  Bills  Committee.  The 
'  teterrima  causa  belli '  was  the  claim  of 
a  minute  minority  of  Presbyterian  con- 
gregations who,  dissenting  from  the 
movement  for  corporate  union  of  the 
churches,  seem  to  have  taken  position  as 
a  separate  church,  while  preserving  a^ 
discreet  silence  as  to  the  actual  strength 
of  their  congregations  and  ministers. 
They  have  now  set  up  a  claim  to  church 
property,  which  Principal  Grant  haa 
shown  to  be  altogether  unsupported  by 
their  numbers  and  influence.  The  Eng- 
lish Privy  Council  Court,  as  is  not  un- 
iisual  in  the  ecclesiastical  proceedings  of 
that  body,  has  shown  a  tendency  ta 
sacrifice  the  equity  of  popular  rights  to 
the  vested  interests  of  a  few.  Had 
Canada  her  own  law-making  power,  , 
uncontrolled  by  foreign  tribunals,  and 
had  the  state  rights  of  Ontario  been 
better  defined,  no  further  appeal  to  the 
Ottawa  Parliament  would  have  been 
needed,  in  a  case  where  it  was  clear  a» 
day  that  the  Canada  Presbyterian  Church 
represents,on  every  ground  of  equity  and 
Common  sense,  the  Presbyterians  of 
Canada.  Principal  Grant  has  fought 
'  the  wild  beasts  at  Ephesus,'  especially 
Mr.  McMaster,  that  young  lion  of  the 
Law  Courts,  with  a  readiness  of  debate 
which  proves  that  he  has  found  a  foeman 
not  unworthy  of  his  steel.  Yet  minor- 
ities have  their  rights,  and  though  we 
think  such  a  small  and  recalcitrant 
minority  is  opposed  to  all  jDrinciples  of 
national  and  ecclesiastical  progress,  we 
should  wish  to  see  what  rights  they  have 
not  altogether  ignored. 


LITERARY  NOTES. 


439 


LITEEARY   JSfOTES. 


MESSRS.  MACMILLAN,  of  Lon- 
don, have  brought  out  in  pamph- 
let form  Mr.  Gold  win  Smith's  address  at 
Bright  on  '  The  Conduct  of  England 
to  Ireland,'  in  which  he  advocates  a 
modified  form  of  Home  Rule,  while  pre- 
serving the  legislative  unity  of  Ireland 
with  England.  Mr.  Smith  says  a  good 
word  for  the  Gladstone  Government  and 
the  Land  Act,  and  expresses  hopefulness 
in  the  return  of  order  and  prosperity  to 
the  Green  Isle. 

The  Annual  Report  for  1881  of  the 
Commissioner  of  Agriculture  and  Arts 
for  the  Province  of  Ontario,  is  a  blue- 
book  that  merits  attention.  Encouraged, 
no  doubt,  by  the  interest  taken  by  the 
farming  commimity  of  Ontario  in  the 
Report  of  the  Agricultural  Commission 
of  1880,  the  present  blue-book  takes  up 
the  consideration  of  topics  of  the  most 
vital  character  in  connection  with  the 
agricultural  interests  of  the  Province. 
Besides  the  analysis  of  Reports  of  Agri- 
cultural and  Horticultural  Societies  for 
the  past  year,  and  that  of  the  Judges  on 
the  Prize  Farm  in  Ontario,  there  are  a 
number  of  important  Essays  on  Forestry, 
the  best  means  of  preserving  the  timber 
"wealth  of  Canada,  the  varieties  of  trees 
best  suited  for  planting,  and  the  means 
of  restoring  fertility  to  partially  worn- 
out  land,  &c. — matters  of  the  greatest 
Talue  to  our  farmers  and  of  the  highest 
concern  to  the  well-bemg  of  the  country. 
Then  follow  the  Report  of  the  Ontario 
Veterinary  College,  Reports  of  meetings 
of  the  Fruit  Growers'  Association  of  On- 
tario, papers  on  the  most  profitable  va- 
rieties of  fruits,  nut-bearing  trees,  vege- 
tables, &c.,  together  with  important 
papers  read  before  the  Entomological 
Society  of  the  Province,  on  insects  inju- 
rious to  vegetation,  fungi-eaters,  apple 
tree  borers,  parasites,  and  other  noxious 
insects.  The  Report  concludes  with 
statistics  and  other  information  respect- 
ing the  Guelph  Agricultural  College, 
with  some  valuable  matter  respecting 
farm  stock,  feed,  dairy  products,  ma- 
nures, &c.,  and  an  appendix  discussing 
the  value,  history,  scope  and  system  of 


Agricultural  Statistics  with  a  view  to  en- 
lighten the  public  on  the  duties  and 
aims  of  the  Bureau  of  Statistics  just  or- 
ganized by  the  Ontario  Government. 
The  blue-book,  as  a  -.vhole,  is  exceedingly 
useful,  and  justifies  its  bulky  proportions 

I  and  the  expense  incurred  in  its  publica- 
tion. It  has  been  prepared  under  the 
direction  of  the  Commissioner,  the  Hon. 

I    S.  C.  Wood,  M.P.P. 

!        From  the  Provincial  Treasurer's  De- 

•    partment  we  have  also  the  Report  for 

I    1881  of  Mr.   J.  Howard  Hunter,  M.A., 

!    as    Inspector  of  Insurance  for  Ontario, 

j    which  contains  details  of  the  Fire  and 

Life  Insurance  Companies,  organized  as 

'    mutual    or   joint  stock  concerns,  doing 

j    business  in  the  Province,  together  with 

j    an  analytical  digest  of  Insurance  Law. 

I    The  volume,  we  note,  contains  the  recent 

I    judgment  of  the  English  Privy  Council 

on  test  cases   which  att'ect  the  Ontario 

Policy  Act  and  Provincial  jurisdiction  in 

matters  of  Insurance.    To  this  Mr.  Hun 

ter  has  prefixed  a  critique,  explanatory- 

of  the  matter  in  dispute,  and  illustrating 

the  legal  points  in  the  judgments  which 

sustain  the  legislative   authority  of  the 

Province  over  the  law  of  insurance,  and 

the  practical  efiects  of  the  Privy  Council 

decisions.     This  critique  will  be  of  much 

value  not  only  to  the  legal  profession 

and  to  insurance  companies,    but  to  the 

great  public  of  policy-holders. 

Prof.  Henry  Morley  has  written  a 
compend  of  '  English  Literature  in  the 
Reign  of  Victoria,'  for  the  2,000th 
volume  of  the  Tauchnitz  collection  of 
British  authors. 

The  first  instalment  of  Mr.  Fronde's- 
biography  of  Thomas  Carlyle,  forming  a 
history  of  the  first  forty  years  of  his 
life,  has  just  been  published  by  Messrs. 
Longman.  The  same  firm  have  nearly 
ready  the  third  and  fourth  volumes,  from 
1700  to  1774,  of  Mr.  Licky's  'History 
of  England  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,^ 
and  two  volumes  of  the  '  Selected 
Speeches  of  Lord  Beaconstield,'  edited 
with  introductions  and  notes,  by  T.  E. 
Kebbel,  M.  A. 


44.0 


BRIC  A- BRAG. 


BEIO-A-BRAO. 


TO   MIGNON. 

BY  F.   N.   DEVEKEOX,   KEMPTVILLE,    ONT. 

If  you  really  do  not  care,  Mignon, 
If  your  words  are  light  as  air,  Mignon, 
Why  cast  at  me  such  artful  glances, 

Full  of  love  and  full  of  longing  ? 
Why  permit  my  Love's  advances, 
,         Why  torture  "with  your  cruel  wronging. 
If  you're  but  a  simple  friend,  Mignon, 
If  our  friendship  soon  must  end,  Mignon? 

If  you  really  do  not  care,  Mignon, 
If  your  words  are  light  as  air,  Mignon, 
Why  entice  me  to  your  side 

With  a  soul-destroying  smile  ? 
Why  bridge  the  gulf  so  very  wide — 
Fate's  deep  and  dismal,  dark  defile. 
If  you're  but  a  simple  friend,  Mignon, 
If  our  friendship  soon  must  end,  Mignon  ? 

If  you  really  do  not  care,  Mignon, 
If  your  words  are  light  as  air,  Mignon, 
Why  come  so  often  in  my  way, 

Why  make  your  life  a  gilded  lie  ? 
Why  thus  inspire  Hope's  brightest  ray. 
To  mock  my  wretched  heart's  low  cry, 
If  you're  but  a  simple  friend,  Mignon, 
If  our  friendship  soon  must  end,  Mignon  ? 

Ladies  who  marry  for  love  should  re- 
member that  the  union  of  angels  with 
women  has  been  forbidden  since  the 
flood. 

'  Papa,  they  don't  have  any  stone  in 
Ireland,  do  they  ?  '  '  Yes,  my  boy  ;  but 
why  do  you  ask  such  a  question  1 '  '  Be- 
cause I  thought  it  was  all  shamrock  over 
there.' 

Life  is  divided  into  three  terms  : — 
That  which  was,  which  is,  and  which 
will  be,  Let  us  learn  from  the  past  to 
profit  by  the  present,  and  from  the  pre- 
sent to  live  better  for  the  future. 

Time  is  like  a  ship  that  never  anchors  ; 
while  I  am  on  board,  I  had  better  do 
those  things  that  may  profit  me  in  my 
landing  than  practise  such  things  as  will 
cause  my  commitment  when  I  come 
ashore. 

An  English  engineer  was  trying  to 
explain  the  electric  telegraph  to  a  Per- 
sian governor.  Finally  he  said,  '  Im- 
agine a  dog  with  his  tail  in  Teheran  and 
his  muzzle  in  London.  Tread  on  his  tail 
here,  and  he  will  bark  there.' 


SPES   DEJECTA. 

BY  J.   E,    O.    ROBERTS,    FREUERICTON,   If.B. 

They  thought  that  Spring,  sweet  Spring,  was 
near. 
And,  with  too  eager  dreaming  eyes, 
Saw  close  before  them  Summer  skies, 
And  flowers,  the  sweet  lights  of  the  year, 
And  choirs  of  birds  to  carol  clear  ; 
They  thought  that  Spring,  sweet  Spring,  was 
near. 

Then  sudden  winds  came  from  the  Sea, 
Then  all  the  air  with  snow  was  white  ; 
They  spoke  no  more  of  Spring's  delight. 

Of  birds  to  sing  in  every  tree. 

Of  rosy  blooms  on  wood  and  lea  ; 

When  sudden  winds  came  from  the  Sea. 


Utah  is  in  the  United  States,  but  '  it 
is  a  place  where  a  native  American  is  a 
foreigner,  and  a  Jew  is  a  Gentile. ' 

Art  Patron  : — '  What  ?  Seven  dol- 
lars for  this  ?  Why,  you  only  charged 
me  ^2.50  for  that  tine,  large  oil  piece  on 
the  wall  there. '  Great  Artist :  'Exactly 
so.  That  little  bit  in  your  hand  is  done 
in  water-colour.  They  come  high  just 
now  on  account  of  the  recent  drought. ' 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  VIRTUOUS. 

BY   ANNA   L.    BARBAULD. 

Sweet  is  the  scene  when  virtue  dies  ! 

When  sinks  a  righteous  soul  to  rest, 
How  mildly  beam  the  closing  eyes, 

How  gently  heaves  th'  expiring  breast  ! 

So  fades  a  summer  cloud  away. 

So  sinks  the  gale  when  storms  are  o'er, 

So  gently  shuts  the  eye  of  day, 
So  dies  a  wave  along  the  shore. 

Triumphant  smiles  the  victor  brow, 
Fanned  by  some  angel's  purple  wing  : 

Where  is,  O  grave  !  thy  victory  now  ? 
And  where,  insidious  death  !  thy  sting 

Farewell,  conflicting  joys  and  fears. 

Where  light  and  shade  alternate  dwell  J 

How  bright  th'  imchanging  morn  appears  I 
Farewell,  inconstant  world,  farewell ! 

Its  duty  done, — as  sinks  the  day, 
Light  from  its  load  the  spirit  flies  ; 

While  heaven  and  earth  combine  to  say, 
'  Sweet  is  the  scene  when  virtue  dies ! ' 


ROSE-BELFORD'S 


CA:NrADiAN"  Monthly 


AND    NATIOIsrAL    REVIEW. 


MAY,    1882. 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


THE  NORTHMEN   IN  AMERICA. 


BY    PIERCE   STEVENS    HAMILTON,    HALIFAX,    N.  S. 


ONCE  there  was  a  man,  living  in 
Norway,  called  Harald  Haarfagr. 
He  was  a  Jarl — one  of  many  Jarls,  or 
petty  kings,  or  great  chiefs,  who,  at 
that  time,  shared  amongst  them  the 
rule  over  the  lands  and  coasts  of  Nor- 
way. Much  and  long-continued  fight- 
ing they  had  had,  too,  in  their  inces- 
sant disputes  over  those  same  shares. 
But  Harald,  called  Haarfagr — or  Fair- 
haired — was  more  than  a  common 
Jarl,  as  he  was  a  very  uncommon  man. 
His  father  before  him  had  made  him- 
self comparatively  powerful  amongst 
his  fellows  of  the  Norwegian  Jarldoms; 
so  that  Harald,  in  succeeding  him,  suc- 
ceeded almost  to  a  state  of  downright 
kinghood.  He,  at  the  outset  of  his  pub- 
lic career,  determined  that  he  would 
forthwith  settle  that  point  beyond  all 
possible  dispute. 

It    is    reported   that    the    youthful 
Harald  found  himself  in  love  with  a 


beautiful  young  lady,  named  Gyda, 
and  made  her  the  offer  of  his  hand. 
But  the  Lady  Gyda  was  as  ambitious 
and  lofty-minded  as  she  was  beautiful. 
She  certainly  did  not  give  her  young 
lover  a  cool  reception  ;  for  she  met  his 
proposal  with  stinging  words  which 
might  have  instantly  terminated  the 
suit  of  any  one  of  less  spirit  than 
Harald.  They  were  to  the  effect  that 
he  had  better  go  and  crush  out  the  in- 
dependence of  that  host  of  neighbour- 
ing Jarls  who  were  carrying  things 
with  so  high  a  hand  on  land  and  sea, 
and  win  a  kingdom  for  himself,  as  one 
great  warrior  had  }-ecently  done  in 
Sweden,  and  another  in  Denmark. 
Then  he  might  come  to  her  with  pro- 
posals of  marriage,  and  she  might 
deign  to  look  upon  them  with  favour, 
but  not  until  then.  Harald  swore  to 
himself  that  he  would  take  her  at  her 
word.     Nay,  he  swore  that  he  would 


442 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


never  again  allow  that  mass  of  fair 
hair  of  liis  to  be  cut  until  he  had  be- 
come sole  master  and  King  of  Norway. 
He  kept  his  word,  and  won  his  king- 
dom and  his  bride,  and  got  his  hair 
cut.  Thus  it  came  about,  curiously 
enough,  that  what  is  now  called  Ame- 
rica, first  became  known  to  the  fore- 
fathers of  the  fair-skinned  race  who 
now  rule  this  continent. 

That  result  came  about  in  this  way. 
A  large  proportion  of  the  haughty  and 
hitherto  independent  Norsemen  enter- 
tained very  decided  objections  to 
Harald's  proceedings,  for  Jae  not  only 
insisted  upon  being  sole  monarch  of 
Norway  ;  he  further  insisted  upon 
keeping  his  kingdom  in  oi'der,  and 
especially  in  putting  down  the  Viking 
occupation  or  piracy,  especially  upon 
the  coast  of  his  own  domains.  As 
this  was  not  only  the  principal 
means  of  amusement,  but  a  large 
source  of  proht  to  the  more  irrepress- 
ible Jarls  and  their  congenial  follow- 
ers, it  was  but  natural  that  they  should 
resent  such  an  unheard  of  innovation 
on  Harald's  part.  He  was  not  a  king, 
however,  with  whom  many  of  the  dis- 
affected were  desirous  of  contending 
openly  and  face  to  face.  So  there 
came  into  vogue  aniongst  this  class  a 
variety  of  rebellion  which  seems  a 
novelty  to  our  modern  conceptions, 
but  which  was  not  uncommon  in  long- 
past  centuries,  and  especially  among 
Asiatic  peoples.  That  is,  they  rebelled 
by  summarily  packing  themselves  on 
board  their  ships — beingpre-eminently 
a  seafaring  people — hauling  up  anchor 
and  taking  their  departure  to  other 
and  strange  lands,  where  they  could 
do  as  they  pleased. 

Divers  were  the  countries  to  which 
these  impatient  Norsemen  hied  in 
their  search  for  what  they  considered 
free  and  independent  homes.  There 
was  one  of  these  chieftains  of  men, 
and  a  thorough  Yiking,  too,  whose 
headquarters  had  been  in  and  about 
the  three  Vigten  Islands,  on  the  mid- 
Norway  coast,  named  Rollo,  or  Eolf. 
He  was  aho  surnamed  The  Ganger — 


jirobably  from  the  very  determined,, 
expeditious,  and  effective  way  irt 
which  he  gathered  up  his  followers, 
and  '  ganged  '  out  of  Norway,  and  into 
what  was  found  to  be  a  much  more 
pleasant  country.  However  that  may 
be,  Rolf  the  Ganger  and  his  followers, 
in  the  year  A.D.  876,  sailed  down 
from  their  native  fiords  in  force,  and, 
with  but  little  ado  abotit  it,  pounced 
upon  the  Northern  coast  of  what  we 
now  call  France.  There  they  extend- 
ed themselves,  and  conquered,  and 
gave  their  name  to  the  tract  of  coun- 
try which  they  appropriated ;  and  thus 
Kolf,  or  Rollo,  became  the  first  Duke 
of  Normandy. 

Others  of  these  Norsemen  who  re- 
sented Harald  Haarfagr's  rule,  went 
out  and  colonized  the  Faroe  Islands, 
said  to  have  been  previously  inhabited. 
Others  went  to  the  Shetlands,  the  Ork- 
neys, and  the  Hebrides,  of  all  of  which 
they  had,  doubtless,  known  something 
before.  But  the  immigration  in  which 
we  are  most  interested  just  now,  is 
that  of  the  daring  Norse  adventurers 
who  made  their  way  to  the  still  more 
distant  Iceland.  That  island  had  been 
discovered  by  some  of  these  restless 
and  fearless  explorers  a  few  years  be- 
fore. They  had  found  it  uninhabited  at 
the  time ;  but  they  also  found  there 
certain  utensils  employed  in  Christian 
rites  and  other  remains,  cleai-ly  indi- 
cating that  this  remote  region  had  al- 
ready been  the  abodes,  for  a  time,  of 
some  Irish  monks.  To  Iceland,  then, 
boldly  steered  those  whom  we  may 
fairly  suppose  to  have  been  the  most 
unmanageable  and  implacable  of  the 
Norsemen  whom  Harald  Haarfagr 
sought  to  reduce  to  his  rule.  There,, 
in  that  far-remote  and  only  too-well 
named  region,  they  might  well  sup- 
pose that  they  would  be  safe,  without 
the  reach  of  the  conquering  arms  and 
detested  laws  of  the  self-made  king — 
Harald  Haarfagr. 

This  migration  from  Norway  to 
Iceland  was  no  combined  expedition 
and  hostile  invasion,  such  as  that 
which  went  forth  from  the  Vigten  Is- 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


A\{ 


lands,  and  spread  itself  over  tlie  north- 
ern shore  of  France.  It  was  a  move- 
ment which  continued  for  several 
years.  The  first  arrival  was  that  of  a 
chieftain  named  Ingolf,  who  eventually 
settled  liimself  upon  the  spot  where 
the  town  of  Reykjavik,  the  little  capi- 
tal of  Iceland,  now  stands.  To  this 
spot  he  believes  himself  t;o  have  been 
directed  by  the  will  of  his  tutelary 
divinities  ;  which  will  was  ascertained 
in  this  way.  These  pagan  Norsemen 
were  accusto^med  to  having  set  up  in 
front  of  the  residences  of  their  chiefs 
what  they  called  Seal-jjosts  (Setstok- 
kar).  These  were,  in  each  case,  a  pair 
of  large  and  lofty  beams  of  timber, 
elaborately  carved  and  surmounted  by 
hgures  of  Odin,  Thor,  Friga,  or  who- 
ever were  assumed  to  be  the  tutelary 
deities  of  him  who  thus  set  them  up. 
Upon  a  change  of  residence,  these 
Seat-posts  were  caiefally  removed  and 
embarked,  with  other  probably  less- 
valued  chattels,  on  ship-board,  the  sea 
being,  of  course,  almost  the  invari- 
able means  of  local  communication. 
On  arrival  in  the  vicinity  of  the  in- 
tended new  home,  the  Seat-posts  were 
thrown  overboard,  and  the  point  on 
shore  to  which  they  drifted  became 
their  owner's  new  seat,  or  place  of  re- 
sidence. The  reader  may  be  curious 
to  know  what  would  be  the  result  in 
the  not  at  all  improbable  event  of  two 
men's  Seat-posts  being  washed  ashore 
at  the  same  place.  In  that  case,  we 
must  suppose  that  the  first  arrival 
would  secure  the  land,  and  that  the 
new  comer  would  try  again  elsewhere  ; 
or  that,  if  they  arrived  simultaneously, 
and  were  on  particularly  friendly 
terms,  and  nearly  equals  in  power  and 
wealth,  they  would  effect  an  amicable 
arrangement  ;  or  that  if  one  was  weak 
and  the  otlier  strong,  the  weakling 
would  judiciously  find  some  good  rea- 
son for  betaking  himself  elsewhere, 
notwithstanding  the  previous  dictation 
of  his  gods.  If  otherwise,  we  may  rely 
upon  it  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the 
stronger  man  just  killed  the  weaker 
one,   without  any  needless  ado,   and 


thus  settled  the  biisiness  at  once. 
These  old  Norsemen  had  ever  a  prompt 
and  simple  way  of  arriving  at  re' 
suits. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that,  at  this  very 
day,  there  are  certain  tribes  of  Indians 
in  British  Columbia,  on  the  northern 
coast  of  the  Pacific,  who  have  iSeat- 
posts  set  up  in  front  of  their  wigwams, 
and  have  had  them  from  time  im- 
memorial. These  posts  are  often  so 
elaborately  carved  that,  considering 
the  tools  employed,  the  wcrk  expend- 
ed upon  one  of  them  must  have  cost 
several  years  of  the  native  artist's  life. 
It  would  be  an  interesting  investiga- 
tion,  that  or  tracmg  to  its  ojigin  and 
primeval  meaning,  this  rare  custom, 
now  practised  by  a  few  of  the  Abori- 
gines of  the  JSTorth-West  coast  of 
America,  and  which  seetns  to  be  iden- 
tical with  a  custom,  or  religious  usage 
of  the  Norsemen  of  Europe,  a  thou- 
sand years  or  more  in  the  past. 

The  pioneer,  Ingolf,  was  rapidly  fol- 
lowed to  Iceland  by  others  of  his  fel- 
low countrymen.  The  navigation  con- 
tinued for  about  sixty  years — until, 
indeed.  King  Harald,  fearing  that 
his  kingdom  was  about  to  become  de- 
populated, laid  such  an  embargo  upon 
the  exodus  of  his  subjects  that  it  be- 
came diflficult  for  them  to  get  out  of 
Norway — at  all  events,  when  going  in 
the  direction  of  Iceland. 

Our  task  is  not,  however,  to  submit 
to  the  reader  a  political  history  of  Ice- 
land. Yet  it  becomes  necessary  for  us 
to  say  a  few  words  as  to  the  character 
and  habits  of  these  Norse  Icelanders 
and  their  descendants.  These  emi- 
grants, wlio  had  proved  so  refractory 
under  Harald  Haarfagr's  iron  rule, 
consisted  of  men  who  must  have  be- 
longed to  the  highest  class  of  the  mag- 
nates of  Norway,  together  with  their 
families  and  servants.  They  must  have 
l)een  very  wealthy,  even  to  have  owned 
the  shipping  which  suliiced  to  convey 
their  several  households  and  retinues, 
with  all  their  cattle  and  other  effects, 
over  a  voyage  which  may  have  lasted, 
and    probably    did    last,    for  several 


444. 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


months.  We  know  that  they  must 
have  been  highly  cultivated,  and  even 
learned,  for  the  period  in  which  they 
lived  ;  for  of  that  fact  they  have  left 
us  ample  proof.  Their  demeanour  to- 
wards Harald  Haarfagr  in  itself  shows 
that  they  were  an  essentially  high 
spirited  and  independent  class;  and 
the  records  which  they  and  their  de- 
scendants have  left  behind  them,  show 
that  they  were  exceedingly  proud — 
not  only  personally  haughty, but  proud 
of  their  families,  of  their  ancestors, 
and  of  their  race.  No  people — not 
even  the  Jews,  or  any  other  race — 
have  given  so  much  study  to  genea- 
logy and  to  family  history,  and  have 
so  carefully  kept,  continued,  and  pre- 
served their  genealogical  records,  as 
these  Norsemen.  We  have  proof  of 
this  propensity  in  a  branch  of  the  race 
other  than  the  Icelandic — to  wit,  the 
Xorman,  specially  so  called.  The  pro- 
pensity— perhaps  it  may  be  said  the 
passion — of  those  of  the  original  Nor- 
man stock,  or  having  Norman  blood, 
for  tracing  back  their  ancestry  through 
all  its  connections,  to  its  earliest  known 
source,  is  sufficiently  notorious.  And, 
by-the-bye,  their  example  has,  in  these 
our  days,  led  the  credulous  imagina- 
tion, or  unscrupulous  invention,  of 
many  vain  people  to  the  construction 
of  family  pedigrees  of  a  very  mythical 
character. 

The  Norseman,  in  becoming  an  Ice- 
lander, lost  nothing  of  the  dauntless 
bravery  which  had  made  him  the 
di-ead  of  Europe.  His  occupation  as 
a  Yiking  was  indeed  gone.  He  would 
not,  in  Norway,  condescend  to  aban- 
don that  pleasant  and  profitable  pas- 
time, at  Harald  Haarfagr's  bidding. 
Now,  in  Iceland,  he  abandoned  it  of 
his  own  accord,  his  good  intention, 
however,  being  much  aide(jl  by  circum- 
stances under  which  he  found  himself 
placed.  Norway,  then  as  now,  abound- 
ed in  timber  suited  to  ship-building. 
There  the  Viking  and  his  company 
could  easily  build  and  fit  out  their 
ships  ;  and,  on  putting  out  to  sea,  the 
propinquity  of  their  Norwegian  home 


to  more  fertile  and  wealthier  shores, 
aflforded  a  fair  prospect  of  easy  success 
in  their  piratical  forays.  With  Ice- 
land for  their  home,  the  case  was  very 
different.  There,  growing  timber  was 
scarce,  and  that  little  was  of  but 
stunted  growth.  The  Icelanders  were 
under  the  necessity  of  procuring  their 
larger  vessels — their  lo7ig  ships,  as  they 
were  called — from  Norway.  Hence 
it  was  only  the  more  wealthy  of  their 
number  who  could  afford  such  posses- 
sions. Again,  their  new  home  was  far 
removed  from  all  of  those  shores  which 
had  long  been  the  Vikings'  paradise. 
But  the  Norse  daring  and  love  of  ad- 
venture, still,  were  the  most  pro- 
minent characteristics  of  the  Iceland- 
er.«,  as  was  also  his  love  of  the  sea  for 
its  own  sake.  From  all  this,  it  turned 
out  eventually  that  the  Icelanders, 
having  ceased  to  be  Vikings,  became 
almost  equally  noted  as  roving  mer- 
chant adventurers  ;  and,  as  such,  they 
visited  almost  every  clime  and  coun- 
try of  which  they  had  any  knowledge. 
In  this  respect  they,  for  centuries  after 
the  colonization  of  Iceland,  unquestion- 
ably outshone  all  other  nations. 

The  Icelander  at  home,  during  this 
same  period,  became,  in  like  mannei', 
pre-eminent  among  his  contemporaries 
for  his  rapid  j)rogress  in  intellectual 
culture.  Even  if  he  possessed  luxu- 
rious tastes  and  appetites,  which  is 
doubtful,  the  necessities  of  his  position 
forbade  him  to  indulge  them.  His  own 
little  tillage  land,  his  pastures,  and  his 
abundant  fisheries,  supplied  all  his 
immediate  wants.  At  the  same  time, 
the  labours  which  they  imposed  upon 
him  were  far  from  engrossing  all  his 
time  and  attention.  There  were,  es- 
pecially in  that  high  latitude,  the  long 
winter  evenings  of  leisure  to  be  dis- 
posed of.  Men  of  the  Viking  blood — 
men  of  a  race  who  had  for  ages  been 
engaged  in  the  fiercest  of  national  wars, 
or  the  most  daring  of  piratical  adven- 
tures— must,  when  once  they  had  cut 
themselves  off  from  their  former  pur- 
suits, have  found  themselves  with  an 
immense  amount  of  surplus  energy  on 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


445 


I 


hand.  How  was  it  to  be  disposed  of? 
In  whatever  new  course  directed,  that 
course  was  certain  to  be  pursued  with 
extraordinary  vigour.  It  seems  rea- 
sonable to  suppose — so  reasonable  as 
to  be  assumed  almost  as  a  matter  of 
course — that,  under  all  the  circum- 
stances, the  Icelander  would  betake 
himself,  with  his  spare  time,  and  with 
his  energy  craving  to  be  put  to  use, 
to  intellectual  self-culture.  He  did  so, 
in  fact.  He  became  learned  ;  he  be- 
came a  poet,  a  historian,  a  geographer 
— in  short,  a  cultivator  of  literature 
and  the  sciences  generally.  The  pro- 
cess by  which  this  state  of  affairs  came 
about  can  be  easily  conjectured.  In 
the  long  winter  evenings,  when  some- 
thing had  to  be  done  to  pass  the  time, 
the  older  members  of  the  family  cir- 
cle would  entertain  and  inspire  the 
younger  ones  with  tales — Sagas — of 
the  heroic  deeds  of  their  fathers  in 
the  mother  land,  or  in  other  countries ; 
or  with  still  older  Sagas  which  they 
had  learned  in  their  youth,  in  old 
Norway  itself.  If  the  actions  com- 
municated were  of  a  specially  heroic, 
or  otherwise  touching  character,  their 
narration  was  clothed  in  numbers. 
These  frequent  repetitions  of  poems 
from  the  Skalds,  and  of  tales  from  the 
Sagamen,  would  naturally  lead  ad- 
miring listeners  to  original  efforts  in 
the  same  direction.  The  Icelander 
became  himself  frequently,  not  only  a 
Skald,  but  even  an  Improvisatoi'e. 
The  Sagaman  eventually  developed 
into  a  historian — into  a  dispenser  of 
general  literature.  This  result  was 
materially  furthex-ed  by  the  spirit  of 
mercantile  enterprise  which,  as  al- 
ready mentioned,  had  already  super- 
seded the  Icelandic  Norseman's  pirati- 
cal habits.  The  Icelander,  sailing  xipon 
every  knovn  sea,  and  endowed  with 
a  keenly  observing  and  an  inquiring 
mind,  brought  home  with  him  from 
divers  countries  stores,  not  only  of  cur- 
rent news,  but  also  of  such  valuable 
information  upon  general  subjects  as 
those  foreign  parts  had  to  give  ;  and 
the  eagern'3ss  with  which  these  stores 


were  sought  by  his  mentally  hunger- 
ing fellow  countrymen,  was  only  equal- 
led by  the  readiness  with  which  they 
were  dispensed.  Thus  the  Icelanders: 
became  what  we  are  now  accustomed 
to  call  well-informed  people — the  most 
so,  indeed,  of  any  in  that  portion  of 
the  world  which,  comparatively  speak- 
ing, we  would  designate  as  the  most 
civilized  of  that  period. 

The  Statehood  into  which  Iceland 
greiv,  and  the  fundamentals  of  which 
had  been  brought  over  from  Norway, 
was  admirably  suited  to  the  intellec- 
tual development  of  its  people.  The 
Landnamabok  was  a  book  in  which 
were  enrolled  the  names  of  all  the  first 
Norwegian  settlers  in  Iceland.  The 
Doomsday  Book,  drawn  up  long  after- 
wards in  England,  by  William  the  Con- 
queror, was  a  similar  achievement,  al- 
though a  less  perfect  work  ;  for  this 
Landnamabok  is  described  as  '  the 
most  complete  national  record  that  has 
ever  been  compiled.'  The  descendants 
of  these  original  Landnamen,  with 
probably  a  few  others  who  subse- 
quently became  land-holdei's,  consti- 
tuted the  State.  Of  course  the  most 
of  these — probably  all  of  them,  in  the 
eai'lier  history  of  the  State — had  ser- 
vants ;  some  of  thera,  only  a  few ; 
others,  a  large  retinue.  The  govern- 
ment of  the  island,  then,  was  a  Re- 
public ;  or,  to  speak  with  more  par- 
ticularity, an  Oligarchy,  founded  upon 
a  very  wide  basis.  We  find  that  be- 
tween the  Landnaman,  or  between  the 
more  powerful,  or  more  active  of  them, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  poorer,  or 
less  influential,  and  the  members  of 
the  servant  class,  on  the  other,  there 
were  maintained  relationships  very 
similar  to  those  between  Patrons  and 
Clients,  in  the  old  Roman  days.  The 
former  frequently  employed  his  elo- 
quence and  learning,  as  well  as  his 
other  influences — not  always  sti-ictly 
incorrupt — in  advocating  the  cause  of 
the  latter  in  their  Things.  The  Th^nj 
— meaning  literally  <o  speak,  and  there- 
fore equivalent  to  the  English  word 
Parlianii  it — was  an  institution  which 


44G 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


had  been  bronglit  over  from  Norway. 
The  Thing  was,  how'ever,  less  a  legis- 
lative body  for  the  enactn)ent  of  la'^s 
tlian  a  Court  for  their  enforcement. 
The  Icelanders  had  their  District 
Courts  {Herredsthhiget)  and  tjieir  Su- 
perior Court  (the  Althing).  This  Al- 
thing seems  to  have  been,  not  only  a 
Court  for  the  settlement  of  disputes, 
but  a  great  National  Council,  pos- 
sessing legislative  functions,  and  ex- 
ercising general  governing  powers. 
This  body  met  yearly,  in  the  open  air, 
upon  the  Thingvalla,  an  extraordinary 
rock-platform  on  the  borders  of  Thing- 
valla Vatn,  the  largest  lake  in  Ice- 
land, and  which  platform  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  deep  gorge,  with  rocky 
and  precipitous  sides,  except  at  one 
part,  where  an  isthmus,  of  only  a  few 
feet  in  width,  afforded  access.  Every 
Sandnaman  in  the  island  made  it  a 
point  of  honour,  or  duty,  to  attend 
this  gathering,  if  possible  ;  for  it  was 
looked  upon  as  a  disgrace  to  be  ab- 
sent. Here  they  assembled  with  great 
pomp  and  ])arade,  and  also  in  great 
foi'ce  as  to  followers,  provided  there 
was  a  probability  of  some  question 
coming  up  the  discussion  of  which 
might  posaihiy  end  in  blows.  In  these 
frequent  Things,  local  and  general,  the 
Icelanders  had  abundant  opportuni- 
ties for  the  cultivation  of  eloquence. 
Their  style  of  eloquence,  judging  from 
the  specimens  that  have  come  down 
to  ITS,  was  remarkably  terse,  pithy, 
and  pointed.  There  was  no  washy 
chattering,  or  w^aste  of  words,  with 
them. 

Thus  we  find  that,  whilst  the  Norse- 
men of  Iceland  were,  by  natural  pre- 
dilection and  the  national  isolation  in 
which  they  had  placed  themselves, 
led  into  studious  habits  and  the  culti- 
vation of  literature,  their  faculties 
were  being  constantly  sharpened 
through  the  attrition  of  mind  upon 
mind  in  their  public  assemblies  and 
free  social  intercourse.  From  all  these 
causes  there  have  arisen  these  results  : 
that  for  about  four  centuries — from, 
the  year    870,  when   the   emigration 


from  Norway  was  in  full  strength,  to 
the  year  1261,  when  Iceland  again 
weakly  allowed  itself  to  come  under 
the  allegiance  of  ISorway — that  won- 
drous island  was,  intellectually,  the 
brightest  spot  in  Europe.  This  period 
of  Iceland's  independence  is,  indeed,  a 
part  of  that  which  is  especially  called 
'  the  Dark  Ages.'  Whilst  every  other 
nation  and  people  in  Europe  were  en- 
clouded  in  barbarism  and  ignorance, 
these  Northmen,  in  their  remote 
island,  kept  the  light  of  civilization 
from  becoming  utterly  extinguished, 
— as  their  distant,  yet  nearest,  neigh- 
bours, the  Irish,  had  done  at  a  still 
earlier  period.  They  alone  were  learned 
in  the  past,  as  in  the  present.  They 
were  producing  poets,  epic,  lyric,  and 
and  also  satiric — as  was  found  to  their 
sorrow  by  many  of  their  victims.  They 
carefully  collected  materials  and  com- 
piled the  histories,  not  only  of  them- 
selves and  of  their  immediate  ances- 
tors, but  of  other  countries  which  have 
since  become  of  note.  In  fact,  nearly 
all  the  reliable  early-modern  history 
we  possess  of  Northern  Europe — say, 
for  the  six  hundred  years  from  the 
middle  of  the  seventh  to  the  middle 
of  the  thirteenth  century — we  owe  to 
the  literary  labours  of  these  Iceland- 
ers. Yet  were  they  not  a  people  who 
much  indulged  in  monastic  seclusion, 
or  effeminate  self-indulgence.  They 
still  retained  the  ancient  bold  and 
manly  spirit.  They  were  genially  so- 
cial,althoughindependentand  haughty, 
at  home,  and  still  daringly  adventu- 
rous, to  a  degree  unsurpassed,  if  even 
equalled,  by  any  of  their  contempo- 
raries, when  abroad. 

The  foregoing  brief  sketch  of  the 
character  and  outline  of  the  history  of 
the  Icelandic  Northmen  has  been 
deemed  requisite,  inasmuch  as  it 
tends  to  the  conclusion  that  the  facts 
of  which  we  are  about  to  continue  the 
narration  were  all  but  inevitable.  In 
making  their  way  from  the  parent 
state  to  Iceland,  these  bold  Northmen 
had  already  bridged  the  widest  gulf 
which   interposed    between    Norway 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


447 


and  the  Western  Continent  which  we 
now  call  America.  From  Norway  to 
Iceland  is  double  the  distance  that  it  is 
from  the  latter  to  the  extreme  south- 
ern cape  of  Greenland,  or  from  the  lat- 
ter again  to  the  most  southern  part  of 
Labrador  ;  whilst  the  distance  between 
Greenland  and  the  nearest  point  of  Ice- 
land, on  theone  hand,or  the  nearest  part 
of  Labradoi",  on  the  other,  reduces  still 
farther  the  proportion  between  the 
width  of  each  of  these  two  channels 
and  that  of  the  great  ocean  divide  be- 
tween Iceland  and  Norway.  Was  it 
probable,  then — was  it  even  possible, 
that  these  Icelandic  Northmen  could 
long  continue  cruising  to  and  from 
their  island-home  without  becoming  ac- 
■quainted  with  the  great  continent  which 
lay  to  the  westward  of  them  1  Assur- 
edly not !  If  accident  had  not  revealed 
to  them  an  early  knowledge  of  this 
New  World,  they  would  certainly  have 
soon  discovered  it  in  the  regular 
course  of  designed  exploration.  It  was 
accident,  however,  which  brought  about 
this  revelation ;  and  we  have  all  the 
events  connected  with  the  discovery, 
recorded  with  all  necessary  particu- 
larity in  the  Icelandic  Sagas,  written 
soon  after  the  events  occurred,  and 
when  the  traditions  of  them  were  still 
fresh  in  the  memories  of  the  living. 

Our  earliest  information  upon  tliese 
points  is  derived  from  the  so  called 
Saga  of  Erik  the  Red,  and  is  to  this 
purport  :  Thorvald  and  his  son  Erik 
the  Red  were  among  the  later  arrivals 
of  the  original  Icelandic  colonists.  We 
are  curtly  told  that  they  '  removed  to 
Iceland  in  consequence  of  murder.' 
There  Erik  married,  and  had  a  son 
called  Leif,  of  whom  we  shall  hear 
more  by  and  by.  Erik,  it  seems,  be- 
came, on  more  than  one  occasion,  un- 
fortunate in  his  social  relations.  At 
length  he  got  involved  in  an  unusually 
troublesome  quarrel  with  one  Thor- 
gest,  to  whom  he  had  lent  his  Seat- 
posts,  and  from  whom  he  could  not 
get  them  back  again.  A  pretty  gene- 
ral fray  ensued,  some  of  the  neigh- 
bours taking  sides  with  Erik  and  others 


with  Thorgest.  The  upshot  of  this 
affair  was,  that  Erik  was  declared  out- 
lavved.  In  disgust  he  got  ready  his 
ship  and  put  out  to  sea,  telling  his 
friends  he  was  going  West,  in  search 
of  a  land  which  had  been  seen  not  long 
before  by  one  Gunbjorn,  Ulf  Krage's 
son,  when  blown  off  to  sea.  He  found 
the  land  which  he  sought,  coasted  down 
upon  it  southwardly  and  westwardly, 
giving  names  to  many  places,  and  re- 
mained there  two  winters  ;  but  in  the 
third  summer  he  returned  to  Iceland. 
Erik  called  the  land  which  he  had 
found  Greenland  {Greenland),  which 
name  it  has  continued  to  br>ar  to  this 
day,  much  to  the  mystification  of  many 
people  who  have  been  unable  to  see 
its  appropriateness ;  but  Erik  slyly 
observed  :  '  People  will  be  attracted 
thither  if  the  land  has  a  good  name.' 
He  remained  that  winter  in  Iceland, 
but  returned  to  Greenland  the  follow- 
ing summer,  and  commenced  to  colo- 
nize the  land.  'This  was  fifteen 
winters  before  Christianity  was  estab- 
lished by  law  in  Iceland,'  says  the 
Saga.  Therefore,  the  final  settlement 
of  Erik  and  his  followers  in  Green- 
land must  have  been  in  the  year  985, 
Christianity  having  been  established 
in  Iceland  in  A.D.  1000. 

Thus  we  find  that  in  just  111  years 
from  the  arrival  of  the  first  Northmen 
in  Iceland,  their  descendants  had  al- 
ready discovered  and  commenced  the 
colonization  of  Greenland.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  much  more  time  could 
elapse  before  the  great  Western  Con- 
tinent became  known  to  them.  That 
knowledge  came  sooner  even  than 
could  have  been  reasonably  expected. 

Among  the  Icelandic  immigrants 
from  Norway  was  Ilerjiilf,  who  was  a 
kinsman  of  the  first  of  the  Landnams- 
men,  Ingolf,  already  named.  Herjulf 
and  his  wife  Thorgerd  had  a  son 
named  Bjarni,  who  is  described  as  'a 
very  hopeful  man.'  This  Bjarni  Her- 
julfson  conceived,  when  young,  a  great 
desire  to  travel,  which  desire  he  to  the 
full  indulged  when  he  came  to  mature 
years.     He,  in  time,  became  possessed 


448 


OLD  NEW  WOULD  TALES. 


of  a  ship  of  his  own,  and  soon  earned 
for  himself  great  riches  and  respect.  It 
was  his  habit  to  spend  each  alternate 
winter  abroad,  and  every  other  one 
with  his  father,  at  home.  Now  it 
happened  that,  during  one  of  the  pe- 
riods when  Bjarni  was  abroad — that 
is,  in  the  spring  of  985 — Herjulf  took 
his  departure  from  Iceland  along  with 
Erik  Thorvaldson — otherwise  Erik  the 
Red — to  settle  in  the  new  colony  of 
Greenland.  There  he  settled  at  what 
was  thenceforth  called  Herjulf sness, 
/.  e.,  Herjulf 's  cape  or  point.  Erik 
himself  lived  at  a  place  which  he 
called  Brattahlid,  and  he  seems  to 
have  been  regarded  as  virtually  the 
governor,  as  well  as  founder,  of  the 
colony  ;  for  the  Saga  tells  us  that  '  he 
was  the  most  looked  up  to,  and  every 
one  regulated  themselves  by  him.' 

When  Bjarni  returned  home  to  Ice- 
land in  the  summer  of  that  year  (985), 
he  was  much  surprised  and  disap- 
pointed at  finding  that  his  father  had 
taken  his  departure  thence.  We  pro- 
bably cannot  do  better  here  than  to 
give  a  translation  of  the  identical  words 
of  the  Saga  itself  : — 

'  These  tidings'  (of  his  father's  de- 
parture) '  appeared  serious  to  Bjarni, 
and  he  was  unwilling  to  unload  his 
ship.  Then  his  seamen  asked  him 
what  he  would  do  ;  he  answered  that 
he  intended  to  continue  his  custom, 
and  pass  the  winter  with  his  father  : 
"  and  I  will,"  said  he,  "  bear  for 
Greenland  if  ye  will  give  me  yovir 
company."  All  said  that  they  woiild 
follow  his  counsel.  Then  said  Bjarni  : 
"  Imprudent  will  appear  our  voyage, 
since  none  of  us  has  been  in  the  Green- 
land ocean."  However,  they  put  to 
sea  so  soon  as  they  were  ready,  and 
.sailed  for  three  days,  until  the  land  was 
out  of  sight  under  the  water  ;  but  then 
the  fair  wind  fell,  and  there  arose 
north  winds  and  fogs,  and  they  knew 
not  where  they  were,  cam  thus  it  con- 
tinued for  many  days.  After  that  saw 
they  the  sun  again  and  could  discover 
the  sky ;  ^they  now  made  sail,  and 
sailed  for   that  day,   before  they  saw 


land,  and  counselled  with  each  other 
about  what   land  that  could  be,  and 
Bjarni  said  that  he  thought  it  could 
not  be  Greenland.     They  asked  whe- 
ther he  wished  to  sail  to  this  land,  or 
not.     "  My  advice  is,"  said  he,    "  to 
sail  close  to  the  land  ;"   and  so  they 
did,  and  soon  saw  that  the  land  wa& 
without  mountains,  and  covered  with 
wood,  and  had  small  heights.     Then 
left    they     the    land    on    their    lar- 
board side,  and  let  the  stern  turn  from 
the  land.     Afterwards  they  sailed  two 
days    before   they  saw   another  land. 
They  asked  if  Bjarni  thought  this  waa 
Greenland  ;  but  he  said  that  he  as  little 
believed  this  to  be  Greenland  as  the 
other  :     "  because   in    Greenland  are 
said  to  be  very  high  ice  hills."     They 
soon  approached  the    land,  and   saw 
that  it  was  a  flat  land  covered  with 
wood.     Then  the  fair  wind  fell,  and 
the  sailors  said  that  it  seemed  to  them 
most    advisable   to    land  there ;  but 
Bjarni  was  unwilling  to  do  so.     They 
pretended    that    they   were    in  want 
of  both  wood  and  water.     "  Ye  have 
no   want  of  either  of  the  two,"  said 
Bjarni ;  for  this,  however,  he  met  with 
some  reproaches  from  the  sailors.    He 
bade  them  make  sail,  and  so  was  done ; 
they  turned  the  prow   from  the  land, 
sailing  out  into  the  open  sea  for  three 
days,  with    a   south-west   wind,  saw 
then  the  third  land  ;  and  this  land  was 
high  and  covered  with  mountains  aad 
ice-hills.     Then   asked   they  whether 
Bjarni  would  land  there,  but  he  said 
that  he  would  not :    "  for  to  me  this 
land  appears  little  inviting  !"  There- 
fore did  they  not  lower  sails,  but  held 
on  along  this  land,  and  saw  that  it 
was  an  island.    Again  turned  they  the 
stern    from   the  land,    and  sailed  out 
to  sea  with  the   same  fair  wind  ;  but 
the  breeze  freshened,  and   Bjarni  told 
them    to    shorten    sail,    and   not    sail 
faster  than  their  ship  and  ship's  geer 
could  hold  out.   They  sailed  now  four 
days,  when  they  saw  the  fourth  land. 
Then  asked    they    Bjarni  whether  he 
thought  that   this  was   Greenland,  or 
not.     Bjarni  answered  :  "  This  is  the 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


449' 


most  like  Greenland,  according  to 
what  I  have  been  told  about  it,  and 
here  will  we  steer  for  land."  So  did 
they,  and  landed  in  the  evening  un- 
der a  ness  ;  and  there  was  a  boat  by 
the  ness,  and  just  here  lived  Bjarni's 
father,  and  from  him  has  the  ness 
taken  its  name ;  and  is  since  called 
Herjiilfness.  Bjarni  now  repaired  to 
his  father's,  and  gave  up  seafaring, 
and  was  with  his  father  so  long  as 
Herjulf  lived,  and  afterwards  he  dwelt 
there  after  his  fathei'.' 

It  may  here  be  observed  parenthet- 
ically, by  those  wlio  have  given  most 
careful  study  to  these  Sagas,  with  a 
view  to  giving  a  localization  to  the 
places  named  in  them,  Herjulfness  is 
supposed  to  have  been  at,  or  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of,  what  we  now 
call  Cape  Farewell. 

As  we  shall  presently  show,  the  full 
meaning  and  importance  of  Bjarni's 
discoveries  only  appear  after  we  see 
the  results  of  a  real  exploration  of 
the  lands  which  he  barely  saw,  through 
what  he,  no  doubt,  considered  an  un- 
fortunate accident.  The  little  Norse 
world  did  not  have  long  to  wait  for 
further  information.  Posterity  is 
mainly  indebted  to  Leif  Erikson — af- 
terwards much  known  as  *  Lief  the 
Lucky' — for  making  known  what  lands 
• — and  what  sort  of  lands,  those  were 
which  had  been  seen  by  Bjarni  Her- 
julf son  ;  just  as  it  is  indebted  to  his 
father  Erik  for  having  explored  and 
colonized  the  land  previously  seen  at 
a  distance  by  Gunbjorn. 

Bjarni,  after  his  arrival  in  Green- 
land, found  himself  the  butt  of  many 
jibes  from  the  people  there,  for  having 
shown  so  little  curiosity  touching  the 
unknown  lands  which  he  had  seen 
and  of  which  he  could  yet  tell  nothing, 
except  the  bare  fact  that  he  had  seen 
them.  There  was  much  talk,  then  in 
Greenland,  about  the  matter.  At 
length,  Leif  Erikson,  with  the  deter- 
mination of  looking  farther  into  it, 
bought  Bjarni's  ship  and  engaged  a 
crew  of  thirty-five  men.  He  sought 
to   induce   his   father    Erik  to    take 


charge  of  the  expedition.  The  old 
man  at  first  declined  because  of  his 
age  and  consequent  infirmities.  Being 
at  length  over-persuaded,  he  a  second 
time  positively  refused  to  go,  in  con- 
sequence of  what  he  considered  an 
evil  omen  :  his  horse  stumbled  and 
thi-ew  him,  when  on  his  way  to  the 
shore  to  join  the  ship.  So  Lief  as- 
sumed the  command  himself,  and  set 
forth  on  his  Southern  voyage. 

They  sailed  out  into  the  sea,  and  at 
length  came  \ipon  the  land  which 
Bjarni  had  found  last.  They  cast  an- 
chor, took  boats,  and  went  ashore. 
They  saw  no  grass  ;  great  icebergs 
were  over  all,  up  the  country  ;  and 
from  the  sea  to  the  mountains,  it  was 
like  a  plain  of  flat  stones.  Then  Lief 
said  to  his  companions  :  *  We  have  not 
done  like  Bjarni  about  this  land,  that 
we  have  not  been  upon  it.  Now  will  I 
give  the  land  a  name,  and  call  it  Hel- 
LULAND.'  It  is  inferred  that  this  name 
— from  Hella,  a  flat  stone,  a  rock,  was 
given  to  the  country  which  is  now 
called  Newfoundland. 

They  again  put  out  to  sea,  and  at 
length  found  another  land,  where,  as 
before,  they  anchored  and  went  ashore. 
This  land  was  flat  and  covered  with 
woods;  and  where  they  went,  there 
was  much  white  sand  about  the  shore, 
which  was  low.  Then  said  Leif  :  'This- 
land  shall  be  named  after  its  qualities, 
and  called  Markland  (woodland),. 
Nova  Scotia.' 

Again  they  resumed  their  voyage, 
and  were  at  sea  two  days  before  they 
saw  land.  It  proved  to  be  an  island^ 
upon  which  they  landed.  From  some 
characteristics  of  this  place  which  are 
mentioned,  taken  in  connection  with 
what  follows,  the  inference  is  that  this 
island  was  Nantucket.  They  sailed 
into  a  sound  which  lay  between  the 
island  and  a  ness  (promontory)  which 
ran  out  to  the  eastward  of  the  main- 
land, and  which  is  believed  to  be  the 
passage  between  Nantucket  and  the 
peninsula  of  Barnstable.  They  then 
steered  westward.  The  water  was 
shallow,  so  much  so  that,  at  ebb  tide^ 


450 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


their  ship  used  to  bt,>  left  far  from  any 
water.  At  length  tliey  navigated  their 
ship  up  a  river  which  they  had  found, 
ancl  thence  into  a  lake  ;  and  there  they 
<;ast  anchor  and  encamped  upon  the 
shore.  From  all  this  it  is  evident 
that  they  crossed  the  mouth  of  Buz- 
zard's Bay,  into  Sea-convict  Passage, 
thence  up  Pocasset  Kiver  into  Mount 
Hope  Bay,  which  our  voyagers  natur- 
ally enough  supposed  to  be  a  lake. 
This  tracing  of  their  course  is  corro 
borated  by  the  fuller  descriptions 
given  us  in  the  accounts  of  subsequent 
voyages.  They  found  abundance  of 
salmon  in  the  lake  and  river;  and 
they  found  the  country  so  good,  and 
the  climate  so  mild,  that  they  believed 
that  cattle  could  be  kept  there  through 
the  year  without  winter  foddering. 
They  built  themselves  houses  and 
wintered  there.  During  that  season 
they  found  the  day  and  night  more 
nearly  etjual  than  in  Greenland  or  Ice- 
land. They  give  the  length  of  the 
shortest  day,  according  to  their  rude 
method  of  keeping  time  ;  and,  assum- 
ing their  computation  to  be  correct, 
the  latitude  of  the  spot  where  they 
spent  this  winter  would  be  41°  43'  10" 
N.,  which  is  about  the  latitude  of 
Mount  Hope  Bay. 

In  the  previous  autumn,  after  they 
had  got  through  with  their  house 
building,  Leif  was  in  the  habit  of 
dividing  his  men  into  two  parties,  one 
of  which  was  to  go  out  exploring ;  the 
other  to  remain  in  charge  of  the 
houses ;  he  himself  taking  turns  with 
each.  One  evening  they  found  that 
one  of  the  men  was  missing.  This 
was  a  German,  named  Tyrker.  Leif 
was  very  much  vexed  thereat  ;  for 
Tyrker,  although  low  in  stature  and 
ill-favoured,  was  not  only  an  ingenious 
and  comparatively  learned  and  skilful 
man,  but  he  had  long  been  a  faithful 
retainer  of  his  and  his  father's.  So 
Leif  took  twelve  of  his  company  and 
went  forth  to  search  for  the  lost  man. 
They  had  not  gone  far  until  they  met 
Tyrker  ;  but  obviously  the  man  was 
not  in  his  right  mind.     He  rolled  his 


eyes,  twisted  his  mouth,  and  acted  in 
a  most  extraordinary  manner.  Upon 
Leif 's  remonstrating  with  him  for  hav- 
ing left  his  party,  he  spoke  at  first 
only  in  his  mother  tongue,  German, 
having  apparently  forgotten  the  lan- 
guage he  had  more  recently  acquired. 
After  a  time  he  spoke  Norsk,  and  an- 
nounced to  them  that  he  liad  found 
vines  and  graiyes  !  '  Surely  is  it  true,' 
said  he,  '  for  I  was  bred  up  in  a  land 
where  there  is  no  want  of  either  vines 
or  grapes.' 

Whether  Tyrker's  temporary  in- 
sanity was  caused  by  the  excitement 
from  his  discovery  of  the  grapes, 
which  carried  him  back  in  imagination 
to  the  home  of  his  childhood,  or  was 
the  result  of  his  having  become  be- 
wildered in  the  forest,  it  is  difficult  to 
say.  The  narrator  of  the  incident — 
as  is  usual  in  these  Sagas — gives  no 
opinion,  but  simply  states  the  facts. 
The  mental  aberration  might  have  re- 
sulted from  either  of  the  causes  named 
— especially  in  the  case  of  one  like 
Tyrker  who,  we  are  told,  '  had  a  high 
forehead  and  unsteady  eyes.'  In- 
stances of  temporary  insanity  from 
having  been  lost  in  woods,  are  of  fre- 
quent occurrence  ;  and,  in  some  such 
cases,  the  patients  have  been  for  a  time 
quite .  unable  to  recognise  their  own 
residence,  or  the  face  of  their  most 
intimate  friends. 

This  incident  of  Tyrker  and  the 
wild  grapes  led  to  the  naming  of  the 
land.  Our  voyagers  gathered  of  the 
grapes  enough  to  fill  their  long  boat. 
During  the  winter  they  cut  down  a 
cargo  of  timber  for  their  ship  ;  *  and 
when  spring  came,  they  got  ready  and 
sailed  away  ;  and  Leif  gave  the  land 
a  name  after  its  qualities,  and  called 
it  ViNLAXD  (Vinelands),'— Massac/«^- 
setts,  Rhode  Island,  Connecticut,  &c. 

The  returning  voyagers  had  a  fair 
wind  until  they  saw  the  coast  of 
Greenland.  In  following  along  the 
coast,  they  were  enabled  to  rescue  a 
I  shipwrecked  crew  whom  they  found, 
j  with  the  remains  of  their  vessel,  upon 
an  island  rock.     There  were  fifteen  of 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


^rA 


them  in  all,  and  were  under  the  com- 
raand  of  one  Thorer,  a  Northman  like 
themselves.  Thorer  had  with  him  his 
wife  Gudrid,  whose  name  the  reader 
will  please  to  bear  in  recollection. 
They,  with  as  much  of  their  cargo  as 
could  be  saved,  were  taken  by  Leif 
home  to  Brattahlid  and  treated  with 
every  hospitality  ;  but  a  heavy  sick- 
ness fell  upon  Thorer's  ci'ew  during 
the  ensuing  winter,  which  carried  off 
Thorer  himself  and  several  of  his  men. 
Oudrid  survived.  This  winter  also 
died  Leif's  fathei',  Erik  Thorvaldson, 
or  Erik  the  Tied. 

The  foregoing  particulars  are  de- 
rived fi'om  what  is  called  the  '  Saga 
of  Erik  the  Red,'  which  was  undoubt- 
edly written  in  Greenland,  compara- 
tively near  the  scenes  of  all  the  events 
described.  There  are  some  slight  dis- 
crepancies between  it  and  other  ac- 
counts of  the  same  adventures,  be- 
lieved to  have  been  written  in  Ice- 
land— just  sufficient  to  preclude  all 
suspicion  of  collusion  ;  but,  in  all  facts 
of  any  importance,  they  substan- 
tially agree.  The  winter  which  Leif 
spent  in  Vinland — usually  thereafter 
called  '  Vinland  the  Good  '  could  not 
have  been  earlier  than  that  of  the 
veai's  995-996,  nor  later  than  that 
of  999-1000.  The  former  date  is 
most  probably  correct.  It  must  here 
be  observed  that  this  same  Leif  Erik- 
son  established  Christianity  in  Green- 
land, much  to  the  disgust  of  his  old 
conservative,  pagan,  and  now  dying 
father,  Erik.  In  two  other  Norse 
works,  from  which  we  are  about  to 
quote,  Leif's  return  from  Vinland  and 
his  rescuing  of  Thorer  and  his  ship- 
wrecked crew,  are  described  as  having 
occurred  in  the  same  year  in  which  he 
introduced  Christianity  into  Green- 
land. In  the  celebrated  '  Heims- 
kringla,'  or  History  of  the  Norwegian 
Kings,  it  is  told  : 

'  The  same  winter  (A.D.  999-1000) 
was  Leif,  the  son  of  Erik  the  lied, 
with  King  Olaf,  in  good  repute,  and 
embraced  Christianity.  But  the  sum- 
mer that  Gissur  went  to  Iceland,  King 


I   Olaf  sent  Leif  to   Greenland,  in  order 
to   make   known   Christianity   there  ; 
:    he  sailed  the  same  summer  to  Green- 
land.  He  found,  in  the  sea,  some  peo- 
j    pie  on  a  wreck,  and  helped  them  ;  the 
I    same  time  discovered  he  Vinland  the 
i    Good,  and  came  in  harvest  to  Green- 
land.     He  had  with  him  a  priest,  and 
other  clerks,  and   went    to    dwell  at 
Brattahlid  with  Erik,  his  father.  Men 
called  him  afterwards  Leif  the  Lucky  ; 
but  Erik  his  father  said,  that  these 
I    two  things  went  one  against  the  other, 
j    inasmuch  as  Leif  had  saved  the  crew 
!    of  the  ship,  but  brought  evil  men  to 
j    Greenland — namely,  the  priests.' 
I        Again,  we  find  it  thus,  in  the  Bis- 
]    tori/  of  Olaf  Tryggvason  : 

'  The  same  spring  (A.D.  1000)  sent 
j  King  Olaf,  as  is  before  related,  Gissur 
Hjelte  to  Iceland.  Then  sent  the 
I  king  also  Leif  Erikson  to  Greenland, 
to  make  known  Christianity  there. 
j  The  king  gave  him  a  priest  and  some 
I  other  holy  men,  to  baptize  the  people 
thei'e,  and  teach  them  the  true  faith. 
Leif  sailed  that  summer  to  Greenland  ; 
he  took  up  in  the  sea  the  men  of  a 
ship,  which  was  entirely  lost  and  lay 
a  complete  wreck  ,  and  on  this  same 
voyage  discovered  he  Vinland  the 
Good,  and  came  in  the  end  of  the  sum- 
mer to  Greenland,  and  went  to  live  at 
Brattahlid  with  Erik  his  father.  Peo- 
ple called  him  afterwards  Leif  the 
Lucky,  but  Erik  the  father  said  these 
two  things  went  against  each  other, 
since  Leif  had  assisted  the  crew  of  the 
ship,  and  saved  them  from  death,  and 
that  he  had  brought  injurious  men  (so 
called  he  the  priests)  to  Greenland  ; 
but  still,  after  the  counsel  and  insti- 
gation of  Leif,  Erik  was  baptized,  and 
all  the  i^eople  in  Greenland.' 

Notwithstanding  these  versions,  the 
probabilities  are,  that  it  was  in  the 
summer  of  996  that  Leif  returned  from 
Vinland  ;  that  he  afterwards  made  a 
trip  to  Norway  ;  and  that,  on  his  re- 
turn to  Greenland,  in  the  spring  of 
1000,  he  found  and  rescued  Thorer  and 
his  crew.  Indeed,  there  is  little  room 
for  doubt  as  to  when  the  Vinland  voy- 


452 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


age  was  made,  oi*  as  to  when  Cbrist- 
i  initj  was  introduced  into  Greenland  ; 
but  the  less  important  incident  rela- 
tive to  the  shipwrecked  Thorer  has 
got  confusedly  mixed  up  in  the  written 
accounts  of  the  two  more  momentous 
events.  Again,  in  another  part  of  the 
Saga  of  Erik  the  Bed,  we  are  told  that 
he  (Erik)  died  before  Christianity  was 
introduced  into  Greenland  ;  and  upon 
such  points  as  this  and  of  Leif's  voy- 
ages, that  Saga,  being  the  oldest  that 
we  have  relating  to  such  matters,  and 
having  been  written  in  Greenland,  is 
more  likely  to  be  reliable  where  it 
differs  from  those  written  at  Iceland 
and  at  a  later  period. 

Besides  Leif,  his  heir,  Erik  the  Red 
left  two  other  sons,  Thorvald  and 
Thorstein.  As  might  have  been  sup- 
posed, there  was  much  talk  of  Leif's 
voyage  to  Vinland  ;  and  his  brother, 
Thorvald,  thought  that  the  land  had 
been  much  too  little  explored.  So  Leif 
offered  Thorvald  the  use  of  his  ship, 
to  go  and  visit  Vinland  himself.  Then 
Thorvald  took  counsel  with  his  bro- 
ther Leif,  fitted  up  his  ship,  engaged 
a  crew  of  thirty  men,  and  put  to  sea. 
Nothing  is  told  us  of  the  voyage  until 
they  arrived  sufely  at  Leif's  booths,  in 
Vinland.  This  must  have  been  in  the 
summer  or  autumn  of  1002.  They 
lay  up  their  ship  in  Mount  Hope  Bay, 
and  passed  a  pleasant  winter,  catching 
great  quantities  of  fish  for  their  sup- 
port. In  the  spring,  Thorvald  direct- 
ed that,  whilst  they  were  getting  their 
ships  into  order,  a  part  of  the  crew 
should  take  the  ship's  long  boat  and, 
coasting  westward,  explore  during  the 
summer.  These  explorers  on  their  re- 
turn re))orted  that  the  land  appeared 
fair  and  woody  ;  that  there  was  but  a 
short  distance  of  white  sands  between 
the  woods  and  the  sea ;  and  that  they 
found  many  islands  and  much  shallow 
water.  They  found  neither  dwellings 
of  men,  or  beast,  nor  any  seeming 
work  of  men,  excej)t  in  one  instance, 
where,  upon  an  island,  they  found 
what  they  called  'a  corn-shed  of  wood.' 
We  need  not  dwell   upon   the  appro- 


priateness of  their  description  to  the 
western  shores  of  what  is  now  the 
State  of  Rhode  Island.  This  party  re- 
turned ;  another  winter  was  spent  at 
Mount  Hope  Bay,  or  its  vicinity  ; 
and,  in  the  following  spring  (A.D. 
1004)  Thorvald  went  with  his  ship, 
and  doubtless  with  his  whole  crevr, '  ta 
the  eastward,  and  round  the  land  to 
the  northward.'  They  encountered  a 
violent  storm  when  off  a  ness,  were 
driven  ashore,  and  the  keel  was  bro- 
ken off  their  ship.  They  remained 
there  a  long  time  to  repair  their  ship. 
'  Then  said  Thorvald  to  his  compan- 
ions :  "  Now  will  I  that  we  fix  u|)  the 
keel  here  upon  the  ness,  and  call  it 
Kjalarness  (Keelness,  Keel  Cape,  or 
Point),"  and  so  did  they.'  There 
seems  every  reason  to  believe  that 
Keelness  is  what  is  now  known  as 
Cape  Cod. 

After  having  got  their  ship  re- 
paired, they  continued  to  sail  around 
the  eastern  shore  and  into  the  mouths 
of  the  friths  which  they  there  found, 
until  they  reached  a  })oint  of  land 
which  was  all  covered  with  wood. 
Here  they  landed,  and  Thorvald,  with 
all  his  companions,  went  some  little 
distance  into  the  country.  Thorvald 
was  delighted  therewith,  and  said  : 
'  Here  is  beautiful,  and  here  would  I 
like  to  raise  my  dwelling.'  This  is 
supposed  to  have  been  Point  Alder- 
ton,  or  possibly  Gannet  Cape,  oft*  the 
mouth  of  Plymouth  Harbour.  On 
their  return  to  the  ship,  they  saw 
upon  the  sands  within  the  Cape  three 
elevations  which,  on  examination, 
proved  to  be  three  *  skin  boats  ' 
(canoes),  having  each  three  m^n  under 
it.  They  separated,  surrounded  the 
canoes,  and  caught  all  the  men  who 
wei-e  lying  under  them,  except  one, 
who  made  his  escape.  The  men  thus 
seized,  they  called  '  Skrcelings  '  (Skrcel- 
ingar).  What  immediately  ensued  was 
emphatically  characteristic  of  these 
Northmen ;  not  of  them  alone,  but — 
perhaps  at  least — of  all  the  Gothic 
race  and  their  descendants — possibly 
of  all  the  human  race ;  that  is,  the  in- 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


453 


nate  propensity  to  kill,  for  the  sole 
purpose,  and  through  the  unreasoning 
<3esire,  of  mere  killing.  Thorvald  and 
his  companions,  without  any  ado,  killed 
these  Skrcelings  then  and  there — killed 
them  just  as  they  would  have  killed 
■eight  Norway  rats. 

This  needless  slaughtering  of  the 
Aborigines  quickly  brought  its  retri- 
bution. When  the  Northmen  went 
on  board  ship  they  saw,  for  the  first 
time,  in  the  inside  of  the  frith,  a  num- 
ber of  heights  or  protuberances,  which 
they  supposed  might  be  human  dwel- 
lings. They  were  doubtless  Indian 
wigwams,  just  thrown  up.  After  their 
exertions  on  shore,  the  whole  ship's 
crew  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  They  were 
awakened  by  loud  shouts,  and  saw 
an  innumerable  crowd  of  canoes  rush- 
ing towards  them  from  the  interior  of 
the  frith.  Thorvald  gave  orders  to 
'  put  out  the  battle-skreen  ' — a  sort  of 
wooden  bulkhead  or  shield,  run  up 
from  the  bulwarks — and  to  defend 
themselves  as  well  as  they  could,  but 
to  '  fight  little  against  them.'  This  was 
done,  and  the  Skroelings,  after  they 
had  given  them  a  shower  of  arrows, 
took  to  flight.  It  was  then  found, 
upon  inquiry,  that  Thorvald  alone  was 
wounded,  an  arrow  having  passed  be- 
tween the  edge  of  the  ship  and  the 
shield,  and  pierced  him  under  the  arm. 
Thorvald,  from  the  first,  believed  the 
wound  to  be  mortal,  and  so  it  proved. 
He  ordered  his  men  to  get  ready  in- 
stantly to  depart ;  '  but,'  said  he,  '  ye 
shall  bear  me  to  that  cape  where  I 
thought  it  best  to  dwell  ;  it  may  be 
that  a  true  word  fell  from  my  mouth, 
that  I  should  dwell  there  for  a  time  ; 
there  shall  ye  bury  me,  and  set  up 
crosses  at  my  head  and  feet,  and  call 
the  place  Krossaness  for  ever,  in  all 
time  to  come.*  The  Saga  here  adds  : 
*  Gi'eenland  was  then  Christianized, 
but  Erik  the  Eed  died  before  Chris- 
tianity was  introduced.'  Thorvald 
died,  but  all  things  were  done  accord- 
ing to  his  directions.  His  people  re- 
mained there  for  the  winter.  They 
gathered  grapes  and  vines  ;  they  load- 


ed their  ship,  and  in  the  spring  (A.D. 
1005),  they  returned  to  Eriksfjord,  in 
Greenland,  'and  could  now  tell  great 
things  to  Leif.' 

We  must  here  make  a  remai-k  about 
these  Skroilings,  who  have  just  ap- 
peared for  the  first  time.  Some  peo- 
ple have  most  strangely  thought  pro- 
per to  assume  that  they  were  Eskimos, 
or  Usquimcmx,  as  the  name  is  often 
and  improperly  written.  We  can  see 
no  I'easonable  ground  whatever  for  so 
wild  a  conjecture.  We  have  no  grounds 
for  belief  that  ever  the  Eskimos  lived 
as  far  south  as  Massachusetts  ;  or  that 
they  ever,  at  any  time,  wandered  far- 
ther south  than  the  northern  part  of 
Newfoundland,  if  even  so  far.  It  is  a 
far  fetched  derivation  that  of  deriving 
Skrcelinger  from  Sminlingar  (diminu- 
tive men)  in  order  to  make  it  applica- 
ble to  the  Eskimos.  It  is  obviously 
derived  from  Skroela,  to  make  dry,  in 
allusion  to  the  smoky,  singed-wood 
colour  of  the  complexions  of  those 
savages.  Or  it  may  be  derived  from 
Sknekja,  to  cry  out,  to  '  screech,'  in 
consequence  of  the  loud  shouts,  or 
whooping,  with  which  they  rushed 
into  battle.  Either  characteristic 
would  sufiiciently  denote  aborigines  of 
the  same  races  which  still  inhabited 
Vinland  and  Markland,  when  those 
countries  were  first  visited  by  Euro- 
peans of  the  post-Columbian  period  ; 
and  there  is  no  need  of  dragging  down 
the  Eskimos  from  the  remote  polar 
regions  to  answer  to  the  description. 
It  is,  indeed,  rumoured  that,  on  the 
arrival  of  the  first  of  these  later  navi- 
gatorS;  they  heard  from  the  natives 
about  Mount  Hope  Bay  a  tradition 
that  once,  in  the  far  past,  certain 
white  men  had  brought  a  floating 
house  up  the  Pocasset  Ptiver,  and  had 
for  a  time  dwelt  in  that  vicinity.  In 
another  Saga  we  are  told  that  '  these 
people — the  Skrcelings — were  dark, 
and  ill-favoured,  and  had  coarse  hair 
on  the  head  ;  they  had  large  eyes  and 
broad  cheeks,'  all  of  which  is  descrip- 
tive of  those  whom  we  know  as  the 
ordinary    North    American    Indians. 


454- 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


Had  they  been  of  such  diminutive  sta- 
ture as  the  Eskimos,  we  may  be  as- 
sured that  the  Northmen  would  have 
told  us  of  so  notable  a  fact.  It  may 
be  observed  that  the  Indian  birch- 
bark  canoes  might  easily  have  been  at 
first  mistaken  by  the  Northerners  for 
skin-cuvered  boats,  such  as  they  might 
have  seen  in  some  parts  of  Europe, 
and  such  as  the  Eskimos  really  did  use. 
Meantime  it  had  happened,  in 
Greenland  that  Thorstein  —  Leif  's 
youngest  brother  and  the  third  son  of 
Erik  ths  Red — had  married  Gudrid, 
ofwhom  we  have  already  heard,  widow 
of  Thorer  whom  Leif  had  rescued 
from  shipwreck.  Gudrid  is  described 
as  a  woman  of  superior  character  and 
attainments.  This  Thorstein  Erikson 
had  now  conceived  the  desire  to  go  to 
Vinland  in  his  turn,  avowedly  to 
bring  home  the  body  of  his  deceased 
brother  Thorvald.  He  fitted  out  the 
same  ship  which  had  just  returned 
from  there,  chose  a  crew  of  twenty- 
five  stout  and  strong  men,  and,  taking 
with  him  his  wife  Gudrid,  put  forth 
to  sea.  It  seems  that  neither  of  Leif's 
brothers  were  to  acquire,  like  himself, 
the  surname  of  '  the  Lucky.'  This 
Thorstein  was  driven  about  in  the  sea, 
all  that  summer  (A.  D.  1005),  with- 
out knowing  where  he  was.  At  length, 
late  in  October,  he  made  land  in  Ly- 
sefjord,  still  on  the  western  coast  of 
Greenland.  We  may  briefly  state  that 
he  was  here  hospitably  entertained  by 
a  namesake,  calling  himself  Thorstein 
the  Black  ;  that,  during  the  winter, 
a  severe  illness  fell  upon  Thorstein 
Erikson's  people,  of  which  many  of 
them  died ;  that  Thorstein  Erikson 
himself  and  Grimhild,  the  other  Thors- 
tein's  wife,  were  also  seized  and  event- 
ually succumbed  to  the  disease  ;  and 
that,  in  the  following  spring  (1006), 
Thorstein  the  host,  in  strict  accord- 
ance with  his  promises  to  Gudrid, 
took  that  now  twice  widowed  lady 
back  to  Eriksfjord.  Gudrid  repaired 
thence  to  Brattahlid,  which  was  now, 
since  the  death  of  his  father,  the  resi- 
dence of  Leif  the  Lucky. 


So  far,  the  Saga  which  tells  of  the 
voyages  and  adventures  of  Erik  the 
Red  and  his  sons.  Turn  we  now,  for 
a  time,  to  the  later  Saga  of  TJtorjinn 
Karhefne,  which  gives  us  some  addi- 
tional information  touching  the  adven- 
tures of  the  Northmen,  Vinland, 
Markland,  and  Greenland. 

It  appears  that  Karhefne,  the  sur- 
name which  had  been  popularly  con- 
ferred upon  Thorfinn,  means  *  destined 
to  be  great.'  His  genealogy  is  given 
to  us  for  many  generations  back.  He 
himself  is  described  as  an  able  seaman 
and  merchant.  One  summer,  Karls- 
efne — then  in  Iceland — and  a  friend 
of  his  fitted  out  their  two  ships  for  a 
voyage  to  Greenland,  at  which  place 
they  arrived  in  the  autuum,  as  is  bs- 
lieveil,  of  lOOG.  This  was  the  autumn 
of  the  same  year  in  the  spring  of 
which  the  widowed  Gudrid  had  re- 
turned to  the  home  of  her  brother  in- 
law, Leif.  We  need  not  tell  how  Leif 
rode  to  Eriksfjord  to  meet  and  trade 
with  the  new  arrivals  ;  nor  go  into 
the  particulars  of  how  he  invited  them 
to  Brattahlid  ;  and  how  the  Y"ule  feast 
was  eaten  and  the  winter  passed  under 
Leif's  hospitable  roof.  We  will  only 
say  that  after  the  Yule  feast  was  cele- 
brated with  pomp  previously  unheard 
of,  in  Greenland,  Karlsefne  intimated 
to  Lief  that  he  found  himself  smitten 
with  the  attractions  of  the  widow 
Gudrid  ;  that  he  wished  to  marry  her 
and  therefoi-e  applied  to  him  as  one 
who,  '  it  seemed  to  him,  must  have  the 
power  in  the  matter.'  Leif  answered 
favoui-ably,  but  referred  Thorfinn  to 
the  lady  herself  ;  and  it  ended  so  that 
Thorhnn  married  Gudrid  ;  and  then 
the  Yule  feast  was  extended  into  a 
marriage  feast,  and  such  a  great  and 
merry  time  was  never  before  seen  in 
Greenland. 

At  Brattahlid,  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  talk,  those  times,  about  Vin- 
land the  Good  ;  and  there  seemed  to 
be  a  general  opinion  that  it  should  be 
further  explored,  and  that  a  voyage 
thither  would  be  particularly  profit- 
able, by  reason  of  the  fertility  of  the 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


land.  This  went  so  far  that  Karlsefne 
and  those  who  had  voyaged  from  Ice- 
land in  company  with  them,  made 
their  preparations  to  set  sail  for  Vin- 
land  in  the  spring.  They  fitted  out 
the  two  ships  that  they  had  brought 
with  them  from  Iceland,  and  at  least 
one  other,  and  took  with  them  one 
hundred  and  sixty  men  in  all.  In  the 
ship  with  Thorfinn  Karlsefne,  were 
Gudrid  his  wife,  and  his  friend  Snorri 
Thorbrandson.  In  another  shij)  were 
Bjai-ni  Griuiolfson  and  Thorhall  Gam- 
lason,  the  owners  ;  in  a  third  were 
Thorvard,  who  had  married  Freydis, 
a  natural  daughter  of  Erik  the  E.eJ, 
and  another  Thorall,  called  the  hunter, 
an  old  servant  of  Erik's.  This  set- 
ting forth  of  the  Thorfinn  Karlsefne 
expedition,  is  believed  to  have  taken 
place  A.  D.  1 007. 

The  members  of  this  expedition  fol- 
lowed the  now  accustomed  course. 
They  found  in  succession,  and  identi- 
fied, and  further  explored,  Helluland 
and  Markhmd.  They  found  that  the 
dense  woods  of  the  latter  abounded 
with  wild  beasts  ;  and  upon  an  island, 
off  that  coast  they  killed  a  bear.  In 
due  time  they  arrived  at  Kjalarness, 
and  there  found  Thorvald's  keel  still 
standing.  They  then  i-an  south,  by 
the  beach  which  stretches  along  the 
whole  eastern  shore  of  Cape  Cod  pen- 
insula, to  which  they  gave  the  name 
of  Fu7'd'ustrandir  (wonderfiil  beach). 
Then  coasting  westward  for  a  time, 
they  ran  their  ships  into  a  cove. 
There  were  in  the  ship  with  Karlsefne 
two  Scotch  bodies — a  man  and  a  wo- 
man— whom  King  Olaf  Tryggvason 
had,  in  time  past,  given  to  Leif  Erik- 
son.  They  were  remarkably  swift  of 
foot — '  they  were  swifter  than  beasts  ;' 
and  Thorfinn  now  set  them  on  shore 
and  bade  them  '  run  to  the  southward 
of  the  land,  and  explore  its  qualities, 
and  come  back  again  within  three 
days.'  They  did  so,  and  at  the  ap- 
pointed time  returned,  one  of  them 
having  in  hand  a  '  bunch  of  grapes, 
and  the  other,  a  new  sown  ear  of 
So  these  Northmen  call  it; 


but  it  is  presumed  to  have  been  an 

ear  of    maize,   often    called    '  Indian 

wheat'  by  the  early  European  visitors, 

of  a  later  date,  to  these  parts.     These 

messenger  doves  were  received  again 

on  board  their  ark,  which  then  sailed 

farther   westward,    and    into    a   fritlt 

having  an    island    before  it,   around 

I    which    there    weie    strong    currents. 

I   They    called    the    inlet    Straimijjord 

!   (Stream  Frith),  and  the  island  Strau- 

I    mey  (Stream    Island).     The  island  is 

i    supposed  to  be    Martha's    Vineyard, 

v/hich  may  then  have  been  one  with 

I    Nantucket ;  and   the  inlet,    Buzzard's 

Bay. 

They  found  the  shores  of  this  frith 
very   beautiful  ;    and    they   unloaded 
their  cargoes  and   prepared  to  remain 
there.     '  They  had  with  them  all  sorts 
of   cattle.'     '  They  undertook  nothing 
but  to    explore   the    land,'  in    conse- 
quence of  which  '  they  were  there  for 
the  winter  without  having    provided 
food  beforehand. '  The  result  of  such  im- 
i    providence — extraordinary  in   North- 
I    men — was  what  might  ha\e  been  ex- 
j   pected.     They  suffered    much  during 
the   winter  through  lack   of    suitable 
food.     At  one   time,  they  all  became 
ill  through  eating  of  a  whale  that  had 
become  stranded  in  their  neighbour- 
hood.     But    afterwards  they    learned 
I    to  catch   wild  animals  for  food  ;  and 
[    as   the  weather  improved,    they  were 
I    enabled  to  go  out  fishing  successfully, 
I   and,  with   returning  spring   they  col- 
I    lected  great  quantities  of  eggs  of  wild 
I   fowl,    on    the    island.       So  they    got 
I   through   their  severe  ordeal,  without 
any  decrease  of  number.      Nay,  they 
did  better  than  that,  as  we  shall  see. 
The  event  to  be  noted  demands  a  new 
paragraph. 

Some  time  in  the  autumn  of  this 
their  first  year  in  Vinland  (A.  I). 
1007),  Gudrid  bore  to  her  husband 
Thornfinn  Karlsefne  a  son.  That  son 
was  named  Snorri.  At  the  present 
day,  there  is  a  host  of  people  through 
the  three  kingdoms  of  Scandina- 
via, comprising  noblemen,  states- 
men,   prelates,    and   many  men  who 


456 


MAY. 


have  become  eminent  in  literature, 
jurisprudence,  arms,  and  art,  as  there 
has  been  through  the  long  intervening 
past,  who  claim  direct  descent  from 
this  Snorri,  the  Vinland-born  son  of 
Thorfinn  Karlsefne  and  his  wife  Gu- 
drid.  The  succession  is  clearly  traced 
out  in  their  several  genealogical  charts, 
without  any  missing  links  whatever. 
Thus,  for  instance,  Bertel  Thorvald- 
son,  the  world-famous  sculptor,  and 
Finn  Magnusson,  the  scarcely  less 
famous  Northern  antiquarian  and 
Runic  scholar — both  of  them  not  long 
since  deceased — are  each  lineally  de- 
scended, in  the  twenty-fourth  degree, 
fi-om  Snorri  Tborfinnson,  born  in 
1007, in  Vinland — that  is,  some  where 
about  the  sea-side  borders  of  the  pre- 
sent States  of  Massachusetts  andKhode 
Island. 

In  the  spring  of  1008,  it  appears 
that  a  difference  of  opinion  occurred 
between  Karlsefne  and  Thorhall  the 
Hunter.  The  latter  wished  to  explore 
by  going  northward  and  along  the 
Furdustrands  ;  the  former  was  desir- 
ous of  going  southwards  and  westwards 
along  the  coast,  Thorhall  made  his 
his  preparations  ;  only  nine  of  the 
whole  company  determined  to  go  with 
him,  all  the  rest  remaining  with 
Karlsefne.  This  Thorhall  seems  to 
have  been  a  scarcely  disguised  pagan 
in  his  religious  views,  and  somewhat 
of  a  heretic  about  the  virtues  of  Vin- 
land. When  all  ready  for  a  start,  he 
carried  water   on  board  of  his  ship, 


drank  of  it  before  all  hands,  and  then 
sang  a  song,  which  is  thus  translated  : 

'  People  told  me,  when  I  came 
Hither,  all  would  be  so  fine  ; 
The  good  Vinland,  known  to  fame, 
Rich  in  fruits  and  choicest  wine; 
Now  the  water-pail  they  send ; 
To  the  fountain  I  must  bend, 
Nor  from  out  this  land  divine 
Have  I  quaffed  one  drop  of  wine.' 

Then,  when  he  had  hoisted  sail,  he 
continued  his  satirical  song.  It  is  said 
by  Norse  critics  that,  in  the  original, 
these  songs  bear  the  certain  stamp  of 
the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries. 
Thus  Thorhall  chaunted  : 

'  Let  our  trusty  band 
Haste  to  Fatherland ; 
Let  our  vessel  brave 
Plough  the  angry  wave, 
While  those  few  who  love 
Vinland,  here  may  roye, 
Or,  with  idle  toil, 
Fetid  whales  may  boil, 
Hei-e  on  Furdustrand, 
Far  from  Fatherland.' 

Thorhall  and  his  little  crew  sailed 
away  to  the  northwards,  past  Furdu- 
sti-and,  past  Kjalarness,  and  then 
sought  to  cruise  to  the  westward  ; 
but  there  arose  a  strong  west  wind, 
which  drove  them  irresistibly  before 
it,  out  into  the  ocean.  Their  fate  is 
uncertain  j  but  it  was  afterwards  re- 
ported by  travelling  merchants  that 
they  were  driven,  or  made  their  way 
over  to  Iceland,  where  they  were  seized 
and  made  slaves. 

(To  he  continued.) 


MAY. 


BY    KATE   SEYMOUR   MACLEAN,    KINGSTON. 


IN  this,  the  house  of  dolour  where  I  dwell. 
High  up  among  green  boughs  and  sycamores. 
The  thrush  sings  matins  at  our  chamber  doors, 
And  the  shy  oriole  weaves  her  curious  cell, 


MAY. 

An  airy,  pendulous  boat  that  needs  not  oars, 
Safe  anchored  to  the  elm,  whose  toss  and  swell 
Of  billowy  leafage  rocks  her  callow  brood 
Almost  within  my  reach,  at  the  high  flood- 
Tide  of  the  upper  deep,  whose  ebb  and  flow- 
Sways  past  me  in  this  dolorous  house  of  woe. 

In  this  my  house  of  dolour  shines  the  sun 

In  long  gold  lines,  through  stately  windows  tall, 
That  trace  fine  arabesques  on  frieze  and  wall, 

A  shadow  dance  of  leaves  :  quick  rainbows  run, 
And  fade,  and  re-appear  with  the  bright  fall 

Of  twinkling  waters  in  their  fount  of  stone. 

Reed-like  and  shrill  I  hear  the  blackbird's  note, 
Mixed  with  the  hum  of  insects,  and  the  float 
Of  the  long  waves  upon  the  summer  shore. 
That  seem  to  breathe  of  peace  for  evermore. 

Yet  in  this  house  of  dolour  where  I  dwell. 

Though  I  behold  no  faces  of  despair, 

Nor  tossing  arms,  nor  long  dishevelled  hair, 
Nor  the  sad  hollow  eyes  with  grief  acquainted  well, — 

Yet  in  the  darkness,  on  the  still  gray  air, 
Shaped  of  mere  sound  alone,  my  thoughts  compel 

The  embodied  forms  of  groans,  and  sighs,  and  tears. 

And  the  weird  laughter  shuddering  midnight  hears  ; 

Each  takes  some  shadowy  shape,  and  tells  again 

The  story  of  immedicable  pain. 

One  gentle  spirit  through  the  livelong  night 
Sings  to  a  spectral  babe  soft  lullabies. 
That  rests  not,  nor  will  cease  its  piteous  cries  ; 

And  one,  distraught  with  fear,  shrieks  out  for  light. 
And  listens,  hushed,  with  wild  and  starting  eyes  ; 

And  one  with  crouching  head  veils  from  her  sight 
Some  unimagined  shape  with  her  poor  hands  ; 
And  one,  like  a  lost  soul  in  desert  lands, 
Roams  weeping  up  and  down  her  narrow  cell, 
In  this,  the  house  of  dolour  where  I  dwell. 

But  most  of  all  the  laughter  of  the  mad 

More  dreadful  is  than  any  tortured  cry 
Wrung  out  from  suffering  to  the  unheeding  sky 

That  answers  not,  nor  hears  :  my  soul  is  sad 

For  them  with  unvoiced  pity.     Still  goes  by 

The  year's  bright  pageant,  yet  I  am  not  glad, 
Though  all  the  world  is  beautiful  with  May, 
And  bright  with  sunlight,  and  with  blossoms  gay  : 
There  are  no  wreaths  for  us  but  Asphodel 
In  this  sad  house  of  dolour  where  1  dwell. 


457 


458 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


BY    '  ESPERANCE,     YORKVILLE. 


CHAPTER  111.— {Continued.) 

ONE  day  a  letter  came  from  Regi- 
nald. '  I  am  coming  home,  mo- 
ther,' he  wrote  ;  'I  have  not  been  feel- 
ing very  well  ;  don't  be  alarmed,  it  is 
nothing  serious,  only  a  headache.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  think  I  have  worked 
at  my  books  too  hard  lately.  I  have 
worn  myself  out.  The  doctor  says  I 
need  rest,  so  1  am  coming  home  to 
get  it.  I  shall  stai-t  on  Wednesday, 
by  the  morning  train.     Tell  Elsie.' 

Of  course  Mrs.  Ellerslie  was  greatly 
excited  and  alarmed,  despite  her  son's 
injunctions  ;  and  she  counted  the 
hours  until  Reginald  should  come ! 
And  the  hours  went  swiftly  enough. 
One  dark  cloudy  night,  when  all  good 
citizens  were  comfortably  sleeping, 
and  only  the  stars  and  moon  looked 
down  upon  the  winter  world,  soft 
white  flakes  of  snow  drifted  lazily 
down,  gradually  increasing  in  number 
and  rapidity  of  descent  until,  when 
morning  broke,  hill  and  dale,  lawn 
and  meadow,  were  all  alike  clothed  in 
one  unbroken  spotless  robe  of  white, 
covering  np  the  dingy  housetops  and 
the  muddy  highway  ;  resting  on  the 
shivering  trees  to  shield  them  from 
the  cold  ;  finding  lodging-place  even 
on  the  narrow  window-sills,  so  that 
when  Elsie  awoke  the  first  thing  she 
did  was,  to  cross  to  the  window  to  as- 
certain the  meaning  of  their  presence 
there. 

'  O  what  a  white,  white  world  ! ' 
she  thought ;  and  then  she  let  her 
clasped  hands  fall  down  before  her, — 
their  usual  way  when  Elsie  was  think- 
ing— and  stood  and  looked  out  upon 
the  scene.     There  was  no  joy  or  glad- 


ness in  the  girl's  face  as  she  stood 
there.  The  sun  shone  and  sparkled 
on  the  new-fallen  snow,  but  there  was- 
no  answering  joy  in  Elsie's  heart  to 
harmonize  with  the  spirit  of  the 
scene.  Already  the  tinkle  of  jingling 
bells  told  of  pleasure-seekers  and  busy 
workers,  abroad  in  sleighs  and  cutters^ 
both,  no  doubt,  rejoicing  in  the  new 
phaseof  affairs.  Even  as  Elsie  watched, 
a  double  sleigh  dashed  past,  crowded 
with  merry  children  and  little  less 
merry  parents,  ofi"  for  the  first  sleigh- 
ride,  their  happy  laughter  ringing 
above  the  tinkling  of  the  bells,  and 
striking  Elsie  with  a  keen  sense  of 
discord  with  her  own  sad  feelings. 
And  yet  Reginald  was  coming  home 
to-day  !  Reginald,  to  whom  she  had 
promised  her  hand,  with  whom  she 
was  to  spend  her  whole  future  life  as 
long  as  God  spared  them  both  !  Regi- 
nald was  coming  home,  and  yet  Elsie, 
his  promised  wife,  was  sad  and  weary 
of  heart.  Why  was  this  1  On  this 
very  day,  one  year  ago,  she  had  put 
away  from  her,  angrily  and  scornfully 
cast  from  her,  the  greatest  happiness 
she  had  ever  known.  Cast  it  from 
her  and  left  her  heart  O  so  void,  so 
empty  !  filled  with  a  bitter,  angry 
pain.  Perhaps  the  pain  had  grown 
weaker — perhaps  so — but  it  seemed  to 
Elsie  that  it  had  only  grown  deeper 
and  more  firmly  rooted,  and  there- 
fore, like  all  such  sorrows,  it  became 
quieter  and  less  demonstrative,  She 
had  ceased  to  battle  with  fate  now. 
*  It  was  no  use,'  she  thought,  'her  life 
was  allotted  'thus,  to  be  one  of  secret 
pain  and  loneliness.  The  whole  great 
burden  of  her  darkened  life  would 
never  be  less  hard  to  bear  than  it  was. 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


459 


now  ! '  Some  hearts  are  fashioned  so. 
Their  wounds  lie  not  on  the  surface, 
but  so  deep  down  that  not  even  time, 
that  Methuselah  of  physicians,  can 
work  a  cure  upon  them.  Too  deep 
for  affectation,  too  sacred  for  display, 
they  are  zealously  guarded  and  con- 
cealed that  the  world  may  know  no- 
thing of  them.  O  how  little  do  any 
of  us  know  of  the  trial  and  trouble, 
pain  and  poverty,  death  and  desola- 
tion that  darkens  this  globe  on  which 
we  live  !  Elsie  turned  from  the  win- 
dow and  hastily  dressed,  for  the  first 
bell  had  rung.  After  breakfast  she 
went  up  to  Reginald's  room  to  make 
it  ready  for  his  coming.  The  picture 
still  hung  over  the  mantelpiece,  yet 
Elsie  did  not  even  glance  at  it,  but 
resolutely  kept  her  face  turned  from  it. 
'  I  must  not  do  it  ! '  she  said  to 
herself.  '  I  have  ple'dged  my  hand  to 
another,  and  it  is  very  wrong  to  let 
my  thoughtsplay  traitor  ;  even  though, 
since  he  cannot  be  anything  to  me 
now,  I  had  rather,  O  how  much 
rather,  remain  free  for  life  than  give  to 
another  what  I  would  not  give  to 
him  !  Yet  I  have  pledged  my  word 
and  I  cannot  drawback  now,  so  I  must 
not  do  it  ! '  She  hastened  from  one 
thing  to  another,  more  hurriedly  than 
was  at  all  necessary,  it  may  be, — per- 
haps it  was  in  order  to  escape  as  soon 
as  possible  from  temptation's  power  ! 
Whatever  the  reason  of  her  haste,  her 
task  was  soon  done ;  the  crimson  cur- 
tains were  rightly  draped,  the  vase 
upon  the  table  was  filled  with  flowers 
gathered  from  the  dining-room  stand, 
and  then  Elsie  went  down  to  order  a 
fire  in  '  Mr.  Reginald's'  room.  '  For,' 
she  said,  'He  will  be  here  at  noon, 
Jane. '  But  noon  passed  by,  the"  short 
winter  afternoon  waned,  and  not  till 
evening,  just  as  Elsie  had  almost 
decided  to  desert  her  post  at  the  win- 
dow, where  she  had  been  watching  for 
the  last  half  hour  in  the  twilight — not 
till  then  did  Reginald  come.  The 
sound  of  wheels  upon  the  avenue 
awakened  Elsie  from  a  reverie  into 
which  she  had  fallen,  and  almost  im- 


mediately a  cab  drove  up  to  the  front 
door  and  Reginald  sprang  from  it. 
Elsie  saw  him  give  some  direction  to 
the  driver  and  then  he  ran  up  the 
steps,  but  before  she  could  meet  him 
at  the  door  he  had  entei-ed  the  room, 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her,  saying,  as  he  released  her  : 

*  There  !  that's  to  vent  all  my  joy 
at  being  home  three  weeks  earlier 
than  I  expected.  Now  it's  your  turn  ! 
Give  me  a  welcome,  Elsie  mine! ' 

'  Two,  if  you  want  them,'  answered 
Elsie,  surprised  into  a  laugh.  '  Have 
I  not  been  watching  this  last  half  hour 
for  you,  and  expecting  you  ever  since 
noon  1  Do  you  think  such  tardiness 
deserves  a  welcome  ? ' 

'  1  could  not  leave  this  morning,  and 
to  night's  train  was  an  hour  late.  Now 
am  I  forgiven  1  Ah,  yes,  Jane  ! '  he 
cried,  as  he  heard  his  name  pronounced 
at  the  door,  '  tell  him  to  take  them  up 
to  my  room  ;  you  show  him  the  way. 
Now,  Elsie,  1  will  relieve  myself  of 
this  conglomeration  of  wraps,  and  then 
— up  with  the  gas,  and  blessings  on 
the  jolly  hearth  fires,  for  there's  noth- 
ing like  them  I ' 

They  were  a  merry  party  that  even- 
ing !  Even  Elsie  felt  happier  and 
lighter-hearted  as  she  answered  Regi- 
nald's jokes,  and  joined  in  with  his 
careless  laughter.  Reginald  was  truly 
much  paler  and  thinner  than  when  he 
went  away,  and  there  was  just  a  vague 
weariness  in  his  eyes  that  made  his 
mother  more  than  ever  anxious  about 
his  comfort. 

'  He  needs  attention,  poor  boy,'  she 
said  ;  '  we'll  nurse  him  well  between 
us,  won't  we,  Elsie  1 ' 

And  Reginald,  very  happy  in  hav- 
ing two  such  nurses,  laughed,  as  he 
leaned  back  in  his  cozy,  cushioned 
chair,  drawn  right  up  to  the  blazing 
hearth,  and  thought,  that,  of  all  the 
homes  he  had  ever  been  into,  there 
was  not  another  as  cozy,  and  altoge- 
ther perfect,  as  his  own  ;  nor  did  he 
think  the  world  could  provide  two 
more  such  women  as  his  mother  and 
his  cousin  Elsie. 


460 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


So  the  evening  passed  on  and  bed- 
time came,  Mrs.  Eilerslie  had  retired 
for  the  night,  and  the  doctor  was  hap- 
pily snoring  in  his  chair.  Deep  silence 
had  fallen  over  the  two  remaining 
wide-awakes,  but  at  last  Reginald 
said,  'a  penny  for  your  thoughts,  if 
they  are  lor  sale  ! ' 

But  they  are  not !  And  they  were 
not  about  you,  sir,  I  assure  you  ! '  an- 
swered Elsie,  saucily. 

'  Oh,  what  a  snub  !  '  exclaimed  Re- 
ginald, laughing,  '  and  so  you  won't 
tell  me  what  they  were  about  1 ' 

'  No,'  answered  Elsie,  '  I  will  not, 
Wr.  Inquisitive.' 

'  Well,  suppose  I  ask  you  another 
question  1  Look  up,  Elsie  !'  he  said,  as, 
rising,  he  came  and  stood  befoi'e  her 
and  caught  both  her  hands  in  his. 
'  Do  you  know,  I  sometimes  think 
that  my  present  happiness  is  too  great 
to  last.  I  don't  know  why  I  think  so, 
but  at  times  the  fear  comes  over  me 
that  I  shall  wake  up  some  morning 
and  find  it  all  a  dream,  gone  and  over 
forever.  Tell  me  once  again,  Elsie, 
that  you  love  me. ' 

This  was  putting  it  in  hard  words 
for  Elsie  to  answer ;  she  made  a  com- 
jtromise. 

'  Why,  Reg,'  she  said,  *  your  illness 
has  unsettled  you  !  I  must  tell  aun- 
tie your  brain  needs  nursing  as  well 
as  your  body  !  What  a  foolish  boy 
you  are  ! ' 

He  laughed  a  quick,   merry  laugh. 

'  Yes,  I  know  1  am,  he  said,  '  but 
I  should  like  to  hear  you  say  once 
again  that  you  have  given  yourself  to 
me  !  You  are  mine,  Elsie,  are  you 
not]  and  no  one  else's.  Mine,  now 
and  forever — say  that,  dear  !  ' 

This  was  easier  for  Elsie.  '  His 
now  and  forever !  Was  there  any 
chance  that  she  would  ever  be  any 
one  else's  1 '  The  question  flashed  like 
lightning  through  her  brain  ere  she 
bound  herself  in  the  words  Pteginald 
had  spoken  for  her  to  repeat,  and  both 
pride  and  reason  answered  in  the  nega- 
tive. So  she  said,  very  quietly,  but 
firmly  : 


'  I  am  yours,  Reginald — yours  only 
— now  and  forever,  as  long  as  life 
lasts  ! ' 

The  next  day  Elsie  would  have 
given  worlds,  had  they  been  her's,  to 
recall  those  words  and  free  herself 
from  the  solemn  promise  she  had  made. 
But  Reginald  bent  and  kissed  her 
quickly  and  passionately  as  he  said  : 

'  I  would  sooner  lose  my  life  than 
you,  Elsie,  so  you  must  not  wonder  if 
I  like  to  feel  secure  of  you.  Good 
night,  dear  ! '  for  she  had  taken  up  her 
woi-k  as  if  for  departure. 

The  next  morning  Elsie  went  over 
to  see  Mrs.  Thorold.  The  rupture 
between  her  and  Clair  had  made  no 
difference  in  her  friendship  with  his 
mother.  '  What  if  she  did  refuse 
our  boy  'i '  the  latter  said  to  her  hus- 
band, who  felt  rather  sore  at  Elsie's 
rejection  of  his  son,  '  a  girl's  heart  is 
I  her  own  to  do  as  she  pleases  with, 
j  and  if  Clair  did  not  suit  her  fancy, 
we  have  no  right  to  blame  the  girl 
or  shun  her  for  it.'  So  when  Elsie 
presented  herself  at  the  rectory  that 
morning  she  received  a  hearty  wel- 
come from  the  kindly  old  lady,  who 
wore  a  more  than  usually  smiling  face. 
She  was  sitting  in  the  breakfast-room, 
with  a  child  of  above  four  summers  on 
her  knee — a  flaxen-haired,  blue-eyed 
little  creature,  who  nestled  still  more 
closely  in  Mrs.  Thorold's  arms  at 
Elsie's  entrance. 

'  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Thorold  !  ' 
said  the  latter,  '  I  felt  rather  low- 
spirited  to  day,  and  so  came  over  for 
you  to  cheer  me  up.' 

'  You  are  heartily  welcome,  dear,' 
replied  the  old  lady  ;  '  but  whatever 
can  you  have  to  make  you  low-spirit- 
ed 1  One  would  think  you  could  have 
no  troubles  ! ' 

'  Well,  I  have  not  many,  I  sup- 
pose I  am  ungrateful  for  my  blessings. 
But,  Mrs.  Thorold,  who  is  this  1 ' 

'Ah,  I  have  been  waiting  for  you 
to  ask  that !  This  is  my  little  grand- 
child, Elsie.' 

'  Your  grand-child  1 '  Elsie's  heart 
almost  stopped.     '  Your  grand-child  1 ' 


ELLERSLIE  GRAN<;E. 


461 


she  repeated.  Then  Clair  liad  been 
married  all  the  time  he  had  been  pay- 
ing his  addresses  to  her.  This  was 
the  explanation  of  that — but  Elsie 
always  stopped  here. 

'  Yes,  Elsie — my  grand-child.  Run 
away,  little  Dora,  now  ;  go  and  see 
Bridget  and  ask  her  to  give  you  a 
piece  of  cake.  She  has  my  name,  you 
see,'  she  continued,  turning  to  Elsie 
as  the  little  one  ran  off,  delighted  with 
her  errand.  '  0,  Elsie,  Elsie,  God  has 
given  me  more  to  day  than  I  deserve  ! 
He  has  given  back  to  me  her  whom  I 
never  expected  to  see  again  in  this 
workl.  I  will  tell  you  the  story,  my 
dear,  if  you  have  time  to  spare  to  hear 
it  ;  but  I  did  not  want  to  speak  before 
the  child.  Elsie,  did  you  ever  hear 
that  I  had  a  daughter  Margaret  ? ' 

'  A  daughter  1 '  Elsie  drew  a  quick 
breath  of  relief.     '  No  1 '  she  said. 

'But  I  had,'  said  Mrs.  Thorold  ; 
'  she  went  away  five  years  before  you 
came  to  N — .  In  the  summer  of  that 
year  a  family  named  Esmond  came  to 
the  city.  One  member  of  it  was  a  young 
man,  handsome  enough,  perhaps,  but 
rather  too  fast  for  old  people's  notions. 
At  least,  I  thought  him  not  good 
enough  for  my  daughter.  But,  from 
the  first,  he  paid  her  the  greatest  at- 
tention, and  I  saw  that  she  i-eturned 
his  afiection.  Well,  the  end  was  that  he 
proposed  to  her  and  was  accepted,  al- 
though Mr.  Thorold  had  told  him  that 
he  would  not  feel  justified  in  giving 
his  daughter  into  the  keeping  of  one 
who  led  so  irregular  a  life.  Margaret 
cried  and  stormed  when  her  father  re- 
fused to  consent  to  tiie  mai-riage  ;  but 
he  was  inexorable.  This  went  on  for 
some  weeks,  and  then,  one  morning, 
I  found  a  note  on  Mai-garet's  dress- 
ing table,  reading  thus  : — "  Mother, 
this  morning,  when  you  get  up,  I  shall 
be  the  wife  of  Arthur  Esmond.  We 
shall  be  married  at  St.  George's,  and 
you  and  my  father  can  see  the  registry 
there  to  satisfy  yourselves  that  I  am 
really  married.  Forgive  me  for  act- 
ing thus  !  but,  mother,  I  cannot  give 
up  Arthur,  and  father  will  not  let  me 


marry  him  at  home.  Ask  him  to  for- 
give me  ;  and  don't  forget  your  poor 
Mai'garet."  Yes,  she  had  run  away, 
Elsie.  Poor  girl  !  she  was  always 
high-spirited  and  impatient  of  re- 
straint, and  so  when  her  aflfections  were 
engaged  she  broke  bonds  altogether, 
and  took  her  own  way.  She  found 
it  a  hard  way,  Elsie,  as  all  such  do. 
You  may  be  sure  my  heart  felt  sore 
enough  for  many  a  month  after  my 
daughter's  departure,  and  I  thought 
that  Clair  would  be  ill,  he  fretted  so. 
We  never  heard  anything  of  her  un- 
til a  year  ago,  and  then  Clair  saw  her. 
Poor  boy,  he  came  home  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement.  "  Mother,  father  !" 
he  said,  "  I  have  seen  Margaret.  Slie 
has  lost  her  husband,  and  is  very  poor, 
with  one  little  child,  a  girl.  May  I 
not  tell  her  to  come  home  1  O,  you 
don't  know  how  she  longs  to  see  you 
both  !  Say  yes,  father  I  vSay  yes,  0, 
do  !  "  "  Henry,  you  will  let  our  child 
come  home'?  You  cannot  refuse  ier 
now,  all  alone  and  friendless  as  she 
is  1 "  I  pleaded  with  my  husband.  But 
he  was  immovable.  "She  has  chosen, 
she  must  abide  by  her  choice,"  he  said, 
and  all  further  entreaties  on  our  part 
were  in  vain.  Even  Clair  was  for- 
bidden to  see  her,  and  though  it  al- 
most broke  his  heart,  he  obeyed.  He 
wrote  to  his  sister  and  told  her  all, 
adding,  that  if  it  I'ested  with  him  she 
should  come  home  instantly,  and  tried 
in  every  way  to  comfort  and  cheer 
her.  It  was  in  this  very  city  Clair  saw 
her.  He  encountered  her  under  the 
firs  by  the  gate,  where  she  had  come 
to  get  one  look  at  her  old  home.  I 
said  that  this  was  a  year  ago  ;  but  last 
night  she  came  back  again.  I  found 
her  and  her  child  outside  the  door, 
which  should  never  have  closed  but  to 
close  her  in.  A  perishing  wanderer, 
a  homeless  beggar  on  her  own  home's 
doorstep.  I  did  not  wait  then  for  any- 
one's consent ;  I  had  her  raised  up  and 
carried  in  and  laid  in  her  own  old 
bed,  with  her  child  beside  her.  And 
little  Dora  is  that  child,  and  Margaret, 
my  daughter,  has  come  back   to  me. 


462 


ELLERSLJE  GRANGE. 


Margaret,  my  golden-haired,  blue-eyed 
child,  who  has  been  so  cruelly  used,  so 
harshly  treated  — ' 

'  Elsie  !  what  is  the  matter,  Elsie  1 ' 

But  Elsie  had  slipped  quietly  from 
her  chair  and  lay  senseless  on  the  floor. 
"With  trembling  hands  Mrs.  Thorold 
threw  water  on  the  white  face  and 
chafed  the  cold  hands,  and  gradually 
a  faint  tinge  of  colour  stole  into  the 
white  cheeks,  and  Elsie  opened  her 
eyes  slowly  and  gazed  vacantly  about 
her. 

'  Where  am  I  ] '  she  said.  '  0,  yes, 
I  know.     I  must  go  home  ! ' 

She  rose  hastily  to  her  feet,  but 
would  have  fallen  again  had  Mrs.  Tho- 
rold not  caught  her. 

'  i'ou  must  sit  down  ;  you  cannot  go 
yet,'  said  the  lady.  '  Drink  this,  Elsie  ; 
you  must,  before  you  can  walk  back  to 
the  Grange ; '  and  she  forced  the  girl 
to  (irink  a  small  glass  of  wine  which 
she  had  poured  from  a  decanter  on  the 
sideboard.  '  What  made  you  faint, 
dear  1 '  she  asked. 

'  I — I — I  don't  know  whether  I  am 
not  very  strong  now  or  not ;  I  don't 
know  what  it  was,  Mrs.  Thorold.' 

'  Poor  child,  I  fchould  not  have  told 
you  that  tale ;  you  are  not  well  this 
morning,  and  I  see  that  I  have  added 
to  your  illness.  Now  you  must  stay 
to  dinner  with  me,  and  then  you  may 
go  home.' 

*  No,  I  cannot  stay  !  '  answered 
Elsie.  '  I  did  not  tell  aunt  that  I  was 
coming  ;  she  will  not  know  where  I 
am.  I  will  go  now,  Mrs.  Thorold  ;  I 
am  quite  strong  enough.'  But  her 
kind  old  friend  would  not  let  her  go 
until  she  had  recovered  a  little  more 
from  the  efiects  of  her  faint.  Then 
she  tied  on  her  hat,  wrapped  her  up 
in  a  shawl  besides  her  jacket,  and  went 
to  the  door  with  her,  bidding  her  lie 
down  directly  she  got  home,  and  to 
take  care  of  herself,  or  she  would  be  ill. 
Elsie  sped  quickly  on  her  homeward 
way,  her  haste  and  excitement  con- 
quering her  weakness,  and  soon  reached 
the  Grange. 

Keginald    met    her    at    the    door. 


*  Why,  Elsie  I '  he  ci'ied,  *  where  have 
you  been  1  Dinner  is  waiting,  dear, 
and  mother  is  gi-owing  anxious  about 
you.  But,  Elsie,  what  is  the  matter? 
Your  eyes  are  so  wild-looking,  and 
your  cheeks  so  pale.     Are  you  ill  1 ' 

'  No  ;  I  am  quite  well.  At  least — 
O,  don't  tease  me,  Reginald !  ' 

He  was  hurt  and  grieved  by  her 
tone,  but  he  said  nothing — only  opened 
the  door  for  her  to  pass  into  the 
house. 

'Tell  them  to  go  on  with  dinner,' she 
said,  as  she  was  going  up  stairs.  '  I 
will  be  down  directly.'  But  she  did 
not  appear  until  the  Dr.  had  left  the 
table,  and  Mrs,  EUerslie  was  just 
going.  Reginald  had  risen  also,  and 
was  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the  window. 
Elsie  sat  down  at  the  table,  but  in  a 
few  minutes  she  ro-e  and  left  the 
room  by  the  door  leading  into  the 
drawing-room. 

Reginald  looked  after,  and  presently 
got  up  and  followed  her.  '  Elsie,'  he 
said,  going  up  to  her,  as  she  stood  by 
the  window,  looking  out,  or  seeming 
to,  —  '  Elsie,  something  has  hap- 
pened to  trouble  you — what  is  it  1 
There  ought  to  be  contidence  between 
us.  Will  you  not  tell  me,  Elsie  1 
What  is  it,  dear  1 ' 

For  a  moment,  a  wild  impulse  to 
tell  him  all  came  over  Elsie.  She 
turned  and  caught  his  arm,  and  her 
lips  half  02)ened  ;  but  then  she  turned 
from  him  again,  as  suddenly,  and  let 
go  her  hold.  '  I  cannot  tell  you.  Do 
not  ask  me,  Reginald  ! ' 

He  answered  her  gravely  and  ten- 
derly, as  he  mii;ht  have  answered  a 
child. 

'  Very  well,  dear  ;  you  shall  not 
tell  me  if  you  do  not  want  to  ;  but  if 
you  change  your  mind,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say.' 

The  next  day  was  Friday,  and,  in 
the  morning,  Reginald  went  into  the 
city,  and  did  not  return  until  noon. 
As  he  hung  up  his  coat  in  the 
hall,  he  thought  he  heard  a  sound 
as  of  a  stifled  sob  proceeding  from  the 
drawing-room,  by  the  door  of  which 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


463 


lie  stood.  He  listened  for  a  moment, 
and  his  suspicion  was  confirmed.  He 
stepped  forward  and  entered  the  room, 
the  sound  of  his  footsteps  lost  in  the 
yielding  carpet.  By  the  table,  her  head 
buried  in  her  hands,  knelt  Elsie.  He 
stood  in  astonishment  for  a  moment 
only,  but  in  that  instant  he  heard  her 
say,  between  her  sobs  :  '  0,  Clair, 
Ciaii  !  if  I  had  but  known  this  !  ' 

Reginald's  heart  almost  ceaesd 
to  beat  !  No  doubt  of  her  meaning, 
no  hope  for  himself  came  over  him. 
The  instant  she  had  spoken  he  knew 
that  all  his  fears  and  misgivings,  as  to 
the  durability  of  his  day-dream,  were 
now  realized — darkly,  bitterly  real- 
ized. He  sat  down  on  a  chair  close 
by  and  waited  to  i-ecover  sufficient 
calmness  to  enable  him  to  speak.  Then 
he  rose  and  advanced  towards  his 
cousin. 

'  I  have  heard  it  all,  Elsie,'  he  said 
in  a  stern,  grave  voice — stern  from 
the  very  effort  to  make  it  steady.  '  I 
do  not  blame  you,  but  since  I  have 
heard  so  much,  you  must  tell  me  the 
whole'. 

With  a  quick  cry  of  surprise  the 
girl  sprang  up  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice.  '  O  Reginald  !  what  have  I 
done  ? '  she  cried,  cowering  before  his 
look,  although  there  was  no  trace  of 
harshness  in  it, 

'  Nothing  ;  you  did  not  know  T  was 
there.  It  was  fate  that  brought  me, 
I  suppose.  Elsie,  you  must  tell  me 
now  what  you  heard  yesterday.  What- 
ever it  is,  it  is  making  you  miserable, 
and  you  won't  tell  me  because  you 
think  it  will  pain  me.  I  can  guess 
that  much,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the 
rest.     Now  Elsie,  what  is  it  ?' 

His  tone  was  so  quietly  determined 
(though  not  in  the  least  angry),  that 
it  checked  Elsie's  tears,  but  she  made 
no  answer.  He  stepped  up  quickly 
to  her  and  caught  her  in  his  arms, 
holding  her  as  if  it  were  a  last  em- 
brace, as  if  some  one  were  trying  to 
wrest  his  treasure  from  him.  He  bent 
his  head  until  it  was  close  to  hers,  as 
he  said  :  '  Elsie,  my  darling,  I  am  not 


angry  with  you  !  It  is  for  your  own 
dear  sake  I  ask  you  what  I  do.  Tell 
me,  where  were  you  yesterday  ? ' 

'  At  the  Thorold's,'  answered  the 
girl. 

'And — and—?'  Reginald  could  go 
no  further. 

'  And  what  1 '  asked  Elsie. 

'  And  whom  did  you  see  1 ' 

'  Mrs.  Thorold  ;'  was  the  answer, 
spoken  in  almost  a  whisper. 

'  Only  her,  Elsie  1     Only  her  1 ' 

The  girl  looked  up  with  flashing 
eyes  at  him  who  thus  questioned  her. 
'I  would  tell  you,'  she  said,  indig- 
nantly, '  if  I  had  seen  anyone  else  ! 
Yet,  O  yes,  there  was  a  little  grand- 
child of  Mrs.  Thorold's  there.' 

'A  grandchild  of  Mrs.  Thorold's, 
Elsie?  Surely  you  are  mistaken?' 
He  loosed  his  arms  in  his  surprise,  and 
Elsie  slipped  out  and  stood  before  him. 

'  No,  I  am  not,'  she  said,  and  then 
the  whole  tale  came  out,  all  that  Mrs. 
Thorold  had  told  her. 

Pteginald  listened  quietly  to  the  end, 
then  he  said  :  '  I  knew  most  of  this 
before,  Elsie,  but  what  has  it  to  do 
with  you  ?  Why  does  Margaret  Es- 
mond's history  affect  you  so  deeply  ? ' 

'O  Reginald,  Reginald  !  '  she  cried, 
and  she  raised  a  face  of  quickened 
misery  and  i-egret  to  his  ;  '  it  was  be- 
cause I  saw  Clair  Thorold  speaking 
with  his  sister  under  the  firs  that  I 
sent  him  away.  I  did  not  know  he 
had  a  sister,  and  I  heard  her  say  : — 
*  O  Clair  you  once  loved  me  ! '  and 
Clair  answered,  '  and  love  you  still, 
Meg.'  I  thought  that  all  the  time  he 
had  been  deceiving  me  and  was  en- 
engaged  to  this  girl.  I  was  so  angry, 
that  for  the  moment  I  almost  hated 
him,  but  I  hastened  away  from  the 
spot,  for  I  would  not  play  the  listener, 
and  when  he  came  two  days  after- 
wards, I  sent  him  from  me  with  angry 
words.  And  now  I  know  why  he 
seemed  so  surprised  and  grieved, 
though  I  would  not  listen  to  a  word 
from  him  then.  After  all  he  was  per- 
fectly innocent,  and  I  treated  him  so 
cruelly  and  all  for  nothing  ! ' 


464 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


Reginald's  face  had  grown  so  white 
and  stern  whilst  Elsie  was  speaking, 
that  it  would  have  frightened  her  had 
she  been  looking  at  him,  but  towards 
the  last  she  had  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  She  raised  it  quickly  when 
he  said,  in  a  tone  so  unlike  his  own, 
that  she  could  not  believe  it  was  he 
who  spoke  :  '  So  you  did  like  Clair 
Thorold,  after  all,  Elsie?' 

The  girl  did  not  answer,  but  Regi- 
nald took  her  silence  as  an  affirmative. 
'  And  you  like  him  still,  Elsie  V 

He  stood  before  her,  his  lips  com- 
pressed with  pain,  his  hat,  which  he 
had  carried  with  him  into  the  room, 
in  one  hand,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  a 
light  Elsie  had  never  seen  there  be- 
fore. She  could  not  answer  him  for 
very  fear  of  the  anger,  which,  in  her 
humility,  she  thought  she  deserved. 
Instead,  she  sank  upon  a  chair  beside 
her,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands 
burst  into  a  tit  of  hysterical  sobbing 
and  weeping.  Thus  Reginald  left  ^ler. 
Without  a  word,  he  turned  and  passed 
out  of  the  room,  let  himself  out  of  the 
front  door,  and  pulling  his  hat  low 
over  his  eyes,  strode  away  down  the 
path  into  the  highway,  and  so  on 
out  into  the  open  country,  in  the  op- 
posite direction  to  the  city,  and  no 
one  saw  him  again  until  tea-time. 
*  He  had  left  the  house,'  Elsie  said, 
in  answer  to  her  aunt's  enquiry  at  the 
dinner-table,  '  a  few  minutes  before 
the  bell  rang,  and  had  not  come  in 
since.' 

Both  her  uncle  and  her  aunt  noticed 
the  girl's  pale  face  and  excited  man- 
ner, but  neither  made  any  remark — 
for,  inwardly,  they  both  decided  that 
she  and  Reginald  had  had  some  slight 
quarrel.  '  All  young  people  quarrel 
sometimes,'  they  thought,  and  this  ex- 
plained Keginald's  absence  as  well  as 
Elsie's  excited  manner.  And  so  the 
girl  was  left  unquestioned,  for  *  they'll 
make  it  up  again  directly,'  thought  the 
old  folks.  They  never  dreamt  of  any- 
thing serious  being  the  matter. 

That  night  Reginald  sat  down  in 
his  room  and   wrote  a  letter  to  Clair 


Thorold.  A  long  afternoon  by  him- 
self had  led  him  to  decide  the  course 
he  must  pursue,  the  only  path  that 
honour  would  allow.  Elsie  should 
never  be  bound  to  him  whilst  her 
heart  was  elsewhere.  He  understood 
it  all  now.  It  was  out  of  pure  pity 
and  kindness  for  him  that  she  had 
said.  Yes,  to  him  that  day  which 
seemed  now  so  far  away,  although  it 
was  only  three  months  ago.  He  was 
too  noble  to  suspect  his  cousin  of  any 
meaner  motive  than  this,  and  so  he 
thought :  '  She  did  that  much  for  me, 
I  owe  it  to  her  to  make  her  this  re- 
ward. Now  I  know,  Elsie,  why  you 
cried,  "  O  no  !  "  when  I  asked  you  for 
your  hand.  O,  if  you  had  told  me 
then  !  it  is  so  much  harder  to  bear 
after  three  months  of  happiness.'  His 
letter  was  only  a  short  one.  If  you 
still  love  my  cousin  Elsie,  Clair,'  he 
wrote,  '  come  home  and  try  your  for- 
tune once  more.  It  was  all  a  wretched 
mistake  that  parted  you  two  ;  that 
mistake  is  now  rectified,  and  I  think 
if  you  come  back  you  may  be  more 
successful  than  you  were  a  year  ago. 
Come  quickly.'  He  folded  it  up,  put 
it  in  an  envelope  and  stamped  it,  and 
the  next  morning  it  was  duly  posted. 
Once  convinced  of  the  right  path,  he 
did  not  flinch  from  taking  it.  Nor 
did  he  pause  when  he  had  turned  the 
corner  ;  he  went  straight  on  with  un- 
faltering steps,  each  one  of  which 
placed  a  wider  distance  between  him 
and  the  '  paradise  on  earth'  he  had 
lived  in  for  three  short  months — each 
one  of  wliich  led  him  nearer  to — Ab, 
No  !  There  was  more  trouble  in  store 
for  Elsie  than  she  ever  dreamt  of ! 
When  Reginald  had  left  the  house,  in 
the  impetuosity  of  his  sudden  pain 
and  bitterness,  he  had  forgotten  all 
but  thecrushing  blow  thathad  fallen  on 
him.  Wind,  frost — and  all  consider- 
ation of  the  danger  of  exposing  oneself 
to  them  without  other  protection  than 
a  hat  could  afford — were  entirely  for- 
gotten, and  in  his  rapid  walk,  occu- 
pied with  his  bitter,  angry  thoughts, 
he  felt  nothing  to  remind  him  of  their 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


465 


power.  What  though  the  wind  was 
keen,  and  the  bitter  frost  made  face 
and  fingers  smart  with  cold — he  was 
not  conscious  of  the  fact.  Only  when 
he  slackened  his  pace  did  he  find  out 
the  truth,  and  Ijecome  aware  of  his 
light  attire.  Even  then  he  thought  it 
made  little  matter.  '  Nothing  could 
make  much  difference  to  him  now,' 
since  Elsie  was  no  longer  his,  for  he 
never  dreamt  of  retaining  his  claim 
upon  her  now  that  he  knew  why  that 
claim  had  been  admitted.  However, 
he  turned  homewards  in  the  dim 
consciousness  that  he  still  owed  it 
a  duty  to  his  parents  not  to  run  into 
needless  danger.  O,  how  bitter  the 
wind  was  !  he  felt  it  now,  and  shivered 
in  every  limb.  He  went  straight  up 
to  his  room,  and  retired  for  the 
night.  The  next  morning  he  awoke 
with  a  severe  cold  which  grew  worse 
as  the  day  passed  on.  The  next  day 
it  was  no  better,  and  on  the  third 
day  from  his  rash  walk,  Reginald  was 
ill  in  bed  with,  the  doctors  said,  in- 
flammation of  the  lungs.  O  how  Elsie 
blamed  herself,  as  she  thought  :  '  It  is 
all  my  fault  !  and  if  he  dies  I  shall 
have  killed  him.'  She  worried  herself 
with  this  reflection  until  her  aunt 
feared  that  she  would  be  ill  also. 

'  Elsie,  child,'  she  said  (neither  she 
nor  the  doctor  knew  how  matters 
stood  between  their  son  and  niece), 
you  must  not  worry  so.  He  will  get 
well  again  soon.  Poor  child  !  There, 
cry  if  you  can,  it  will  do  you  good.  I 
wish  I  could  !'  And  Elsie  felt  so  de- 
ceitful and  so  wicked,  as  she  listened 
to  the  kind  words,  that  she  could  not 
V)ear  to  look  her  aunt  in  the  face. 
She  went  back  to  the  sick  room  and 
stationed  herself  where  she  could  see 
every  movement  of  the  patient,  even 
every  change  which  came  over  his 
face.  Reginald  had  been  ill  two  weeks 
now,  and  tomorrow  would  be  Christ- 
mas day.  On  Christmas  day  two  yeai's 
before,  she  had  gone  with  Clair  Thor- 
old  visiting.  On  Christmas  day,  one 
year  ago,  her  cousin  Reginald  had 
been  her  companion  on  the  same  er- 


rand. To  both  men  she  had  brought 
sorrow,  and  now,  one  lay  dying.  Elsie 
never  entertained  any  hope  of  Regi- 
nald's recovery  ;  '  he  would  die,  surely 
die' — she  thought,  '  and  she  would  be 
his  murderess,  as  much  as  if  she  had 
deliberately  killed  him.  No  kindness 
j  on  his  parent's  part  could  alter  this — 
1  if  he  died,  she  had  'killed  him.'  And 
as  she  sat  and  watched  him  in  his 
sleep,  Elsie  wondered  why  she  had 
ever  been  born.  '  So  much  trouble 
and  misery  she  had  caused  in  her  short 
life  of  eighteen  years.'  Suddenly, 
Reginald  opened  his  eyes,  '  Elsie  ' ' 
he  called,  faintly. 

'  Yes,  Reg,  J  am  here ;'  and  she 
1  hastened  to  his  bedside. 
j  '  Give  me  your  hand,  dear  ! '  he 
I  said  with  a  faint  smile.  '  You  are  ill 
''  yourself,  Elsie  ;  I  believe  you  are  fret- 
j    ting  about  me  ? ' 

I        Elsie  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back  the 
sobs  that  strove  for  utterance. 

'  I  am  not  sorry  to  die,  Elsie  !  You 
[    must  not  grieve  because  of  that  ? ' 

All  Elsie's  restraint  gave  way  now, 
,  she  held  her  clasped  hands  before  her, 
i  whilst  the  tears  came  streaming  down 
i   her  cheeks. 

'0,  you  must  not  die!'  she  cried. 
You  shall  not,  must  not  die  !  You 
will  get  well,  only  you  are  weak  and 
cannot  think  so.  O,  do  not  say  you 
will  die,  Reginald  !  ' 

'  Hush,  Elsie,  hush,  I  cannot  bear 
to  see  you  cry.  But  you  are  mistaken, 
dear,  I  shall  never  be  well  again — 
and  if  it  were  not  for  ray  parents  I 
should  be  glad.' 

Elsie  had  no  need  to  ask  why.   Pre- 

i    sently    Reginald    spoke    again.      '  To- 

'    morrow  will  be  Christmas  day,  Elsie,' 

!    he  said.      '  Do  you  remember  what  the 

I    sick  girl   said  a  year  ago?     She  said, 

!    Clair  Thorold  told  her  that  only  one 

thing  could  bring  him  back,  and  that 

there    seemed   no    hope  of   that  ever 

!    coming  to  pass.      It  has  come  to  ])ass. 

'    Clair  Thorold  is  coming  back,   Elsie. 

I  do  not  think  it  will  be  long  ere  he 

I   is  here."  ' 

!        *  Coming    back  1 '     her  tears    were 


466 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


checked  by  her  surprise.  'Here'?' 
what  do  you  mean,  Keginald  ? ' 

The  sick  man's  answer  was  perfectly 
calm.  He  had  fought  the  battle  well, 
now  there  would  soon  be  for  him  nor 
life  nor  love — on  earth  !  Ah,  thei-e 
was  still  the  light  of  heaven,  and  the 
'  love  that  passeth  knowledge'  in  store 
for  him  !  The  peacefulness  of  that 
light,  the  spirit  of  that  love  was  with 
him  even  now.  '  I  have  written  to  ask 
him  to  come,'  he  said  gently  ;  '  and, 
Elsie  ;  if  he  should  ask  you  what  he 
asked  you  a  year  ago,  say  him  Yes, 
•  dear  !  Think  of  my  claim  upon  you  as 
if  it  had  never  been.  I  know  now  that 
you  gave  it  to  me  only  out  of  pure, 
pitying  kindness.  It  was  very  good 
of  you,  dear,  but  I  give  it  back 
again  now.  I  should  never  have  had 
it,  had  it  not  been  for  that  unfortunate 
mistake  about  Margaret  Esmond,  so 
I  have  no  right  to  it,  no  lawful  right, 
at  least.  And  so,  Elsie,  if  he  should 
ask  you  the  same  question  as  he  did  a 
year  ago,  give  him  'the  same  answer 
you  would  have  then,  had  that  mistake 
not  been  made.  Will  you  Elsie  1  pro- 
mise me  ! ' 

She  was  calm  enough  now. 

'  No,  I  will  not  ! '  she  said,  de- 
cidedly. *  I  am  as  much  yours  now 
as  I  ever  was,  and  I  intend  to  remain 
so.  I  shall  be  happier  so,  Cousin 
Reginald  ! ' 

'  No,  you  will  not,  Elsie,'  was  the 
quiet  answer.  '  You  are  speaking  now 
under  the  influence  of  your  good  little 
heart,  and  out  of  kindness  to  me.  But, 
Elsie,  you  must  remember  that  there  is 
some  one  else  beside  yourself  to  think 
of  !  Clair  has  suffered  enough  through 
that  mistake  ;  do  you  not  care  to  make 
him  happy  again  ? ' 

'  Happy  1 '  exclaimed  the  girl,  with 
a  sudden  flash  of  pride.  '  He  is  happy 
enough,  Reginald  !  He  has  forgotten 
all  about  me  ! ' 

'  Hush,  Elsie,  you  must  not  say 
that  !  I  know  Clair  better  than  you 
do.  He  wrote  to  me,  Elsie,  about 
your  unfortunate  misunderstanding  ; 
and  I  believed  him  fully  when  he  said 


that  he  should  never  love  another  wo- 
man beside  yourself.  No,  Elsie,  he  has 
not  forgotten  you.  Now,  promise  me, 
dear.' 

But  she  would  not.  She  could  not 
bring  herself  to  take  back,  in  this 
manner,  from  the  dying  Reginald, 
what  she  had  given  to  the  living  one. 
Reginald  closed  his  eyes  and  gave  up 
the  contest,  for  he  was  wearied,  utterly 
spent  with  talking  so  long.  But  the 
matter  was  to  be  decided  for  Elsie  by 
a  higher  power.  By  the  time  Clair 
Thorold  came  there  was  no  longer  any 
doubt  that  soon  there  would  be  no  one 
to  dispute  his  claim.  Christmas  had 
jjassed  by,  and  it  was  the  day  before 
New  Year's.  All  day  Reginald  had  lain 
with  closed  eyes,  conscious,  but  mak- 
ing no  sign  to  show  that  he  was  so. 
Both  his  mother  and  Elsie  had  watched 
beside  him  incessantly.  Now,  as  the 
dusk  began  to  creep  into  the  room 
Elsie  left  it,  and  went  down  to 
the  drawing-room,  to  try  to  get  rid  of 
her  terrible  suspense  and  dread.  She 
stood  by  the  window  looking  out  upon 
the  night.  One  by  one  the  stars  took 
their  places  in  the  sky,  and,  faraway, 
she  could  see  the  twinkling  lights  of 
the  city.  All  the  rest  was  black, 
blank  darkness.  She  pressed  her  head 
against  the  cool  pane  to  ease  its  throb- 
bing. '  0,  spare  him  !  spare  him  ! ' 
she  cried,  in  her  agony;  but  still  over- 
head the  work  of  death  went  on.  Sud- 
denly she  heard  a  step  upon  the  gravel 
Surely,  surely  she  knew  that  step  ! 
She  drew  herself  up  and  listened.  It 
came  up  the  steps,  and  then  there  waa 
a  ring  at  the  muffled  bell.  With 
clasped  hands  and  bated  breath  Elsie 
bent  her  head  forward  to  catch  each 
coming  word  or  sound.  She  heard 
some  one  go  to  the  door,  and  then  the 
step  came  in,  and  when  EKsie  turned  to 
look,  Clair  Thorold  stood  in  the  door- 
way. She  knew  him,  despite  the 
rough  overcoat  and  thick  muftler  that 
almost  hid  his  face — she  could  never 
forget  that  form  !  *  O,  Clair,  Clair  ! ' 
she  cried  ;  but  she  could  make  no  step 
forward  to  meet  him.    The  joy  in  her 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


467 


eyes,  the  flush  upon  lier  cheeks,  the 
excited  trembling  of  her  outstretched 
hands,  were  hidden  by  tlie  dusk  ;  but 
all  the  passionate  longing  and  loneli- 
ness, the  repressed  love  of  the  past 
year,  spoke  plainly  in  her  voice.  With 
swift  steps  Clair  came  towards  her, 
I  y  and  ere  she  knew  it  she  was  folded  in 
his  arms. 

'  Mine  at  last,  dear  love,'  he  said, 
and  that  was  all ;  but  it  was  enough. 
And  now  Elsie  never  thought  of  say- 
ing No  ;  Reginald  was  dying,  and  it 
was  hard  to  repress  an  old  love.  Pre- 
sently Clair  released  her.  '  I  am 
sel6sh,'  he  said;  'tell  me,  how  is 
Reginald  ?  My  mother  told  me  he 
was  ill.' 

The  girl  started  back.  '  0,  Clair  ! 
how  wicked  I  am  !  I  had  forgotten 
him.  I  must  go  up  to  him.  He  is 
dying,  Clair.' 

'  Dying  1 '  The  young  man  stood 
in  shocked  astonishment.  '  Dying, 
Elsie  1 ' 

'  Yes,'  replied  the  girl.  '  O,  I  must 
go  ! ' 

She  was  starting  off  when  Clair  re- 
called her.  '  Stay,  Elsie  ! '  he  cried. 
'  Will  you  tell  him  I  am  here  1 ' 

'  Shall  IV  she  said,  doubtfully. 
*  Had  I  better  ]  I  will  see  when  I  go 
up.  He  may  be  asleep.' 

'  Do  as  you  think  best,'  said  Clair  ; 
and  he  went  and  stood  by  the  window 
to  await  her  return. 

When  Elsie  reached  the  sick  room 
she  met  Reginald's  eyes  turned  to- 
wards the  door  as  if  watching  for  some 
one.  He  was  very  weak,  and  could 
scarcely  speak,  but  he  beckoned  her  to 
him,  and,  said,  faintly  :  '  Clair  is  here. 
I  heard  him.  Tell  him  to  come  up.' 

Elsie  went  down  again  and  gave 
Clair  the  message,  and  he  followed  her 
up-stairs.  The  hot  tears  came  into  his 
eyes  as  he  saw  his  friend's  pale, 
shrunken  face.  Could  tins  be  the 
strong,  healthy  Reginald  EUerslie  he 
had  seen  last  a  year  and  a  half  ago  1 
It  was  hard  to  believe  it.  He  went  up 
to  the  bedside  and  knelt  down.  '  Reg, 
old  boy,'  he  said,  trying  to  steady  his 


I  voice,  '  I  little  thought  to  see  you 
so  changed  !  ' 

Reginald  smiled  faintly.  *  Tell  Elsie 
— to — come  here,'  he  said,  in  broken 
syllables. 

Clair  did  so,  and  Elsie  came  for- 
ward. 

Reginald  asked  them  to  reach  out 
their  hands  towards  him,  as  they  stood 
together  by  the  bed,  and  when  they 
had  done  so  he  laid  one  on  the  other 
and  held  them  so. 

'  Is  it  all  right  1 '  he  enquired,  look- 
ing from  one  to  the  other. 

Elsie  released  her  hand  and  hast- 
ened away,  to  hide  her  tears,  but 
Clair  answered  him.  '  Yes,  Reginald,' 
he  said,  '  it  is  right  at  last ! '  He 
knew  nothing  of  Elsie's  engagement 
to  her  cousin,  and,  therefore,  nothing 
of  the  noble  sacrifice  which  Reginald 
had  made.  If  he  had,  the  knowledge 
might  have  embarrassed  him  now. 

The  silence  and  gloom  of  the  grave 
hung  over  the  Grange  that  night,  for 
Reginald,  the  only  son,  the  idol  of  his 
*  parents,  lay  dying.  For  hours  he  had 
not  spoken,  when  suddenly  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and  his  lips  moved. 

Clair  bent  down  to  listen  and  heard 
him  say,  '  hark  ! ' 

Just  then  the  sound  of  some  far-off 
bell  came  faintly  on  the  still  night  air. 
Reginald  had  heard  it  although  the 
others  had  not.  But  now  the  nearer 
bells  joined  in,  and  Elsie  felt  as  if 
she  would  give  all  she  owned  to  get 
them  to  stop.  O  how  harsh  and 
heartless  the  bells  always  are !  No 
sorrow  silences  their  music  I  They 
are  always  gay,  always  cheerful — all, 
excepting  the  funeral  bell ;  but  all 
the  others  ring  heedlessly  on,  and  poor 
scathed  hearts  must  bear  the  discord 
as  they  can.  In  the  sick  room  this 
New  Year's  eve  there  was  deep  silence. 
Reginald  was  listening  to  the  bells,  and 
the  others  kept  silence  in  the  solemn- 
ity of  the  hour.  At  last  the  chimes 
began,  and  after  them  the  bells  again  ; 
and  when  both  chime  and  peal  had 
trembled  into  silence,  Clair  bent  down 
to  speak  to  Reginald,  but  Reginald 


468 


ELLERSLIE  GRANGE. 


was  dead  !  His  spirit  liad  gone  out 
with  the  Old  Yeai-. 

'  I  am  wondering  if  the  New  Year 
will  bring  me  what  I  want,'  he  had 
said  on  last  New  Yeai''s  Day.  It  had 
brought  him  death. 

His  mother  knelt  down  by  the  bed, 
with  a  low  wail  of  anguish.  '  O  Regi- 
nald, Reginald,  my  son  !  if  you  had 
but  spoken  to  me  before  you  went ! ' 
she  cried. 

Clair  and  Elsie  stole  out  of  the 
room  and  left  her  alone  with  the  dead. 
He  was  more  her's  than  theirs,  if  he 
was  anyone's  now  but  God's  !  *  O 
Clair,'  Elsie  said  when  they  reached 
the  drawing-room, '  I  have  killed  him! ' 

'  Elsie  !  what  are  you  saying  ? ' 

*  I  have  killed  him  ! '  replied  the 
girl.  *  Just  as  much  as  if  I  had  meant 
it.  Clair,  for  thi-ee  months,  until  a  few 
weeks  ago,  I  was  Reginald  EUerslie's 
promised  wife  !     Then ' 

'  Reginald  —  EUerslie's  —  promised 
— wife  ! '  Clair  slowly  repeated  after 
her,  '  Elsie  1 ' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  girl  calmly.  *  Don't 
be  angry  with  me,  Clair.  I  only  con- 
sented because  I  thought .'     She 

stopped  here. 

*  Thought  what  ? '  Clair  questioned. 
'I  saw   you   under  the  firs,   Clair, 

more  than  a  year  ago,  with  your  sister 
Margaret.  I  did  not  know  then  that 
you  had  a  sister,  and  I  heard  her  say  : 
"You  once  loved  me,  Clair  !  "  and  you 
answered  :  "  And  love  you  still,  Meg." 
I  thought — what  could  I  think  but 
that  you  were  deceiving  me  and  were 
engaged  to  this  girl  all  the  time  1 
And ' 

'  And  that  was  why  you  refused  me, 
Elsie,  and  were  so  angry  ? '  interrupted 
Clair, 

'  Yes,"  Elsie  answered.  '  And  when 
— when  Reginald  asked  me  last  sum- 
mer, I  thought  there  was  no  use  in 
blighting  his  life  because  mine  was 
blighted,  and  so  I  said  "  Yes."  But, 
three  days  before  Reginald  was  taken 
ill,  I  found  out  that  the  girl  I  had 
.seen  you  with  was  your  sister.  O 
Clair  !  I  bitterly  repented  of  my  has- 


tiness then,  for  now  I  was  pledged  to 
another,  and  had  destroyed  your  life 
and  my  own.  I  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  tell  Reginald  anything.  He 
did  not  know  why  I  sent  you  awav. 
But  he  found  it  all  out,  and  that  I 
cared  for  you  still.  He  asked  me, 
and  I  could  not  deny  it,  although  I 
would  not  speak — but  I  suppose  he 
took  my  silence  for  consent.  Then  he 
he  went  out  of  the  house  without  his 
ovei'coat,  and  two  days  after  he  was 
taken  ill.  That  is  the  whole  story. 
Clair.' 

'  No,  it  is  not,  Elsie.'     Clair's  voice 

was  very  grave,  but  the  deep  feeling 

which  Elsie's  words  had  excited  spoke 

in  it.     '  No,  it  is  not,  Elsie.     If  ever 

there  was  a  noble  man  on  earth,  that 

man   was   Reginald    Ellerslie.        He 

I    wrote  to  me,  Elsie — to  me,  his  rival — 

!    and  told  me  to  come  home  and  try  my 

I    fortune  with  you  again.     That  is  why 

I  came.     But   I   little    thought   that 

what    gave    me    such    happiness    was 

causing  him  such  bitter  pain  ! ' 

'  I  knew  that  he  wrote  you,'  Elsie 
said.  He  told  me  the  day  before 
Christmas.  0,  Clair  !  I  feel  almost 
like  a  murderess  when  I  think  of  him. 
It  was  all  my  fault !  And  yet  I  only 
said  him  "  yes  "  out  of  pity.  And  I 
would  never  have  taken  back  my  pro- 
mise had  he  not  found  it  all  out.  How 
could  I  have  acted  otherwise,  Clair  1 ' 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  and  held 
it  gently. 

*  You  did  nothing  wrong,  Elsie,'  he 
said  ;  '  and,  for  Reginald,  it  is  better 
as  it  is.  He  has  gone  where  pain  and 
disappointment  cannot  reach  him.  We 
must  not  wish  him  back,  Elsie ; 
though,  O,  how  blindly  we  would  re- 
call him  if  we  could  ! ' 

With  bitter  tears  and  aching  hearts 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ellerslie  saw  their  son 
laid  in  the  grave  ;  then  they  hid  their 
own  sorrow  to  comfort  the  girl  who 
had  been  that  son's  promised  wife. 
They  did  not  know  but  that  she  had 
been  his  betrothed  to  the  end. 

Clair  and  Elsie  agreed  not  to  unde- 
ceive them.      '  It   would   grieve  them 


SONNET. 


4G9 


sorely,'  Elsie  said  ;  '  and  there  is  no 
necessity  that  they  should  know  now. 
And,  besides — besides,  they  would  not 
understand  the  matter  rightly,  and 
might  think  harshly  of  me.  Need  I 
tell  them,  Clair  ? ' 

And  Clair  answered,  '  No  ; '  and  so 
nothing  was  said  to  Reginald's  parents 
to  enlighten  them  on  the  subject.  Mrs. 
Thorold  had  never  known  of  Elsie's 
engagement  to  Reginald,  for  Elsie  had 
never  summoned  courage  to  speak  of 
it,  and  Reginald  had  had  no  oppor- 
tunity. 

Two  years  after  the  latter's  death, 
•Clair  told  her  that  he  had  asked  Elsie 
Graeme  to  be  his  wife,  and  that  she 
had  consented.  She  thought  it  was  but 
a,  resumption  of  the  old  relations,  at 
the  rupture  of  which  she  had  been  so 
much  surprised  three  years  ago,  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  EUerslie  were  not  sel- 
fish enough  to  expect  their  niece  to 
remain  single  all  her  life  from  loyalty 
to  Reginald's  memory.  So  they  gave 
a  full  consent  to  the  engagement,  and 


felt  glad  that  she  had  been  so  soon  com- 
forted. Clair  and  Elsie  were  quietly 
married,  and  settled  down  in  the  city, 
near  to  both  their  old  homes.  On 
the  evening  of  their  wedding-day  they 
went  together  to  the  grave  where  Regi- 
nald was  buried.  Bright,  happy-hearted 
Reginald !  the  gayest  and  most  care- 
less fellow  in  the  world  !  yet  who  had 
been  glad  to  die  because  life's  burden 
had  grown  too  great  for  him  to  bear. 
Many  and  bitter  were  the  tears  which 
Elsie  shed  beside  that  grave. 

'  O,  Clair,  Clair  ! '  she  cried.  '  How 
bitterly  has  my  happiness  been  pur- 
chased ! ' 

But  Clair  raised  her  from  thegi-ound, 
and  drawing  her  to  him  with  one  ai'm, 
turned  her  face  up  to  meet  his. 

'  No,  no,  dear  wife  ! '  he  said,  '  you 
must  not  cry  upon  your  wedding  day. 
Reginald  is  happy,  Elsie,  happier  than 
even  we  are  ;  and  the  price  he  paid 
for  our  happiness  shall  only  make  us 
hold  it  as  a  more  sacred  gift.' 
The  End. 


FOR  AN  ANDANTE  OF  MENDELSSOHN'S. 

rpHERE'S  a  mist  upon  the  river,  and  a  ripple  on  the  lake. 

And  a  cold  and  warning  shiver  runs  along  the  heathery  brake ; 
The  wind  awakes  all  raging,  and  the  rain  begins  to  fall, 
But  we'll  wait  the  storm's  assuaging — is  not  heaven  above  us  all  \ 


There's  a  gloom  upon  the  valley,  and  a  silence  on  the  hill, 

While  adown  the  arch  of  midnight,  lo  !  the  whita  stars  wander  still — 

But  the  winds  arise  together,  and  the  shadows  backward  fall — 

See,  there's  dawn  upon  the  mountains,  and  there's  heaven  above  us  all. 

Bij  the  author  of  ^  John  Ilalifax^  Gentleman. 


470 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Read  before  the  Shakespeare  Club,  Montreal 


BY   R.   W.   BOODLE,  MONTREAL. 


THE  fact  that  Romeo  and  Juliet 
is  the  earliest  of  Shakespeare's 
tragedies,  having  been  written  prob- 
ably about  the  year  1592,  and  re- 
touched between  this  and  1599,  as 
well  as  the  great  popularity  of  the 
play  as  a  stage  piece,  give  special  in- 
terest to  the  study  of  it.  As  we  shall 
see  also,  the  whole  play  is  in  many 
ways  verysimiliar  to  Hamlet,  as  well  as 
strongly  contrasted  with  it.  Now  the 
first  composition  of  Hamlet  was  at 
least  as  early  as  1597.  In  the  study  of 
our  play  we  are  well  supplied  with 
materials.  For  the  student  of  the  text 
it  is  fortunate  that  Romeo  and  Juliet 
formed  the  first  volume  of  Furness's  ad- 
mirable Variorum  Edition  of  Shakes- 
peare. The  New  Shaksi)ere  Society, 
of  London,  has  given  special  attention 
to  this  play,  so  that  its  members  have 
been  supplied  with  the  Parallel  Texts 
of  the  First  Two  Quartos,  as  well  as 
with  a  critical  Text  with  notes  by  Mr. 
P.  A.  Daniel.  Lastly,  this  industrious 
student  has  edited,  for  the  same  Soci- 
ety, Shakespeare's  originals  by  Brooke 
and  Painter ;  and  to  his  ])reface  I 
would  refer  those  who  wish  for  a  full 
account  of  the  story  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet.  Meanwhile  the  following  list 
of  names  and  dates  will  be  of  service 
as  indicating  the  general  development 
of  Shakespeare's  subject. 

The  story  of  two  hai)less  lovei's  was 
one  familar  from  the  times  of  classical 
antiquity,  as  witness  such  stories  as 
those  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  Hero 
and  Leander,  Tristi-am  and  Isolt.  But 
the  first  mention  of  a  sleeping  potion 


in  connection  with  two  lovers*  comes 
in  the  story  of  Abrocomas  and  An- 
thia,  which  forms  one  of  a  medieval 
collection    of   tales   by  Xenophon   of 
Ephesus,  called    Ephesiaca.      1  have 
not  been  able  to  discover  the  date  of 
this  book,    but  that  of  the  supposed 
death  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  was  1303, 
during  the  administration  of  Bartolo- 
meo  dell  a  Scala  at  Verona,  from  whose 
name   comes  the  Escalus  of   Brooke 
and  Shakespeare.     As,  however,  the 
earliest  authority  for  this  is  Girolamo 
della  Corte  who  wi-ote  in  1594,  and  as 
the  early  annalists  of  Verona  say  noth- 
ing about  this  event,  we  cannot  safely 
pronounce  the  tradition  to  be  more 
than  a  topographical  myth,  which,  after 
long  floating  undefined  in  the  air,  had 
taken  to  itself  a  local  habitation  and 
a  name  in  the  city  of  Verona.      In 
1476,  Massuccio  of  Salerno  published 
at    Naples    his    NovelUno,    amongst 
which  is  the  story  of  Mariottoand  Gia- 
nozza.      Here  again  we  get  the  sleep- 
ing draught,  and  this  story  was  prob- 
ably in  the  mind  of  the  next  writer, 
in   whom    first   we   find  the  familiar 
names  as  well  as  the  general  outlines 
of  the  tale  as  in  Shakespeare.     Luigi 
da  Porto,    who   died   in   1529,  wrote 
shortly  before  his   death  his  Historia 
noveUamente    retrovata  di  due  nobili 
Amanti     The  first  edition  was  post- 

*  Boccaccio,  who  died  in  1375,  brings  a 
sleeping  draught  into  his  Decameron  (Day 
iii.,  Novel  viii).  The  Abbot  there  adminis- 
ters a  dose  to  '  Ferondo  '  for  purposes  of  his 
own.  The  victim  sleeps  for  three  days, 
and  like  Juliet  is  carried  to  his  tomb  in  his 
clothes. 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


471 


Immous,  about  1530,  and  subsequent 
reprints  were  published  in  1535,  1539, 
and  1553.  Massuccio's  hero  lost  his 
head,  and  his  heroine  died  of  grief  in 
a  Convent.  Da  Porto's  Romeo  and 
Juliet  die  together,  as  in  Shakespeare, 
but,  as  in  all  the  Italian  vei'sions,  with 
the  exception  of  Delia  Corte's,  Romeo 
survives  till  Juliet  awakes.  It  was  by- 
Da  Porto  that  the  date  was  vaguely 
determined  to  be  during  the  podesta- 
ship  of  Bartolomeo  della  Scala  (1301- 
1304).  About  this  time  the  story  got 
to  France,  for,  in  1542,  Adrian  Sevin 
told  it  with  different  names  in  the 
dedicatory  epistle  prefixed  to  his 
Translation  of  Boccaccio^  s  ^  Ph'docopo.^ 
In  1553,  Gabi'iel  Giolito  published  at 
Venice  a  poem  entitled  L'lnfelice 
Ariiore  del  due  Fedelissimi  Amanti 
Gudia  e  Romeo,  scritto  in  Ottava  Rima 
da  Clitia  nohile  Veronese,  ad  Ardeo  suo. 
This  was  accompanied  by  a  poem  by 
Ardeo  on  the  death  of  Clitia.  '  "Who 
Clitia  and  her  Ardeo  were,  or  whether 
any  such  persons  actually  existed,  is 
unknown.  The  publisher's  somewhat 
enigmatical  dedication  of  the  poem 
has  led  to  the  conjecture  that  its 
author  was  Gherardo  Boldei'i'  (Daniel's 
Introduction  to  Brooke  and  Painter, 
p.  ix.).  In  1544  Matteo  Bandello,  in 
his  collection  of  Novels  published  at 
Lucca,  gives  '  La  sfortunata  morte  di 
dui  infelecissimi  amanti,  che  I'uno  di 
veleno,  e  I'altro  di  dolore  morirono,  con 
varii  accidentl'  Da  Porto  had  first 
noticed  Rosaline,  Romeo's  first  love, 
Bandello  brings  her  into  prominence, 
though  we  do  not  get  her  name  till 
ShakBspeare  wrote.  Bandello  also 
introduces  Juliet's  nurse,  and  Friar 
John  appears  here,  but  as  F'riar  An- 
selmo.  He  is  not  changed  to  Friar 
John  till  we  come  to  Brooke,  In  1559 
Pierre  Boisteau,  surnamed  Launay, 
aided  by  Belle-Forest,  published  his 
Histoires  I'ragiques  extraides  des  (IJa^ 
vres  de  Bandel,  among  which  is  the 
*  Histoire  de  deux  amans  dont  I'un 
mourut  de  venins,  I'autre  de  tristesse.' 
The  story  now  passes  into  English 
hands.    From  Boisteau's  novel  Arthur 


Brooke  drew  the  materials  which  he 
published  in  15G2  as  a  metrical  ver- 
sion :  The  Tragkall  Ilistorije  of  Eomeus 
and  Juliet  written  first  in  Italian  bjf 
Bandell  and  now  in  Englische  by  A  ?v 
Br.  This  was  reprinted  again  in  1587, 
and  was  Shakespeare's  direct  source  of 
inspiration.  It  was  also  imitated  in. 
1565,  in  a  poem  by  Bernard  Garter, 
entitled  The  Tragicall  and  true  llistorie 
tchich  happened  between  tivo  English 
lovers.  No  name  of  persons  or  places 
are  mentioned,  but  the  personages  are 
I  the  Lovers  ,the  Father  and  Mother  of 
the  girl,  her  Nurse  and  an  old  Doctor,^ 
friend  of  the  hero.  In  1567,  William 
Painter  turned  Boisteau's  story  into 
English  prose  and  published  it  in  his 
Palace  of  Pleasure.  Several  editions- 
were  issued  between  1567  and  1575, 
which  testify  to  the  popularity  of  the 
tale.  Luigi  Groto's  La  Hadriana  ap- 
peared in  1578,  between  which  and 
our  play  there  are  many  points  of 
similarity,  notwithstanding  which  it 
is  not  quite  certain  whether  Shakes- 
peare is  really  indebted  to  Groto. 
Lastly,  in  1594,  Girolamo,  della  Corte 
began  to  publish  his  Istoria  di  Verona, 
by  which  the  scene  of  the  original  in- 
cident is  located  in  Verona,  in  accord- 
ance with  tradition,  and  the  actual 
year  of  its  occurrence  named  as  1303. 
At  this  point  the  list  is  generally 
considered  com|)lete,  for  the  next  work 
is  Shakespeare's.  But  attention  has 
lately  been  drawn  in  the  pages  of  the 
Athenceum  to  the  fact  of  the  occurrence 
of  the  tale  in  The  Treasury  of  Ancient 
and  Modern  Times,  an  obscure  work, 
published  by  W.  Jaggard,  in  the  year 
1619.  This  opens  a  cui'ious  question  : 
Jaggard's  account  is  a  mere  summary 
of  the  story,  but  differs  in  one  import- 
ant respect  from  all  the  other  accounts. 
I  do  not  refer  to  the  interchange  of 
the  names  of  Capulet  and  Montague, 
for  this  may  have  l)een  a  slip  of  mem- 
ory ;  but  the  motive  for  the  secret 
marriage  is  altered.  The  two  families, 
it  is  true,  are  at  enmity,  as  elsewhere, 
but  Julietta  marries  in  secret,  because 
her  father  will  not  allow  her  to  many 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


at  all.     '  Her  father  not  being  willing 
that  she  should  marry,  when  both  the 
decency  of   time  and   aptness   of  her 
years   made    tender    of    themselves ; 
therefore    (in  her    fairest   flower)  she 
espoused  herself  unknown  to  her  pa- 
rents, to  a  gentleman's  son  of  another 
house  and  family,  called  the  Capelets, 
whose  name  was  Romeo  ;  and  the  Capi- 
leta  were  mortal  enemies  unto  theMon- 
tesches  or  Montacutes.'    And  so,  after 
describing  the  death  of  the  lovers,  the 
account  concludes, 'all  which  mournful 
disaster  happened    because  Julietta's 
father  would  not  suffer  her  to  marry 
when  reason  required,'     This  clearly 
points  to  another  version  which  has 
perhaps  been  lost.     In  Xenophon,  the 
lovers    are    married    before   the    tale 
begins,  but  are  separated  afterwards 
by  misfortunes.     Their  families  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.     In  Massuccio, 
the  motives  for  the  secret  marriage  are 
noc   stated,    nor  are   the   families  to 
which  the  lovers  belong  rivals.    Mari- 
otto  slays  a  citizen  and  has  to  fly.    In 
Da  Porto,  we  first  learn  that  the   en- 
mity  of  the  families  caused  a  secret 
marriage,     Giulietta    being    eighteen 
years  of  age  at  the  time.  In  Sevin  the 
lovers  were  never  married  at  all,  the 
cause  of  Bruhachins    death  being  his 
objection  to  the  marriage  of  his  sister 
with  Halquadrich.     From  'Clitia' on- 
wards the  story  assumes  the  form  we 
find    in  Shakespeare  ;   yet,     even    in 
Shakespeare,    we    may    perhaps    dis- 
cover   hints    of   the  varying  version. 
When  Paris  (in  Act  1,  scene  2),  urges 
his  suit,  Capulet  objects,  *  saying  o'er 
what  I  have  said  before  : ' 

My  child  is  yet  a  stranger  in  the  world, 
She  hath  not    seen  the   change  of    fourteen 

years ; 
Let  two  more  summers  wither  in  their  pride, 
Ere  we  may  think  her  ripe  to  he  a  bride. 
Par. — Younger  than  she  are  happy  mothers 

made. 
Cap. — And  too  soon  marr'd  are  those  so  early 

made. 
The  earth  hath  sioallow'd  all  my  hopes  hut  she, 
She  is  the  hopeful  lady  of  my  earth, 

Shakespeare  too  may  have  had  another 
version  in  mind,    and   thus  accounts 


for  Capulet's  early  reluctance   to  the 
marriage. 

To  discrepancies  in  the  versions, 
however,  the  student  of  this  story 
soon  becomes  accustomed.  Let  us  take 
the  single  point  of  the  manner  of 
Juliet's  death.  In  Massuccio's  nar- 
rative, she  dies  of  grief  in  a  convent ; 
in  his  argument  in  '  Citia,'  in  Ban- 
dello  anil  in  Boisteau's  title — of  grief 
along  with  her  lover.  In  Da  Porto, 
she  causes  her  own  death  by  holding 
her  breath,  like  Girolamo  in  Boccaccio 
(Day  IV.,  Novel  VIII. ).  In  Sevin, 
Romeo  takes  half  the  poison  and  she 
the  rest — a  supposition  which  Shakes- 
peai'e  directly  negatives.  Juliet  stabs 
herself  inGroto — Boisteau's  narrative, 
Brooke,  Painter,  Shakespeare  and  Jag- 
gard,  add  with  Romeo's  dagger. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  story 
of  tlie  two  lovers  in  its  various  deve- 
lopments. By  Shakespeare's  time  it 
was  probably  widely  known  and  so 
taken  by  him  as  the  subject  of  his 
play.  From  Brooke's  preface,  we  learn 
that  it  had  already  appeared  on  the 
stage,  but  the  original  play  has  been 
lost,  except  in  so  far  as  we  may  have 
its  remains  in  the  First  Quarto  of 
1597.  The  confusion  in  the  old  stage 
directions  of  the  early  Quartos  shews 
that  Romeo's  man  was  originally 
named  Peter.  In  the  second  and  third 
Quartos,  and  in  the  Folio,  he  is  called 
'Peter,'  and  in  the  prefix  to  speeches, 
*  Pet.,'  '  Bait.,'  '  Boy,'  and  '  Man.' 
Shakespeare  probably  reduced  Peter 
to  the  position  of  the  Nurse's  man, 
and  renamed  Romeo's  man,  Baltha- 
zar. To  what  extent  the  first  Quarto 
is  Shakespeare's  own,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  say.  There  is  much  in  it,  as 
we  shall  see,  that  is  changed  in  the 
second  Quarto,  and  some  critics  such 
as  Grant  White  and  Fleay,  discover 
another  hand  taking  part  in  its  com- 
position. This,  however,  is  a  point 
upon  which  it  is  impossible  to  decide 
absolutely,  and  we  must  be  content  to 
take  the  play  as  we  have  it  as  Shakes- 
peare's own — always  remembering  that 
it  was  the  practice  of  the  early  stage 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


473 


for  writers  to  ai)propriate  freely  the 
unfinished  work  of  their  [jredecessors. 
Fx-om  the  study  of  the  story  we 
may  see  that  it  was  Shakespeare's  in- 
tention to  dramatise  a  trite  theme, 
to  produce  a  popular  stage  version  of 
n  story  in  everybody's  mind.'  The 
point  of  view  of  German  critics,  with 
regard  to  the  drama  generally,  is  well 
known,  and  no  one  will  be  astonished 
to  find  that  most  of  them,  followed  by 
«ome  Englishmen  who  ought  to  know 
better,  rega^-d  the  play  as  the  dramatic 
treatment  of  certain  moral  ideas.  Thus 
Dowden  considers  that  the  moral  idea 
of  the  play  is  '  the  deliverance  of  a 
man  from  dream  into  reality,'  while 
Ulrici  comments  that  in  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  love  is  regarded  as  the  princi- 
ple of  life.  The  lovers  fall  a  sacrifice 
to  their  misuse  of  the  divine  endow- 
ment, but  their  love  rises  powerful 
from  the  tomb.  Kreyszig,  who  re- 
gards it  as  a  tragedy  of  Love,  remarks 
that  while  it  is  the  highest  domain  of 
woman,  by  partaking  of  which,  her 
nature  is  ennobled,  it  is  but  an  epi- 
sode with  man.  Romeo  is  ruined 
because  he  resigns  himself  utterly  to 
the  passion.  Without  denying  that 
these  lessons  may  be  drawn  from  the 
study  of  our  play,  it  will  be  better  to 
keep  in  view  Shakespeare's  own  in- 
tentions as  declared  in  the  Prologue. 
His  purpose  is  to  shew  how  the  strife 
of  the  rival  houses  was  set  at  rest  by 
the  atoning  death  of  the  two  lovers. 
This  comes  out  clearly,  if  we  compare 
together  the  first  and  second  drafts. 
In  the  Quarto  of  1597,  the  Prologue 
reads  as  follows  : — 

From  foi'th  the  fatal  loins  of  these  two  foes, 
A  pair  of  star-cross'd  lovers   took    their 
life; 
When  misadventures,  piteous  overthrows, 
(Through  the   continuing  of  their  Fathers' 
strife, 
And  death-mark'd  passage  of  their  parents' 

rage,) 
Is  now  the  two  hours'  trafRck  of  our  stage. 

Here  the  passion  of  the  lovers  is 
brought  into  prominence.  Compare 
this  with  the  Prologue  as  in  the  Quarto 


of  1599.*  In  this  for  the  last  four 
lines  are  substituted  the  following 
six  : — 

Whose  misadventur'd  piteous  overthrows 
Doth,  with  their  death,  bury  their  parents' 
strife. 
The   fearful  passage  of   their    death-mark'd 
love, 
And  the  continuance  of  their  parents'  rage. 
Which,  but  their  children's  end,  nought  could 
remove, 
Is  now  the  two  hours'  trafiick  of  our  stage. 

Hei'e  on  the  other  hand,  the  recon- 
ciliation of  the  families  is  the  chief 
point,  and  the  misfortvines  of  the  lovers 
merely  the  means.  From  this  point 
of  view  the  j)lay  opens,  not  with  a 
love  scene,  but  with  a  quarrel  between 
the  serving  men,  and  ends  not  with 
the  lovers'  deaths,  but  their  parents' 
reconciliation  ;  and  when  we  bear  this 
in  mind  we  shall  recognise  the  words 
of  the  Friar  : — 

For  this  alliance  may  so  happy  i^rove, 
To  turn  your  households'  rancour  to    pure 
love, 

as  a  fine  piece  of  tragic  irony.  The 
prediction  is  a  true  one  but  not  as  he 
intends  it.  Like  Hamlet,  it  is  Romeo's 
'  cursed  spite'  to  be  born  to  set  right 
his  world  of  Verona,  which  by  the 
quarrels  of  the  Montagues  and  Capu- 
lets  is  '  out  of  joint.'  As  a  preliminary 
then  to  our  study  of  tlie  play,  we  are 
in  a  position  to  realise  what  was 
Shakespeare's  idea  in  the  work  before 
us.  He  does  not  write  as  most  Ger- 
man commentatoi'S,  and  some  English 
have  thought,  to  jyoint  a  moral,  other- 
wise the  moral  would  have  been  more 
cleai-ly  marked,  but  to  tell  a  tale,  '  in 
which,'  and  liei'e  we  may  quote  the 
words  of  Lady  Martin,  the  latest 
writer  upon  thesuVjject,  who  as  Helen 
Faixcit  was,  in  her  younger  days,  the 
best  living  Juliet,  'in  which,  as  in  the 
Greek  dramas,  the  youug  and  inno- 
cent were  doomed  to  punishment  in 
retribution   for  the  guilt  of   kindred 

*  Though  printed  in  modern  editions  from 
the  second  Quarto,  it  is  not  to  be  found  in  the 
Folio,  which,  however,  gives  the  fourteen 
lines  by  the  Chorus  prefixed  to  the  third  Act. 


47-i 


^''OTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


wliose  "  bloody  feuds"  were  to  be  expi- 
ated and  ended  by  the  death  of  their 
posterity.' 

Having  ascertained  our  author's  in- 
tention, we  have  next  to  see  how  he 
works  it  out.  We  find  two  main 
themes,  distinct  in  tliought  but  fused 
in  the  play,  viz.,  the  tragical  element 
of  the  misfortunes  of  the  lovers,  and 
the  beautiful  thread  running  through 
them  of  their  loves.  The  superiority 
of  these  love  scenes  to  the  more  purely 
tragical  element  has  been  often  re- 
marked. Shakespeare  came  to  his 
work  fresh  from  writing  comedies  and, 
while  he  writes  of  love  with  a  master 
hand,  there  is  assuredly  not  the  same 
superiority  in  the  sterner  parts.  He 
is  for  the  first  time  attempting  a  work 
with  which  his  genius  has  not  yet  ac- 
quired sutticient  power  to  deal.  I  need 
only  point  to  the  horror,  at  times 
overdone,  and  to  the  constant  inter- 
mixture of  conceits  of  language  and 
plays  upon  words,  which  undoubtedly 
spoil  the  general  effect. 

In  the  love  scenes,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  nothing  to  mar  the  ef- 
fect of  the  whole,  and  their  beauty  is 
enhanced  by  the  lyrical  nature  of  the 
verse  in  which  they  are  written.  It 
is  surely  a  most  noticeable  point  that, 
in  this  play,  which  abounds  in  lyrical 
passages,  there  should  be  none  of  those 
songs  which  by  themselves  would  be 
suflicient  to  make  the  reputation  of  an 
ordinary  poet.  Here,  accordingly, 
Shakespeare  has  attempted  the  diffi- 
cult task — in  the  '  Pilgrim  Love  Son- 
net' in  Act  II.,  in  Juliet's  wonderful 
soliloquy,  and  in  what  has  been  called 
the  '  Dawn  Song,'  in  Act  III. — of 
fusing  together  the  Dramatic  and  the 
Lyric  poet.  Thvis,  if  we  look  closely 
into  the  structure  of  Juliet's  speech 
(called  by  Mrs.  Jameson  '  a  Hymn  to 
the  Night,'and by  Clervinus, '  the Epith- 
alamium,')  we  shall  find  that  it  falls 
naturally  into  five  ideas.  These  in  a 
lyric  would  be  expressed  in  five  verses, 
'  Come  night  quickly  ;  Come  night, 
that  Cupid  may  officiate,  seeing  or 
blind  ;  Come  night  and  give  me  cou- 


rage; Come  night,  come  Romeo,  nij 
day  in  night  ;  Come  night  and  give 
me  Romeo,  my  beautiful  Romeo.' 
Though  the  metre  is  the  same,  we  feel 
that  the  song  has  ended  when  we  come 
to  the  line — 

0  !  I  have  bought  the  mansion  of  my  love. 

The  diflference  between  the  beginning 
and  the  end  of  the  speech  is  as  marked 
as  that  between  the  first  part  of  the 
opening  Chorus  of  the  Agamemnon,, 
and  the  second  part  beginning  with 
the  line — 

Ki'ptos  et/xt  OpoeLV  k.t.X. 

Or,  to  illustrate  from  the  works  of 
a  contemporary  poet,  we  may  com- 
pare the  beautiful  series  of  lyrics  that 
Tennyson  has  scattered  through  his 
Idylls.  If  we  were  to  arrange  poetry 
in  an  ascending  scale,  as  it  passes  from 
the  ordinary  narrative  or  dialogue 
metre  of  a  poem  into  lyric,  we  might 
arrange  them  in  the  following  order: — 

Ordinary  verse,  blank  or  rhymed. 

The   Lyrical  verse  in  Romeo  and 
Juliet. 

The  Tennysonian  Lyrics. 

Ordinary  Lyrics. 

Marked  as  this  feature  is  in  the  play, 
even  as  we  have  it,  it  is  more  so  in  the 
first  Quarto.  In  following  the  second 
Quarto,  modern  editors  have  excised 
a  passage  which,  whether  Shakes- 
perian  or  not,  is  of  a  totally  diffei'ent 
nature  from  the  speeches  which  have, 
superseded  it.  In  Act  IV.,  Scene  5^ 
Juliet  is  found  dead,  and  the  wedding 
party  enters  to  bewail  her.  Then,  after 
a  speech  from  Paris,  only  part  of  which 
is  given  in  the  later  copies,  the  play 
proceeds  as  follows  : — '^ 

CopuJet-  O  !  here  she  lies  that  was  our  hope, 

our  joy, 
And  being  dead,  dead  son-ow  nips  us  all. 


*  I  have  quoted  this  passage  in  full  as  it  is 
not  given  in  ordinary  editions  of  the  play. 
The  difference  will  be  seen  by  comparing  it 
Avith  what  stands  in  its  place.  In  the  Quarto 
(1597),  the  second  speech  is  given  to  Capulet 
l)y  mistake.  Capulet  has  just  spoken,  and  it 
clearly  belongs  to  Paris. 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


475 


[^1//  at  once  cri'  nut  and  vring  their  hands.] 
All  cry — And  all  our  joy,  and  all  our  hope  is 

dead, 
Dead,  lost,  undone,  absented,  wholly  fled. 
Capulet — Cruel,  unjust,  impartial  destinie.i. 
Why  to  this  du)/  have  you  preserv'd  my  life  ? 
To  see  my  hope,  my  stay,  my  joy,  my  life, 
Depriv'd  of  sense,  of  life,  of  all  bj'  death, 
Cruel,  unjust,  impartial  destinies. 
Paris  — O  sad-faced  sori'ow,  map  of  miseiy, 
Why  this  sad  time  have  I  desir'd  to  see. 
This  day,  this  unjust,  this  impai'tial  day, 
Wherein  I  hop'd  to  sec  my  comfort  full, 
To  be  depriv'd  by  sudden  destiny. 
Mother— 0  woe,  alack,  distress,  why  should  I 

live  ? 
To  see  this  daj',  this  miserable  day. 
Alack  the  time  that  ever  I  was  born. 
To  be  partaker  of  this  destiny  ; 
Alack  the  day,  alack  and  well-a-day. 

Here  we  have  three  verses  of  five 
lines  each,  in  which  the  words  '  de- 
stiny,' '  see,'  and  '  day  '  are  played 
upon  in  different  ways,  with  the  com- 
mon burden,  '  And  all  our  joy,'  etc. 
Nor  is  this  the  only  place  in  which  a 
lyrical  passage  in  the  first  Quarto  has 
been  altered  in  the  second  to  make  it 
more  strictly  dramatic. 

Before  passing  to  the  consideration 
of  other  points  in  the  play,  it  should 
be  remarked  how  exactly  Shakespeare 
keeps  on  the  traditional  lines  in  these 
love  scenes,  and  here  I  refer  especially 
to  the  parting  scene  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  the  '  Dawn  Song.'  A  parallel 
to  this  will  be  found  in  Troilus  and 
Cressida  (Act  IV.,  Scene  2),  which, 
however,  is  not  so  fully  worked  out  as 
the  scene  before  us.  Just  as  the  'Epith- 
aiamium  '  falls  into  difierent  vei'ses,  so 
the  'Dawn  Song,'  taken  up  by  the  two 
lovers,  turns  round  certain  ideas  com- 
mon in  the  love  poetry  of  the  INIiddle 
Ages,viz,,'lt  cannot  be  the  nightingale, 
but  the  lark  ;  The  rising  sun,  which 
must  be  a  star  or  something  else  ;  It 
is  the  lark,  which  sings  out  of  tune ; 
The  lark  and  the  toad.'  These  ideas, 
of  which  Shakespeare  has  made  use  to 
enhance  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  were 
the  amorous  commonplace  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages.  Love  with  them  was  re- 
duced to  rule  and  organised  just  as 
education,  religion,  and  social  status. 
The  perfect  knight  had  to  pass  through 
the  stages  of  page  and  esquire,  with 


their  various  routine  duties,  before  he 
received  his  golden  spurs.  The  Church 
took  to  itself  the  guidance  of  the  reli- 
gious side  of  men's  nature,  and  in- 
structed them  in  what  to  believe ; 
while  the  Feudal  system,  which  for  a 
time  reigned  supreme  in  Europe,  set- 
tled men's  status  in  life,  and  their  du- 
ties to  their  fellow  men.  Sir  H.  Sum- 
ner Maine,  has  called  the  Middle  Ages 
the  age  of  Status,  and  the  name  serves 
admirably  to  denote  the  definiteness 
and  fixity  that  practice  endeavoured  to 
give  to  the  different  sides  of  life.  Love, 
too,  was  subject  to  a  like  regimen,  and 
the  affairs  between  lovers  were  regu- 
lated by  recognised  tribunals,  which 
went  by  the  name  of  Courts  of  Love. 
It  is  interesting  to  learn  that  among 
the  Queens  of  Love,  whose  names 
have  come  down  as  presiding  at  these 
courts,  is  to  be  found  the  name  of 
Queen  Eleanor,  the  divorced  wife  of 
Louis  VII,  of  France,  and  afterwards 
Queen  of  Henry  II,  of  England  ;  and 
that  among  the  list  of  the  Princes  of 
Love,  is  to  be  found  the  name  of 
Kichard  Ca'ur  de  Lion.  I  have  men- 
tioned these  details  in  order  to  shew 
how  the  traditional  phraseology  grew 
up  about  the  romantic  passion.  Shakes- 
peare, like  all  the  greatest  writers, 
shews  his  strength  much  more  in 
adopting  what  he  finds  ready  to  hand, 
than  in  purely  original  work.  Just  as 
in  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  he 
utilised  the  recognised  Fairy  folk-lore 
(of  which  by  the  way  we  have  a  sam- 
ple in  Mercutio's  famous  speech  about 
Queen  Mab),  to  bring  about  the  mis- 
takes of  the  lovers,  so  he  utilises  in 
his  love-scenes  the  traditional  common- 
places of  the  times  that  were  passing 
away.  '  He  preferred,'  writes  Gervi- 
nus,  '  rather  not  to  bo  original,  than 
to  misconceive  the  form  suitable ;  he 
preferred  to  borrow  the  expression 
and  the  style  which  centuries  long  had 
fashioned  and  developed,  for  in  this, 
the  very  test  of  their  genuineness  and 
durability  lay ;  and  thus  the  lyric 
love-poetry  of  all  ages  is,  as  it  were, 
recognised  in  the  forms,   images,  and 


476 

expressions  employed  in  this  tragedy 
of  love.'  No  one  can  read  even  frag- 
ments of  the  love-poetry  before  Shakes- 
peare's time  without  meeting  some- 
thing that  illustrates  his  plays.  I 
must  give  an  instance  of  this  to  jus- 
tify what  I  have  said  ;  especially  as  it 
illustrates  a  passage  that  conies  in  the 
play  before  us.  Among  the  extant 
decisions  of  the  Courts  of  Love,  is 
one  by  Ermengarde  of  Navarre,  who 
declared  that  marital  claims  did  not 
justify  a  woman  in  dismissing  a  for- 
mer lover,  unless  she  had  distinctly 
renounced  him  before  marriage.  Read 
in  the  light  of  this  decision,  we  can 
better  understand  the  nurse's  advice 
to  Juliet, 

Romeo 
Is  banished  ;  and  all  the  world  to  nothing, 
That  he  dares  ne'er  come  back  to  challenge 

you  ; 
Or  if  he  do,  it  needs  must  be  by  stealth. 

One  of  the  most  marked  points  in 
Eomeo  and  Juliet  is  the  symmetrical 
grouping  of  the  characters.  They  are 
told  off  against  one  another,  the  two 
Capulets  and  the  two  Montagues ; 
Tybalt  and  Mercutio ;  two  Capulet 
men-servants  and  two  Montague  men- 
servants  ;  Juliet  with  the  nurse  as 
counsellor,  and  Romeo  with  Friar 
Lawrence.  *  In  the  plays  which  be- 
long to  Shakspere's  period  of  mas- 
tership,' Professor  Dowden  remarks, 
'  he  can  dispense  with  such  artifice. 
In  these  later  plays  unity  is  present 
through  the  virtue  of  one  living  force 
which  animates  the  whole.  The  unity 
is  not  mei-ely  structural,  but  vital. 
And,  therefore,  the  poet  has  no  appre- 
hension that  the  minor  centres  of 
development,  in  his  creation,  will  sud- 
denly become  insubordinate.  Assured 
that  the  organism  is  living,  he  fear- 
lessly lets  it  develop  itself  in  its  proper 
mode,  unicentral  (as  Macbeth),  or 
multicentral  (as  King  Lear).  In  the 
early  plays,  structure  determines  func- 
tion ;  in  the  latter  plays,  organization 
is  preceded  by  life.'  We  may  supple- 
ment this  excellent  criticism  of  the 
structure  of  the  play,  by  remarking 


NOTES  UPON  EOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


how  carefully  the  author  maintains 
his  dramatic  impartiality.  This 
quality  is  one  point  of  distinction  be- 
tween the  drama  and  other  poetry.  It 
is  extremely  noticeable  that  unless 
Tybalt  and  the  Nurse  be  the  villains, 
there  are  no  villains  in  the  play  be- 
fore us.  Even  Tybalt  is  insulted 
by  Romeo's  presence  at  the  ball, 
and  Tybalt's  character  for  tender- 
ness is  vindicated  by  Juliet's  sor- 
row for  his  loss.  The  Nurse  is  rather 
an  unscrujjulous  sort  of  person,  but 
her  aim  throughout  is  the  good,  or 
what  she  fancies  to  be  so,  of  her  foster- 
child.  Paris,  Romeo's  rival,  is  in 
every  way  a  most  estimable  character. 
He  knew  nothing  of  Romeo's  love  and 
marriage,  and  he  was  fully  justified 
from  his  point  of  view  in  the  inter- 
ference with  Romeo  that  caused  his 
death.  It  is  this  impartiality,  this 
balancing  between  the  prudential 
maxims  of  the  Friar  and  the  headlong 
love  of  Romeo,  that  makes  it  impos- 
sible for  us  to  concede  that  the  play 
was  intended  to  convey  a  moral  les- 
son. The  Friar's  lessons  of  moderation, 
upon  which  the  German  commentators 
lay  such  stress,  are  finely  rebuked  by 
Romeo  in  the  words : 

Thou  canst  not  speak  of  what  thou  dost  not 

feel; 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  Juliet  thy  love, 
An  hour  but  married,  Tybalt  murder'd, 
Doting  like  me,  and  like  me  banished, 
Then  might'st  thou  speak,  then  might'st  thou 

tear  thy  hair. 

If  Romeo's  viewislimited,  the  Friar, 
too,  only  sees  from  his  point  of  view. 
It  is  the  author  behind  them  that  sees 
from  both.  For  the  fates  of  the  two 
lovers  we  have  poetic  justification  in 
the  deception  practiced  by  the  one, 
and  in  the  imprudent  haste  of  the 
other.  Moreover,  though  their  fate 
is  hard,  it  is  only  the  realisation  of 
words  put  into  Romeo's  own  mouth. 

Come  what  sorrow  can, 
It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy, 
That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight ; 
Do  thou  but  close  our  hands  with  holy  words, 
Then  love-devouring  death  do  what  he  dare, 
It  is  enough  I  may  but  call  her  mine. 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


We  may  remark  too  the  constant 
tokens  of  coming  trouble  that  are 
scattered  throngli  the  play.  Before 
going  to  the  ball,  Romeo  mentions  that 
he  has  had  a  dream  and  his  mind 
misgives  him  (I.  4) ;  Juliet  at  their 
parting  sees  him  '  as  one  dead  in  the 
bottom  of  a  tomb'  (III.  5).  While  at 
Mantua,  Romeo  dreams  that  his  lady 
came  and  found  him  dead  (V.  I),  and 
as  Friar  Lawrence  passes  through  the 
churchyard,  his  feet  often  stumble 
over  the  graves  (V.  3).  These  points 
should  be  noticed  as  marking  the  tone 
of  Shakespeare's  mind,  and  the  super- 
natural ideas  of  the  period.  In  other 
plays,  as  in  Macbeth  (Act  II,  sec.  3), 
external  nature  is  made  to  sympathise 
with  the  events  transpiring  in  the 
world  of  man.  These  presentiments 
and  correspondences  may  seem  unsci- 
entific to  those  who  regard  man  and 
nature  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  In  Shakespeare's 
day,  '  the  world,  with  the  human  race, 
who  were  the  masters  of  it,  was  a 
thing  of  vast  magnitude — -the  centre 
of  the  whole  creation.  The  mind  had 
no  larger  conceptions  that  were  vivid 
enough  to  dwai-f  it.'*  But  now  all  this 
is  changed.  Instead  of  the  sun  and 
moon  existing  to  give  light  to  the 
world,  and  the  world  but  as  the  home 
of  man,  we  have  presented  to  our  view 
the  unchanging  reign  of  law  to  which 
man  and  the  whole  universe  are  alike 
subject.  From  our  point  of  view,  it 
is  much  truer  to  say  that  man  is  de- 
pendent vipon  nature,  than  that  nature 
is  the  servant  of  man.  But  it  was  the 
contemplation  of  a  difierent  ordering 
of  the  world  that  gave  colour  and 
richness  to  the  dramatist's  imagination 
in  the  age  of  Elizabeth.  Witches  still 
held  their  i-evels  upon  the  '  blasted ' 
heaths,  and  fairies  danced  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest.  The  ghosts  of 
murdered  men  reappeared,  and  the 
heroism  of  Joan  of  Arc  was  believed 
to  be  due  to  her  illicit  dealings  with 
the  powers  of  evil. 

*  cf.  Mallock's  '  Is  Life  Worth  Livinj,'  ? ' 


477 

I  have  mentioned  before  the  strong 
contrast  that  this  play  presents  to 
Hamlet.  I  cannot  bring  this  better 
before  you  than  in  the  words  of  Profes- 
sor Dowden  : — '  Romeo  and  Juliet  is 
steeped  in  passion  ;  Hamlet  <s  steeped 
in  meditation.  Contrast  the  hero  of  the 
one  play,  the  man  of  the  South,  with 
the  chief  figure  of  the  other,  the  Teu- 
ton, the  man  of  the  North.  Contrast 
Hamlet's  friend  and  comforter,  Hora- 
tio, possessed  of  great  strength,  self- 
government,  and  balance  of  character, 
with  Romeo's  friend,  Mercutio,  all 
brilliance,  intellect,  wit,  and  efferves- 
cent animal  spirits.  Contrast  the  gay 
festival  in  Capulet's  house  with  the 
brutal  drinking  of  the  Danish  king  and 
courtiers.  Contrast  the  moonlit  night 
in  the  garden,  w  hile  the  nightingale's 
song  is  panting  forth  from  the  pome- 
granate tree,  with  the  silence,  the 
nipping  and  eager  air  of  the  platform 
of  Elsinore,  the  beetling  height  to  sea- 
ward, and  the  form  of  terror  which 
stalked  before  the  sentinels.  Contrast 
the  perfect  love  of  Juliet  and  her 
Romeo,  with  the  piteous  foiled  desire 
for  love  in  Hamlet  and  Ophelia.  Con- 
trast the  passionate  seizure  upon  death, 
as  her  immediate  and  highest  need,  of 
the  Italian  wife,  with  the  misadventure 
of  the  cz-azed  Ophelia,  so  pitiful,  so  ac- 
cidental, so  un-heroic,  ending  in  "mud- 
dy death.'"  Professor  Dowden  believes 
that  in  writing  his  second  tragedy 
directly  after  his  first,  Shakespeare 
determined  to  break  away  fi'om  it  en- 
tirely, to  try  his  powers  by  a  strong 
contrast.  He  has  succeeded  in  doing 
so  completely. 

After  all,  the  most  important  side 
of  Shakespeare's  plays  is  the  develop- 
ment of  character,  and  the  knowledge 
they  show  of  life.  He  has  taught  us  to 
expect  this  in  them  by  putting  into 
Hamlet's  mouth  the  following  words, 
defining  the  purjiose  of  playing :  'whose 
end,  both  at  the  first  and  now,  was  and 
is,  to  hold,  as  'twere,  the  mirror  up  to 
nature;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature, 
scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age 
and  body  of  the  time,   his  form  and 


478 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


pressure.'  As  to  the  characters  of 
Eomeo  and  ,luliet,  there  is  very  little 
room  for  difterence  of  opinion.  The 
two  lovers  represent  the  impetuosity 
of  yonthful  ])assion,  and  in  either  case 
the  effect  of  love  and  its  attendant 
troubles  upon  them,  is  to  bring  them 
to  early  maturity  of  will  and  indivi- 
duality. The  development  is,  I  believe, 
gradual  in  both  cases,  and  I  can  hardly 
assent  to  Professor  Dowden's  view, 
that  while  Eomeo  develops  by  degrees 
the  woman  Juliet  is  suddenly  created. 
Though  Juliet,  it  is  true,  sees  by  her- 
self what  it  requires  the  wisdom  of  the 
Friar  to  tell  Romeo,  the  reason  is  obvi- 
ous: Romeo  himself  has  slain  Tybalt, 
and  the  guilt  comes  home  to  him  with 
more  overwhelming  force  than  it  does 
to  Juliet,  who  views  the  action  with 
other  eyes.  To  a  great  extent  the  two 
characters,  move  on  parallel  lines. 
Both  give  emphatic  expression  to  what 
Coleridge  has  finely  called  '  the  athe- 
ism of  love.'  Juliet  bids  Romeo — 

Swear  by  thy  gracious  self. 
Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatry 
And  111  believe  thee, 

and  Romeo  says  of  his  banishment : 

'Tis  torture,  and  not  mercy  :  heaven  is  here, 
Where  Juliet  lives. 

Both  compare  the  object  of  their  love 
to  stars,  Romeo  thus — 

Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heavens. 
Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 

and  Juliet  with  more  passion, 

When  he  shall  die. 
Take  him  and  cut  him  out  in  little  stars, 
And  he  -will  make  the  face  of  heaven  so  fine, 
That  all  the  world  will  be  in  love  with  night. 

and  when  Romeo  thinks  he  sees  Juliet 
dead  in  her  tomb,  he  exclaims  that, 

'  Her  beauty  makes 
This  vault  a  feasting  jjresepce  full  of  light.' 

Yet  Shakespeare  emphasi-ses  the  differ- 
ence between  the  man  and  the  woman  ; 
Romeo  is  surrounded  by  his  friends, 
Mercutio  and  Benvolio  ;  Juliet  by  her 
family.  Hence  the  fact  that  the  Capu- 
lets  are  brought  into  much  greater  pro- 
minence in  the  play  than  the  Mon- 


tagues. Juliet's  character  is,  on  the 
whole,  one  of  greater  simplicity  than 
Romeo's.  She  is  thrilled  through  and 
through  with  passion,  and  this  supplies 
her  with  imagination.  She  is  not  an  in- 
tellectual character  like  Rosalind,  in 
'  As  You  Like  It.'  On  the  other  hand, 
she  has  not  the  pure  simplicity  of  Mi- 
randa, or  the  yielding  softness  of 
Ophelia.  Hallam  denies  her  a  place 
among  Shakespeare's  great  characters, 
calling  her  '  a  child,  whose  intoxica- 
tion in  loving  and  being  loved  whirls 
away  her  reason.'  A  child,  of  course, 
she  is,  yet  she  rises  into  a  woman  in 
the  later  scenes. 

Maginn,in  his  '  Shakespeare  Papers,' 
calls  Romeo  '  the  gentleman,  t/ie  un^ 
lucky  man  of  Shakespeare,'  and  con- 
tracts him  with  Bottom,  '  the  block- 
head, the  lucky  man.'  He  is  always 
acting  for  the  best,  and  always  going 
wrong.  He  feels  no  interest  in  the 
enmity  between  the  houses,  and  had 
singled  out  his  first  love  from  among 
the  Capulets,  yet  by  the  spite  of  for- 
tune he  is  dragged  into  the  quarrel 
and  kills  Tybalt  and  Paris.  Over- 
haste  and  impetuosity  is  the  cause  of 
all  his  misfortunes,  and  though  he  wins 
golden  opinions  from  everybody,  even 
from  his  hereditary  foe,  Capulet,  bis 
life  is  a  failure  and,  like  Mary  Stuart 
in  history,  he  brings  troi;ble  to  all 
whom  he  loves.  As  a  man,  his  charac- 
ter stands  in  marked  contrast  with 
two  of  Shakespeare's  greatest  crea- 
tions, Henry  V.  and  Hamlet.  '  He 
lives  and  moves,'  writes  Dowden,  '  and 
has  his  being  neither  heroically  in  the 
objective  world  of  action,  like  Henry 
v.,  nor  in  the  world  of  mind  like 
Hamlet;  all  the  more  he  lives,  moves, 
and  has  his  being  in  the  world  of 
mere  emotion.  To  him  emotion  which 
enriches  and  exalts  itself  with  imagin- 
ation, emotion  apart  from  thought, 
and  apart  from  action,  is  an  end  in  it- 
self.' His  utterances  have  a  sensuous- 
ness  about  them  that  is  characteristic, 
e.g.— 
How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers'  tongues  by 

night, 
Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears. 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Again — 

Jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops . 

*  We  have  an  interval,'  wi-ites  Mr. 
Pater,  in  his  Studies  in  the  History 
of  the  lienaissance,  '  and  then  our 
place  knows  us  no  more.  Some  spend 
this  interval  in  listlessness,  some  in 
high  passions,  the  wisest  in  art  and 
song.  For  our  one  chance  is  in  ex- 
pending that  interval,  in  getting  as 
many  pulsations  as  possible  in  the 
given  time.  High  passions  give  one 
this  quickened  sense  of  life — '  Eomeo 
is  one  of  these,  and,  after  indulging  in 
a  passion  for  an  ideal  love,  he  throws 
himself  unhesitatingly  at  Juliet's  feet, 
and  lavishes  upon  her  the  wealth  of 
amatoiy  conceits  that  he  had  studied 
for  Rosaline.  Verily  Juliet  may  tell 
him  that. he  kisses  by  the  book.  Yet 
the  difference  between  the  real  and 
the  ideal  passion  is  clearly  marked. 
When  dwelling  on  the  thoughts  of 
Rosaline,  he  thus  expresses  himself — 

I  am  too  sore  enpierced  with  his  shaft, 
To  soar  with  his  light  feathers  ;  and  so  bound, 
1  cannot  bound  a  pitch  above  dull  woe  : 
Under  love's  heavy  burden  do  I  sink. 

But  to  Juliet,  he  says — 

With  love's  light  wings  did  I  o'er-perch  these 
walls. 

The  character  of  Mercutio  has  found 
one  impugner  and  many  defenders. 
Gervinus  calls  him  '  a  man  w^ithout 
culture,  coarse,  rude,  and  ugly.'  If  he 
had  been  only  this,  he  would  not  have 
been  Romeo's  friend.  It  has  been 
supposed  that  Shakespeare  acted  this 
part  himself.  It  is  hardly  in  the  same 
rbk  as  the  Clhost  in  Hamlet  and 
Richard  II.,  his  acknowledged  parts. 
Yet  to  Shakespeare  we  may  apply, 
and  perhaps,  too,  to  Mercutio,  the  j 
words  Don  Pedro  uses  of  Benedick —  ! 
*  the  man  doth  fear  God,  howsoever, 
it  seems  not  in  him  by  some  large 
jests  he  will  make.'  It  was  friendship 
for  Romeo  that  brought  him  to  Capu- 
let's  feast  in  a  visor,  though  he  was 
one  of  the  invited  guests,  and  the 
same  friendship,  for  he  was  no  Mon- 


tague, but  a  kinsman  of  Escalus,  that 
caused  him  to  fall  a  victim  to  the 
sword  of  Tybalt.  It  is  sometimes  said 
that  this  character  is  wholly  Shakes- 
peare's own.  This  is  true  in  the  main, 
yet  the  hint  for  it  comes  from  Brooke's 
poem  (lines  2.51-262).  He  is  describ- 
ing Juliet  at  Capulet's  feast — 

At  the  one  side  of  her  chair  her  lover  Romeo, 
And  on  the   other  side  there  sat  one  call'd 

Mercutio  — 
A  courtier  that  eachwhere  was  highly  had  in 

price, 
For  he  was  courteous  of  his  speech  and  plea- 
sant of  device. 
Even  as  a  lion  would  among  lambs  be  bold. 
Such  was  among  the  bashful  maids  Mercutio 

to  behold. 
With  friendly  giipe  he  seiz'd  fair  Juliet's 

snowish  hand ; 
A  gift  he  had  that  nature  gave  him  in  his 

swathing  band, 
That  frozen  mountain  ice  was  never  half  so 

cold, 
As  were  his  hands,  though  ne'er  so  near  the 

fire  he  did  them  hold. 

I  will  conclude  by  a  few  illustra- 
tions that  have  struck  me  of  separate 
lines  in  the  play.  In  Act  I,  scene  i., 
occurs  a  line  that  has  hardly  received 
adequate  explanation.     Romeo  says  : 

Alas,  that  love,  whose  view  is  muffled  still, 
Should,  loithout  eyes,  see  patlucaijs  to  his  ivill  ! 

This  is  the  reading  of  the  second 
Quarto  and  of  the  Folio.  The  pre- 
ceding  couplet  from  Benvolio, 

Alas  !  that  love,  so  gentle  in  his  view, 
Should  be  so  tjTannous  and  rough  in  proof ! 

precludes  the  alternative  of  the  first 
Quarto ; 

Should  without  lav:s  give  pathway  to  oi«- will ! 
Just  as  in  Benvolio's  speech  an  ante- 
thesis  is  intended  between  gentle  and 
rough  love,  so  in  Romeo's  answering 
conceit  the  antithesis  must  be  between 
love  blind  and  love  that  sees.  Wo 
may  compare  with  this  a  line  from 
'  The  Cuckow  and  the  Nightingale,'  a 
poem  once  attributed  to  Chaucer — 

Thou  Nightingale,  he  said,  be  stille  ! 
For  Love  hath  no  reason  btit  hys  wille. 

This  is  the  general  sentiment — love  is 
blind,  but  as  wilful  as  though  he  had 
eyes.  But  perhaps  Shakespeare  may 
have  meant  to  give  it  a  peculiar  appli- 


4S0 


NOTES  UPON  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


cation  to  Rosaline,  bearing  in  mind 
the  lines  that  occur  in  Brooke's  Ko- 
meus  and  Juliet  (81-4),  on  which  bis 
poem  is  founded. 

Which  way  she  seeks  to  go,  the  same  I  seek 

t(i  run  : 
B\it  she  the  path,  wherein  I  tread,  with  speedy 

flight  doth  shun. 
I  cannot  live,  except  that  near  her  I  be  : 
She  is  aye  best  content  when  she  is  furthest 

off  from  me. 

Fossibly,  therefore,  Shakespeare's 
meaning  may  be,  '  though  love  (the 
passion)  is  blind,  my  love  wills  to  take 
her  own  path.'  This  may  be  a  little 
far-fetched,  but  then  such  conceits 
necessarily  are  so. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  second  Act 
Romeo  says  before  he  leaps  the  wall 
to  bring  him  to  Juliet — 

Can  I  go  forward,  when  my  heart  is  here  ? 
Turn  back,  dull  tarth,  and  find  thy  centre  out. 

If  we  compare  this  with  Capulet's  pre- 
vious words  about  Juliet — 

The  earth  hath  swallow'd  all  my  hopes  bnt 

she. 
She  is  the  hojjef  ul  lady  of  my  earth — 

we  can  understand  that  the  eartli  is 
meant  for  the  human  frame,  tbe  heart, 
the  centre,  in  both  cases  is  with  Juliet. 
Lastly,  as  to  the  chief  crux  of  the 
play,  the  '  run-awayes  eyes '  of  the 
Quartos  and  Folios,  the  balance  of  evi- 
dence seems  clearly  to  be  in  favour  of 
Cupid  as  the  'Runaway.'  To  omit  evi- 
dence which  has  been  frequently  ad- 
duced— it  is  true  that  Spenser's  '  Epi- 
thalamium,'  which  appeai-ed  in  15 Do 
makes  no  mention  of  Cupid,  though  it 
contains  a  passage  which  seems  clearly 
to  have  been  in  Shakespeare's  mind : 

Now  welcome,  night !  thou  night  so  long  ex- 
pected, 
That  long  day's  labour  dost  a  last  defray, 
And  all  my  cares,  which  cruel  Love  collected. 
Hast  summ'd  in  one,  and  cancelled  for  aye. 
Spread  thy  broad  wing  over  my  love  and  me: 
That  no  man  may  us  see  ; 
And  in  thy  sable  mantle  us  en^vrap, 
From  fear  of  peril  and  foul  horror  free. 
Let  no  false  treason  seek  us  to  entrap, 
Xor  any  dread  disquiet  once  annoy 
The  safety  of  our  joy. 


This  passage,  it  is  true,  is  in  favour  of 
'  runawayes  '  as  '  runaways  '  (i.e.'  run- 
agates ').  On  the  other  hand,  Cupid 
or  Love  is  brought  prominently  for- 
ward in  the  prayer  of  Troylus  in  Chau- 
cer's Troylus  and  Cryseyde. 

Thane  seide  he  thus  : — 0  Love  !  0  Charite  I 
Thi  modir  eke,  Sitheres  the  swete, 
After  thi  silf,  next  heried*  be  siche, 
Venus  mene  I,  the  welewally  planete  ! 
And  next  that,  Ymeneus,  I  the  grete  ! 
For  never  was  man  to  you,  goddis,  yhold 
As   I,   which   ye  have  brought  from  cares 
coolde. 

This  pi-ayer  not  only  tells  strongly  in 
favour  of  Cupid,  but  makes  the  gene- 
ral view  of  the  passage,  as  an  'Epithal- 
amium,'  more  likely.     I  may  add  to 

i  this  other  items  of  evidence.  Juliet 
herself  talks  of  the  'wind-swift  Cupid,* 

I  and  he  is  more  constantly  mentioned 
in  the  play  than  Venus  the  other  di- 
vinity of  Love,  Again,  Mercutio  calls 
out  to  Romeo — 

Speak  to  my  gossip  Venus  one  fair  word. 
One  nickname  for  her  purblind  son  and  heir. 

The  Runaway  w^as  one  of  Cupid's  nick- 
names. Besides  this,  the  idea  of  not 
being  watched  and  spoken  of,  which 
is  prominent  in  Spenser,  occurs  in  the 
next  line  of  the  passage  in  vShakes- 
peare.  If  again  we  turn  to  Brooke, 
we  find  further  confirmation  of  what 
seems  to  me  a  certain  explanation.  At 
line  779,  after  the  consummation  of 
the  marriage, — 

They  kiss,  and  then  part  to  their  fathers'' 
house : 

The  joyful  bride  unto  her  home,  to  his  eke 
goeth  the  spouse, 

Contented  both,  and  yet  both  uncontented 
still. 

Till  night  and  Venus"  child  fjives  leave  the  wed- 
ding to  fulfill. 

What  more  can  be  required  ?  Night 
and  Cupid  are  joined  together  in  Ju- 
liet's beautiful  soliloquy  which  is  the 
expression  of  the  feelings  attributed 
to  her  in  Brooke's  lines. 

*  i.e.,  worshipped,  ijraised. 


A  MOOD. 


481 


A  MOOD. 

BY  FREDERICK  GEORGE  SCOTT,  MONTREAL. 

A   S  some  great  cloud  upon  a  mountain's  breast 
-^-^     Hanging  forever,  shutteth  out  the  sun, 
its  chilly  fingers  twining  in  the  trees 
And  blighting  them,  so' ever  some  dark  thou<^ht 
Broods  o'er  my  life  and  makes  my  spirit  droop 
Beneath  its  baleful  shade.     A  demon  form 
Is  ever  at  my  side,  whose  icy  touch 
Freezes  my  warmest  thoughts  and  makes  them  hano^ 
Like  dull,  cold  icicles  about  my  heart.  '^ 

1  feel  his  presence  'mong  my  fellow  men ; 
I  see  his  image  in  the  restless  sea 
That  gnaws  the  land  ;  and  on  the  mountain  top 
Where  everything  is  still,  amid  the  rocks  ' 

Worn  bald  by  fleeting  years,  I  hear  his  tread. 
I  see  his  footsteps  in  the  lonely  wild, 
Where  forests  ever  spring  and  ever  die  ; 
But  most  of  all,  I  feel  him  near  at  nio-ht, 
When  all  the  world  is  shrouded  in  the  gloom 
Of  dreamful  sleep,— so  like  his  brother  death, 
I  see  his_  eyeballs  on  the  glittering  sky, 
I  hear  his  laughter  ringing  from  the  stars, 
That  look  at  me  and  say,   '  0  helpless  worm. 
Upon  a  world  of  worms,  dost  thou  not  know 
The  dust  thou  treadest  in  was  once  like  thee. 
And  laughed  its  laugh,  and  had  its  time  to  \veep, 
And  now  lies  helpless,  trampled  on,  forgot. 
Scattered  upon  thy  tiny  globe  which  hano-s 
Chained  to  the  sun  in  black  infinity  ? 
That  thou — thou  too, — must  soon  be  dust  again. 
Forgotten,  helpless,  trampled  on,  by  those 
That  shall  come  after  thee  ? ' 

I  even  hear 
His  voice  amid  the  laughter  of  my  friends. 
Harsh,  taunting  me  with  death,  and  dreams  of  death. 
And  when  I  gaze  in  rapture  on  the  face 
Of  whom  I  love  he  casts  a  hideous  light. 
That  lets  me  see,  behind  the  sweet,  warm  flesh, 
The  lightless  skull,  and  o'er  the  rounded  form  ' 
The  gloom  of  death,  aye  dark  and  darker  growing 
Untd  the  life-light  melts  into  the  night. 


482  ^  MOOD. 

0  would  that  I  could  break  the  cursed  chain 
That  binds  this  monster  to  me,  for  my  life 
Is  like  some  gloomy  valley  that  lies  chill 
Beneath  a  frowning  precipice.     And  yet 
The  thread  of  gloom  is  woven  in  my  being 
And  I  am  loth  to  rend  it,  for  my  thoughts 
Have  long  been  shaded  by  it.     Ever  since 

1  first  could  play  I  used  to  watch  the  boys, 
So  joyous  in  their  sports,  and  saw  them  men, 
Grown  chilly-hearted  in  a  chilly  world, 
Grown  weary  with  the  burden  of  their  life, 
All-restless,  seeking  rest  yet  thiding  change. 
And  then  I  saw  the  gloomy  shadows  lower 
Upon  the  evening  of  their  life,  and  then 
They  merged  into  the  dark  and  all  was  still — 
Dust  under  dust,  forgotten  by  the  world 

In  ugly  loathsomeness. 

The  demon  still 
Was  at  my  side  in  after  years,  and  threw 
A  shade  on  every  friendship,  as  a  cloud 
Floats  past  the  sun  and  dims  the  flowering  fields. 

Oft  have  I  wondered  at  the  woodland  stream 
That  dances  on,  thro'  dappled-lighted  woods, 
O'er  mossy  pebbles  glinting  in  the  sun 
'        Like  eyes  of  merry  children  round  the  fire, 
And  never  seems  to  think  that  it  must  thread 
The  misty  fen,  where  every  flower  grows  rank 
Amid  the  lazy  ooze,  and  sink  at  last 
Beneath  the  boundless  sea.     Oh  happy  they 
Who  thus  go  laughing  on  from  year  to  year, 
And  never  know  the  mystery  of  being. 
And  never  start  and  shudder  at  the  dream 
That  they  and  all  mankind  are  dreaming — Life, 
And  strive  to  wake  but  fall  back  helplessly  ; 
Who  fancy  sunlight,  when  the  sky  is  dark, 
And  never  know  that  time,  like  India's  snake, 
Enwraps  us  with  his  gaudy-coloured  folds 
Of  changing  seasons,  till  his  dread  embrace 
Has  crushed  out  life  ;  who  live  and  laugh  and  weep 
And  tread  the  dust  of  myriads  under  foot. 
And  see  men  die  around  them,  yet  whose  life, 
The  demon  form  that  stalks  beside  my  path. 
The  consciousness  of  never-ending  change, 
Has  never  darkened,  as  it  has  mine  own, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  wing  of  Death. 


THE  CURE  OF  MORAL  INSANITY. 


483 


THE  CURE  OF  MORAL  INSANITY. 


BY    '  J.  L.   V. 


THERE  is  still, it  is  to  be  feared,  an 
unnatural  laziness  within  huma- 
nity, which  prompts  us  to  depend  upon 
anything  to  rid  us  of  sins  and  evils, 
rather  than  upon  our  God-given  power 
to  compel  ourselves  to  resist  evil.  Even 
in  this  advanced,  and  somewhat  proud 
age,  there  is  a  tendency  to  hope,  if  not 
to  admit,  that  legal  compulsion,  legal 
penalty,  and  parliamentary  enact- 
ments are  possible  means  to  the  instil- 
ling of  virtue — can  force  the  will  of 
man  to  do  good  and  not  evil — can 
create  not  only  a  semblance  of  mor- 
ality, but  the  very  thing  itself. 

To  explode  this  error  is  not  a  use- 
less enterprise,  for  it  rests — a  dead 
weight  mountain  of  falsity — upon  the 
hearts  and  minds  of  humanity,  crush- 
ing the  truly  human  life  of  brotherly- 
love  out  of  all  our  social  arrangements. 
It  is  a  hideous  nightmare  oppressing 
the  free  play  of  our  thought-breath,  a 
dire  miasma  clutching  with  chill  hand 
at  every  pulse-throb  of  the  heart.  Our 
criminal  laws  and  methods  of  jjuniah- 
ment  are  filled  with  it.  Our  theological 
schools  and  sectarian  systems  are  fed 
upon  it.  It  springs  into  being  afresh 
in  almost  every  criminal  prosecution. 
It  is  heard  in  threats  of  vengeance, 
ostensibly  from  the  Almighty  Himself, 
from  almost  every  orthodox  pulpit ; 
and  what  are  its  effects  ?  AVhat  else 
but  to  turn  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
men  not  to  the  avoidance  of  evil  itself, 
so  much  as  to  the  avoidance  of  penalty 
for  evil  ? 

Yet  it  is  of  the  very  nature  or  es- 
-sence  of  man  to  long  to  act  in  freedom, 
and  himself  to  compel  or  impel  his 
own  will,  thought  and  action.  Such  is 
the  'conatus'  or  tendency  of  the  life 


force  within  him.     This  fact  is  univer- 
sally admitted,  whatever  difference  of 
opinion  may  exist   as    to   man's   ori- 
gin and  destiny  ;  and  it  has  been  the 
j   aim  of  all  enlightened  men  in  all  the 
ages   not   to   repress  this  longing    for 
!   liberty  or  to  kill  it  out,  but  to  give  it 
freer  and  ever  freer  play,  so  far  as  this 
is  possible  without  so  permitting  one 
j   class  or  individual  to  dominate  or  cur- 
tail the  liberty  of  others. 
'        In  this  age  of  'Agnosticism ,'  in  which 
Herbert  Spencer  is  regarded  as  a  leader 
j   of  thought  by  the  one  party  and  as  a 
j    destroyer  of  all  faith  and  religion  by 
j    the   other,  it   ought   surely  to  strike 
'    both  as  a  somewhat  significant  fact  that 
i    Herbert    Spencer's   central  axiom  of 
j    'Social Statics,' 'every man hasfreedom 
i    to  do  all  that  he  wills,  provided  he  in- 
i   fringes  not  the  equal  freedom  of  any 
other  man'  (Social  Statics,  p.  121),  is 
'   but  a  feeble  echo  of  our  Lord's  words, 
'  therefore    all    things  whatsoever  ye 
I   would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do 
j   ye  even  so  to  them,  for  this  is  the  law 
and  the  prophets'  (Matthew,  vii.  12), 
i    and  these  but  an  enlargement  of  those 
!    other  words  of  our  Lord  in  Leviticus, 
!    xixth  chapter,  18th  verse,  'Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.'  Itwould 
seem  thus  that  even  the,  by  Orthodoxy, 
'    much-defamed  Herbert  Spencer  is  in 
i    strictest    agreement    with    our   Lord, 
j    when  he  so  alleges  that  man  can  only 
!   be  truly  reformed  in  freedom,  and  that 
I   compulsory  virtue  is* alike  impossible, 
j    either  in  men,  women  or  children.     It 
j    may  be  that  the  poor  outcast  (?)  Her- 
bert Spencer  has  caught   some   stray 
I    rays  from  the  Sun  of  Righteousness, 
i    which  '  Orthodoxy  '  has  neglected  to 
I    appropriate,  or  is  feeding  upon  crumbs 


484 


THE  CURE  OF  MORAL  INSANITY. 


from  the  '  Bread  of  Life'  whicli  '  Or- 
thodoxy' has  allowed  to  be  swept  away 
as  useless.  This  is  merely  a  theory,  but 
it  has  a  practical  bearing,  and  surely 
shows  that  the  Lord  provides  for  the 
needs  of  all. 

But  the  principle  itself,  whether  we 
take  it  in  the  full  and  infinitely  rich 
words  of  our  Lord,  or  in  the  meagre 
axiom  of  Herbert  Spencer,  has  a  still 
more  practical  bearing.  It  applies  to 
all  men;  not  even  one  criminal  is  shut 
out ;  not  one  ever  loses,  by  any  crime, 
however  heinous,  his  right  to  be  con- 
sidered a  brother  and  an  equal  accord- 
ing to  Herbert  Spencer ;  such  a  crimi- 
nal has  still  a  right  to  his  freedom  in 
so  far  as  he  does  not  infringe  the  like 
freedom  in  others,  while  our  Lord 
teaches  actually  that  we  are  to  look 
upon  him  as  our  brother,  and  do  all 
things  to  him  whatsoever  we  would 
desire  that  he  should  do  to  us ;  in  fine 
that  he  is  still  our  neighbour,  and  as 
such  we  are  to  love  him  as  ourselves. 

Are  these  the  principles  upon  which 
our  criminal  laws  are  based  1  Is  it  not 
then  folly  for  us  to  assert  that  the 
basis  of  law  in  this  our  land  is  Chris- 
tianity? Recent  movements  in  our 
midst  have  shown  that  many,  even  of 
our  ostensibly  Christian  leaders,  still 
believe  that  legal  penalty  unjustly 
exercised  upon  one  sex  only  can  stamp 
out  a  certain  social  crime  ;  and  have 
tried,  in  so  far  as  permitted,  to  put 
their  theory  into  practice  ;  some  even 
advocating  that  the  legal  enforcement 
of  Sabbath  observance  comes  also 
within  the  function  of  law.  These  are 
facts  which  none  can  deny.  We  must 
therefore  charitably  conclude,  that  if 
these  Christian  leaders  could  imagine 
themselves  '  fallen  women,'  living  by 
the  free  consent  of  others  to  join  them 
in  sin,  they  would  desire  to  have  others 
invade  their  personal  liberty,  infringe 
their  rights  as  citizens,  hound  them 
into  prisons,  sarcastically  named  refor- 
matories, and  even  threaten  them  with 
the  lash,  while  allowing  their  volun- 
tary companions  in  sin  to  go  free. 
Such   treatment,   these    gentlemen,  if 


put  in  their  place,  would  hold  to  be  the 
very  best  by  which  to  infuse  a  love  of 
virtue  into  their  hearts  and  lives. 

Similarly  in  cases  of  brutal  outrage 
or  wife  beating,  it  would  be  admitted 
by  such  Reformers  — but  hardly  by 
Herbert  Spencer — that  they,  in  their 
place,  would  be  glad  to  be  publicly 
flogged,  and  that  the  infliction  of  such 
a  penalty  would  be  no  interference 
with  their  rights  as  citizens  or  bre- 
thren of  mankind,  nor  would  rouse 
any  desire  of  vengeance  upon  their  tor- 
turers, nor  set  them  permanently  at 
war  with  society.  One  piece  of  bruta- 
lity committed  gives  the  right  to 
commit  more  brutality,  if  only  it  be 
sanctioned  by  the  majesty  of  law.  This 
at  least  would  be  their  opinion  in  such 
circumstances.  The  conclusion  is 
forced  upon  us  by  the  fact  that  these 
gentlemen  profess  Christianity,  and 
therefore  aim  at  the  reformation  of 
their  brother  and  sister,  and  not  at  his 
or  her  further  degradation.  It  is  a 
little  singular  and  somewhat  note- 
worthy, that  our  Lord  Jehovah  Him- 
self did  not  prescribe  or  inflict  such 
penalty  even  upon  those  '  Scribes  and 
Pharisees,  hypocrites,'  whom  he  so  fre- 
quently denounced ;  nor  is  it  even 
recommended  by  His  distant  (?)  fol- 
lower Herbert  Spencer.  '  Orthodoxy  ' 
alone  seems  still  to  entertain  the  belief 
that  penalty,  or  the  fear  of  it,  has  any 
purifying  eflfect  upon  the  moral  life  of 
the  will  and  thought  within  man. 

Not  so  very  long  ago,  lunatics  were 
subjected  to  the  lash,  and  other  still 
more  severe,  but  less  degrading  forms 
of  torture  which  were  deemed  by  the 
combined  wisdom  of  our  savants,  the 
only  possible  methods  of  cure  or  res- 
traint. Now,  we  would  not  hesitate 
to  pronounce  such  treatment  gratuit- 
ous cruelty.  When  will  it  be  found 
that  similar  methods  of  cure  applied 
to  that  moral  insanity  of  the  will  and 
thought  which  seeks  to  infringe  the 
liberty  of  others  are  equally  vain  and 
gratiiitously  cruel  ] 

The  time  is  not  far  distant;  for  just  er 
views  of  our  relations  to  our  fellows 


THE  CURE  OF  MORAL  INSANITY.' 


485 


are  beginning  to  prevail.  There  are 
}  aire -hearted,  simple  souls  even  amid 
the  fore-ranks  of  '  Orthodoxy  '  itself, 
whose  whole  hearts  cry  out  against  the 
infliction  of  arbitrary  penalty.  These 
only  tolerate  it  in  silence,  because  their 
intellectual  faculties  have  been  so  long 
and  carefully  trained  to  see  in  such 
penalty  the  only  method  of  preserving 
libei'ty.  They  are  taught  that  it  is  a 
necessity  ;  but  they  hate  it.  For  such 
the  clouds  of  error  which  have  so  long 
obscured  the  clear  shining  of  the  '  Sun 
of  Righteousness  '  are  breaking  ;  the 
warmth  of  heart  within  them  is  .spring- 
ing up  to  welcome  the  new  light  of 
truth,  that  the  brotherhood  of  huma- 
nity is  not  divided  into  two  classes — 
the  criminal  and  the  non- criminal,  the 
"*  saved  '  and  the  '  unsaved,' — but  that 
each  is  to  some  extent  the  sharer  in 
and  the  partial  cause  of  the  other's 
guilt.  Therefore  as  one  man  we  must 
seek  cure,  not  repression,  reformation 
and  new  life,  not  penalty.  Our  laws 
as  framed  at  present  are  framed  by 
men  only.  When  Herbert  Spencer's 
view,  as  to  the  equal  right  of  woman 
to  the  franchise,  is  carried  out  into 
practice,  we  may  probably  see  law 
more  thoroughly  tempered  with  that 
justice  which  is  always  mercy. 

To  this  end  abusive,  or  what  cannot 
but  seem  to  the  victim  vengeful,  penal- 
ties must  be  wholly  abolished.  Impri- 
sonment with  varied  degrees  of  res- 
triction of  liberty,  proportioned  to  the 
extent  to  which  the  criminal  has 
abused  his  liberty  to  the  injury  of 
others,  is  the  only  just  and  needful 
penalty.  Therefore  our  gaols  should 
be  classified,  and  our  criminal  code  re- 
adjusted, so  as  to  grade  crime  by  the 
standard  of  infringement  of  mutual 
liberty,  and  not  mei'ely  according  to 
the  abhorrence  of  each  special  kind  of 
evil  which  society  may,  at  each  stage 
of  its  progress,  choose  to  entertain  or 
desire  to  express.  For  crimes  of  phy- 
sical violence  or  brutal  trampling  upon 
the  rights  and  liberties  of  others,  one 
kind  of  reformatory  or  gaol  is  needed  ; 
for  subtle  thefts,  frauds,  or  seductions 


by  fiaud,  quite  another.  The  habits, 
training  and  acquirements  of  the  cri- 
minal, and  the  class  of  work  to  which 
he  has  been  accustomed,  if  any,  should 
be  considered,  although  it  is  a  well 
known  fact  that  the  vast  majority  of 
our  criminals  spring  from  those  classes 
which,  unfortunately,  have  never  been 
enured  to  any  regular  form  of  labour. 
For  these  a  potent  part  of  the  cure 
will  be  achieved  by  remedying  this 
defect.  For  brutal  criminals  so  sen- 
sualized that  their  passions  and  appe- 
tites have  at  length  sought  gratifica- 
tion, even  at  the  cost  of  brutal  vio- 
lence towards  others,  the  natural 
remedy  is,  necessitated  obedience  to 
natural  laws,  so  strict  that  even  their 
hunger  for  food  can  only  be  satisfied 
through  the  doing  of  actual  work. 
This  is  to  respect  the  natural  liberty 
of  the  captive,  by  bringing  him  only 
under  the  direct  operation  of  natural 
laws ;  for  if  he  wills  not  to  work  and 
so  use  his  brute  strength  in  useful 
service,  he  is  free  to  starve.  Nor  need 
he  be  deprived  of  the  hope  of  that  re- 
ward which  should  ever  follow  labour. 
-Every  prisoner  of  whatever  rank  or 
class  should  be  charged  a  certain  fixed 
sum  per  diem  for  '  board  and  lodging,' 
and  whatever  more  than  that  he 
chooses  to  earn  should  be  his  own, 
stored  up  for  him  against  his  release, 
or,  if  he  have  others  dependent  on  him 
for  support,  paid  over  to  them.  Still 
it  may  be  a  question  whether  he  should 
not  have  the  absolute  disposal  of  any 
surplus  he  earns,  thus  preserving  to 
him  his  personal  liberty  and  personal 
rights,  that  he  may  in  freedom  be  -led 
to  know  the  blessed  privilege,  the 
right,  the  joy  of  labouring  for  others, 
which  he  can  never  know  if  he  be  com- 
pelled to  it.  The  work  to  which  cri- 
minals are  put  should  invariably  be 
productive  and  useful  labour,  and  this 
for  two  reasons,  viz. :  that  the  prisoner 
may  wake  to  some  interest,  other  than 
selfish,  in  his  work,  and  that  it  may  fit 
him  to  be  of  use  and  value  to  society 
after  he  is  free.  This  principle  is 
already  recognised  in   most   prisons. 


48G 


THE  CURE  OF  MORAL  I^'SANITY. 


Those  abortions,  the  treadmill,  the  1 
crank,  and  the  carrying  of  weights  j 
from  one  end  of  a  courtyard  to  the  | 
other,  for  the  sake  of  carrying  them  | 
back  again,  were  killed  Out,  finally,  by  I 
the  pen  of  Charles  Reade,  the  novelist,    j 

Further,  it  is  right  and  requisite 
that  liberty  be  gradually  regained,  as 
the  criminal  shows  himself  lit  for  it ; 
that  he  be  gradually  trusted  with  more 
and  more  of  liberty,  subject  to  depri- 
vation if  it  be  abused,  till  he  learn 
somewhat  of  the  true  use  of  his  free- 
dom. It  is  simply  cruel  to  expect  from 
a  man  subjected  to  the  most  rigorous 
prison  discipline,  till  the  very  hour  his 
sentence  expires,  anything  else  but  a 
sudden  revulsion  to  his  old  ways,  the 
moment  the  strain  is  taken  off.  A 
'  spree,'  a  fall,  and  another  crime  are 
the  all  but  inevitable  result :  and  then 
we  dub  him  a  hardened  criminal,  and 
forget  that  it  is  we  who  have  laid  upon 
him  suddenly  a  burden  of  liberty 
gi'eater  than  he  could  bear. 

Such  methods  of  treatment  require 
skilled  and  highly  trained  men  to  carry 
out  successfully — men  at  least  as  high 
in  moral .  and  mental  worth  as  any 
occupant  of  a  pul]iit.  Who  shall  say 
it  is  a  less  noble  work  1 

But  society  has  a  harder  task  than 
this  before  it.  Even  after  we  have 
thus  trained  the  faculties  of  the  pri- 
soner, gradually  initiated  him  into 
the  use  of  liberty,  and  partially  fitted 
him  to  be  a  more  or  less  useful  mem- 
ber of  society,  the  non-criminal  world 
must  not  withhold  from  him  the  oppor- 
tunity to  exercise  his  new  born  powers 
by  meeting  him  at  the  threshold  of  his 
re-entrance  into  free  life,  with  dis- 
trust and  suspicion.  Just  think  of  it ! 
Society  to  day  actually  doubts  and  dis- 
trusts the  reformation  of  a  man  or 
woman  fresh  from  a  Feformatory, 
which  has  had  him  or  her  in  hand  for 
years!  "What  a  commentary  this  is 
upon  our  whole  reformatory  system  ! 
Possibly  such  distiust  may  not  be  the 
faultof  our  reformatory  systems,  butin- 
here  rather  in  that  state  of  heart  and 
mind  which  leads  us  to  cease  to  regard 


the  criminal  as  any  longer  our  fellow- 
creature — our  brother  man — and  so 
fails  by  trust  and  confidence  to  beget 
and  foster  in  him  faith  or  fidelity. 

So  far  only  crimes  which  infringe 
liberty  have  been  discussed.  For  these 
physical  restraint  is  alas  !  a  necessity 
and  a  kindness.  But  there  ai'e,  unhap- 
pily, among  us  a  far  larger  number  of 
moral  and  social  sins  and  evils — sins 
which  do  not  directly,  if  at  all,  infringe 
physical  liberty — sins  which  tempt  the 
will,  the  affections  and  the  thoughts 
of  others,  win  their  free  consent  to 
evil,  and  so  gradually  pervert  and  lead 
them  astray,  until,  if  no  check  be 
applied,  they  break  out  inevitably 
into  crimes  against  the  law  of  mutual 
freedom  and  proceed  not  alone  by 
enticement,  but  by  fraud  or  violence 
to  infringe  upon  physical  freedom. 
These  precede  the  crimes  with  whose 
treatment  we  have  already  dealt.  Un- 
hesitatingly we  assert  that  such  do  not 
come  under  the  province  of  law.  The 
man  who  gambles  and  is  fleeced  is  as 
devoid  of  innocent  intent  as  the  man 
who  fleeces  him.  His  cupidity  was 
1  aroused  to  seek  for  illegitimate  gain 
from  the  other.  His  defeat  is  his  own 
affair,  and  it  should  have  no  legal 
remedy.  Similarly  with  the  man  who 
is  tempted  by  the  courtezan.  His 
free  consent  is  given,  and  he  is  equally 
to  blame.  Here  also  a  just  law  which 
preserves  mutual  freedom,  has  no 
standing  ground ;  although  it  is  equally 
certain  that  if  such  sin  be  long  con- 
tinued by  either  sex,  it  will  inevitably 
lead  to  crimes  which  necessitate  and 
justify  legal  interference.  Dishonesty ^ 
drunkenness  and  riot  follow  its  indul- 
gence, and  sooner  or  later  cause  that 
interfeience  with  the  liberty  of  others 
which  compels  legal  interference.  That 
for  these  moral  crimes,  while  as  yet 
only  moral  i.e.  sins  of  two  wills  mutu- 
ally consenting  to  deeds  which  are 
only  an  injury  to  each  other,  and  can- 
not go  further  without  the  free  con- 
sent of  others,  there  are  other  moral 
forces  fully  competerit  to  conti'ol  and 
prevent,  if  fully  and  freely  exercised. 


TO  THALIARCHUS. 


487 


These  are  moral  weapons,  and  moral 
weapons  only.  Light  is  the  cure  for 
darkness.  Good  is  the  antidote  to  evil. 
Truth  is  the  best  possible  preventative 
of  error.  Good  affections  tilling  the 
heart  and  moulding  the  aims  in  life 
leave  no  room  for  the  entrance  of  evil. 
Yet,  some  there  are  who  hope  by  cal- 
ling that  a  civil  crime  which  infringes 
no  principle  of  liberty,  and  treating  it 
as  such,  to  *  stamp  out '  moral  evil : 
which  means  simply  that  by  ^'^yustice 
we  can  instil  principles  of  justice,  or 
that  by  doing  evil,  good  will  ensue. 
To  pour  light  ujDon  these  at  present 
dark  places  of  our  human  nature,  is 
the  natural  cure  for  such  moral  and 
social  evils.  They  cannot  bear  the 
light.  They  cannot  exist  in  the  light. 
And  yet  this  is  precisely  the  remedy 
we  will  not  and  do  not  apply.  We 
refuse  to  educate  our  youth  of  either 
sex  on  this  matter.  We  withhold 
from  them  as  impure,  alike  the  light 


of  revealed  religion,  right  reason, 
and  scientific  truth  ;  and  thus,  debar- 
red from  all  true  knowledge,  we  mar- 
vel that  so  many  should  annually 
yield  to  the  tempter ;  or  gratify  the 
natural  thirst  for  hidden  lore  by  ap- 
propriating the  garbage  which  those 
vile  enough  to  trade  upon  this  vacuum 
of  ignorance,  we  leave  unfilled,  supply 
stealthily  for  their  own  evil  purposes, 
Never  will  we  cope  successfully  with 
this  central  moral  evil  until  we  fear- 
lessly apply  the  natural  remedy- 
Truth  in  its  purity.  Then,  and  then 
only,  will  the  spread  of  '  moral  insa- 
nity' and  its  outbreak  into  legal 
crimes,  be  kept  in  check  and  gradually 
overcome.  It  is  a  slow  process,  but  a 
sure  one.  Aught  else  will  but  hinder, 
instead  of  affording  aid.  For  blinded 
justice  substitute  clear  sighted  truth  ; 
and  the  path  from  evil  towards  good 
will  grow  bright  before  us. 


TO  THALIARCHUS. 

IIOR.  BOOK  I.,  ODE  9,  FIRST  THREE  VERSES. 
BV   R.    S.    KNIGHT,    DUNHAM,    P.Q. 


SEEST  thou  how  Soracte  stands  all  pale 
With  heavy  snow,  nor  can  the  loaded  trees 
Sustain  the  burden  of  their  wintry  mail. 

Whilst  sharp  chills  check  the  rivers,  and  they  freeze. 

Dispel  the  cold,  and  bountifully  throw 
The  logs,  0  Thaliarchus,  on  the  hearth, 

And  let  the  wine  all  generously  flow, 

Full  four  years  stored  in  jar  of  Sabine  earth. 

Leave  other  matters,  let  the  gods  allay 

The  winds  that  battle  with  the  boiling  deep, 

The  heavy  cypresses  no  more  shall  sway, 
Nor  aged  ashes  bend  with  fitful  sweep. 


488 


LONGFELLOW. 


LONGFELLOW 


BY    REV.   AV,   D.   ARMSTRONG,    M.  A.,    OTTAWA- 


AT  the  close  of  a  long,  bright,  sum- 
mei*'s  day,  who  has  not  watched 
M'ith  subdued  feeling,  and  a  tinge  of 
not  unpleasant  sadness,  the  sun  as  he 
sinks  slowly  below  the  western  hori- 
zon, touching  the  evening  clouds  with 
golden  glory,  and  though  out  of  sight 
still  sending  his  bright  rays  upward 
to  the  very  zenith  ? 

With  similar  feelings  do  the  lovers 
of  Longfellow  and  his  poetry  now  con- 
template the  poet's  departure  from  this 
earthly  scene,  where,  during  the  long 
summer-day  of  his  poetic  career,  he 
has  gladdened  their  hearts  with  his 
bright  shafts  of  song.  In  the  early 
morning  of  his  manhood  he  gave  to 
the  world  those  verses  Avhich  have 
become  the  watchword  of  noble  ambi- 
tion to  many  pure  and  ardent  souls  : 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us, 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And  departing  leave  behind  us, 
rootpriuts  on  the  sands  of  time. 

He  has  followed  in  the  path  to  which 
he  pointed,  and  has  been  himself  the 
example  of  the  precepts  he  inculcated. 
Fifty  years  later  an  old  man  standing 
with  silvered  locks  in  the  vale  of  years 
he  calls  to  his  companions  in  age,  not 
to  falter  in  duty  because  of  enfeebled 
powers. 

But  why,  you  ask  me,  should  this  tale  be  told 
To  men  grown  old  or  who  are  growing  old  ? 
It  is  too  late  !     Ah  !  nothing  is  too  late 
Till  the  tired  heart  shall  cease  to  paljjitate. 
— Morituri  Salutamus. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  a  man 
who  throughout  his  long  life  acted  on 
this  noble  motive,  with  a  sincere  and 
earnest  desire  to  benefit  mankind, 
should  be  honoured  while  living  and 
lamented  when  dead. 


He  has  allowed  nothing  unworthy 
to  come  from  his  pen,  nothing  but 
what  is  pure  and  good,  and  beautiful, 
and  true.  Not  a  line  that  dying  he 
would  wish  to  blot. 

Age  came  kindly  upon  him,  and 
brought  with  it  honour  and  respect 
and  troops  of  friends.  Death  found 
him  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  sur- 
rounded by  those  he  loved,  and  assured 
by  many  a  token  that  he  was  leaving 
the  world  amidst  the  homage  of  the 
good,  and  the  tears  of  the  grateful. 
His  life  had  its  changes  and  its  sor- 
rows, but  withal  it  is  one  of  the  most 
perfectly  rounded  lives  that  we  know 
of  among  literary  men  ; — a  life  of  al- 
most uninterrupted  literary  success, 
one  might  say,  from  boyhood  to  old 
age. 

'  Heniy  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 
born  February  27th,  1807,  died  March 
24th,  1882,'  is  the  inscription  on  the 
coffin  so  recently  borne  to  Mount  Au- 
burn Cemetery.  We  shall  lay  our 
tribute  of  respect  upon  the  poet's  grave 
by  giving  in  these  pages  a  brief  review 
of  the  life  and  work  of  these  years — 

These  folios  bound  and  set 
By  Time  the  great  transcriber  on  his  shelves. 

Portland,  Maine,  has  the  honour  of 
being  the  poet's  birthplace,  and,  on  the 
27th  of  February  last,  showed  her  ap- 
preciation of  the  honour  by  a  magni- 
ficent demonstration  in  celebration  of 
the  poet's  seventy-fifth  birthday. 

In  the  poem  entitled  *  My  Lost 
Youth,'  we  see  how  his  heart  turned 
to  the  place  of  his  nativity,  and  that 
amidst  all  the  experiences  of  after-life 
he  never  forgot  that  old  town  by  the 


LONGFELLOW. 


489 


Often  I  think  of  the  l)eautiful  town 

That  is  seated  by  the  sea  ; 
Often  in  thought  go  up  and  down 
The  pleasant  streets  of  that  dear  old  town, 

And  my  youth  comes  back  to  me. 
And  a  verse  of  a  Lapland  song 

Is  haunting  my  memory  still  : 

'A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will,' 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long 
thoughts. 

I  can  see  the  shadowy  lines  of  its  trees, 

And  catch  in  sudden  gleams. 
The  sheen  of  the  far-surrounding  seas, 
And  islands  that  were  the  Hesperides 

Of  all  my  boyish  dreams. 
And  the  burden  of  that  old  song, 

It  murmurs  and  whispers  still : 

'  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will,' 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,    long 
thoughts. 

I  remember  the  gleams  and  glooms  that  dart 

Across  the  schoolboy's  brain  ; 
The  song  and  the  silence  in  the  heart. 
That  in  part  are  prophecies,  and  in  part 

Are  longings  wild  and  vain. 
And  the  voice  of  that  fitful  song 

Sings  on,  and  is  never  still  : 

'  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will,' 
And  the  thoughts  of    youth  are  long,  long 
thoughts. 

And  Deering's  Woods  are  fresh  and  fair. 
And  with  joy  that  is  almost  pain. 

My  heart  goes  back  to  wander  there. 

And  among  the  dreams  of  days  that  were 
I  find  my  lost  youth  again. 

And  the  strange  and  beautiful  song 
The  groves  are  repeating  it  still : 
'A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will,'' 

And  the  thoughts  of   youth   are  long,  long 
thoughts. 

The  poet's  fathei%  Stephen  Long- 
fellow, was  a  graduate  of  Harvard 
College,  and  a  lawyer  of  considerable 
ability.  His  mother  was  of  good  Puri- 
tan stock,  and  a  lineal  descendant  of 
John  Alden,  who  figures  as  a  promi- 
nent character  in  the  poem  'The Court- 
ship of  Miles  Standish.'  In  addition 
to  such  favourable  home  influences, 
Longfellow,  in  his  early  youth, received 
the  best  training  that  the  schools  of 
Portland  could  then  afford,  so  that  at 
the  age  of  fourteen  he  was  prepared 
to  enter  college.  He  was  entered  as  a 
student  of  Bowdoin  College,  of  which 
his  father  was  a  trustee,  and  during 
his  college  course  had  for  his  class- 
mates and  companions  such  men  as 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  G.  B.  Cheever, 
•  John  S.  Abbott,  and  Franklin  Pierce. 

At   the   recent   celebration  of  the 


poet's  seventy-fifth  birthday,  the  ven- 
erable Professor  Packard,  of  Bowdoin, 
gave  some  interesting  reminiscences  of 
the  poet's  college  days.  He  says  :  *  I 
cannot  testify  concerning  him  whose 
name  we,  and  I  may  add  the  civilized 
world,  fondly  cherish,  any  more  than 
a  general  statement  of  his  unblemished 
character  as  a  pupil,  and  a  true  gentle- 
man in  all  his  relations  to  the  college 
and  its  teachers.'  He  describes  him 
as  *  an  attractive  youth  with  auburn 
locks  just  entei-ing  the  last  half  of  his 
fifteenth  year,  with  clear,  fresh,  bloom- 
ing complexion,  well-bred  manners, 
and  sedate  bearing.' 

Longfellow  graduated  in  1825,  and 
immediately  entered  upon  the  study 
of  law  in  his  father's  office.  From  this, 
to  him  somewhat  uncongenial  occupa- 
tion, he  was  speedily  relieved  by  the 
offer  of  the  Professorship  of  Modern 
Languages  in  his  Alma  Mater,  which 
he  accepted. 

There  is  a  Bowdoin  tradition,  to  the 
efiect  that,  at  one  of  the  annual  exami- 
nations of  the  College,  his  translation 
of  an  Ode  of  Horace  so  impressed  the 
Hon.  Benjamin  Orr,  one  of  the  ex- 
aminers, by  its  taste  and  scholarship, 
that  when  the  opportunity  came  he 
proposed  that  the  Professorship  should 
be  ofiered  to  the  cultured  and  scholarly 
young  graduate.  He  did  not  enter 
immediately  on  the  duties  of  his  office, 
but  wisely  spent  the  next  three  years 
and  a  half  as  a  travelling-scholar  on  the 
continent, — in  France,  Spain,  Italy, 
Germany,  Holland,  and  England. 
Subsequently,  upon  his  appointment 
to  the  Professorship  of  Belles-lettres 
in  Harvard  University,  he  made  a 
second  trip  to  the  continent,  for  the 
special  purpose  of  study,  and  visited 
Sweden,  Denmark,  Holland,  Germany, 
Tyrol,  and  Switzerland,  It  was  thus 
that  in  their  native  homes,  and  amidst 
their  associations,  he  mastered  the 
languages  and  literatures  of  Europe, 
and  fitted  himself  so  thoroughly  for 
the  work  of  teaching  and  translation. 
No  one  can  fail  to  see  the  advantage 
of  these   years  of  travel  and  study, 


41)0 


LONGFELLOW. 


and  the  determining  influence  they 
exercised  xipon  the  poet's  life  and 
writings.  One  is  also  led  to  conclude, 
in  reviewing  these  and  other  import- 
ant acts  in  the  poet's  life,  that  he  was 
one  of  those  wise  men  who  measure 
accurately  the  steps  they  are  about  to 
take,  and  take  them  with  prudence, 
energy  and  firmness.  In  the  discharge 
of  his  professional  duties  at  Bowdoin, 
we  are  told  by  Prof.  Packard,  '  he  ap- 
proved himself  a  teacher,  who  never 
wearied  of  his  work.  He  won  by  his 
gei\tle  grace  and  commanded  respect 
by  his  self-respect  and  loyalty  to  his 
otiice,  never  allowing  an  infringement 
of  the  decorum  of  the  recitation  room.' 

In  1835,  he  succeeded  Mr.  George 
Ticknor,  the  learned  author  of  '  The 
History  of  Spanish  Literature,'  as 
Professor  of  Belles-lettres  in  Harvard 
College,  and  continued  in  that  office 
up  to  1854,  and,  until  his  death,  lived 
in  literary  leisure,  surrounded  by 
literaiy  society  and  everything  that 
could  gratify  cultured  feeling  and  re- 
fined taste.  The  following  description 
of  the  poet  in  his  study  and  an:iong 
his  books,  recently  given  by  an  Eng- 
lish visitor,  will  be  interesting  to  many 
of  our  readers  : — 'At  one  end  of  the 
room  stand  lofty  oaken  book-cases, 
framed  in  drapery  of  dark-red  cloth. 
Here  and  there,  on  ornamental  brack- 
ets, are  some  marble  busts,  and  among 
them  a  fine  efiigy  of  General  Wash- 
ington. Easy  chairs  and  reading  stands 
are  scattered  around.  In  the  centre 
of  the  room,  which  is  covered  with  a 
well-worn  Persian  carpet,  there  sits 
writing  at  a  round  table,  littered  with 
books  and  papers,  a  tall,  bony  man, 
apparently  about  seventy.  His  long 
hair  and  beard  are  white  as  snow ; 
but  i'rom  beneath  an  ample  forehead 
there  gleam  a  pair  of  dark,  lustrous 
eyes,  from  which  the  fire  of  youth 
seemed  not  to  have  fled.  The  poet 
rises  with  a  grave  sweetness  to  salute 
his  visitors.' 

He  was  constantly  receiving  grate- 
ful tokens  of  appreciation  both  from 
old  and  young,  from  the  learned  and 


the  unlearned,  from  fellow-citizens  and 
from  foreigners.  The  great  seats  of 
learning  also  were  not  forgetful  of  his 
merits.  From  Harvard  he  received 
the  honorary  degree  of  LL.D.,  and 
both  Oxford  and  Cambridge  recognised 
his  worth  and  his  fame  by  conferring 
upon  him  the  degree  of  D.C.L. 

For  the  last  forty-five  years  of  his 
life  he  lived  in  the  old  historic  man- 
sion, Craigie  House,  Cambridge,  to 
which  he  came  as  a  lodger,  in  1837, 
and  of  which  he  became  owner  in  1 843. 
This  house  has  a  history  and  historic 
associations,  and  we  know  from  hi» 
own  verses  how  much  these  added  to 
its  value  in  the  poet's  eyes — 

All  houses  whereia  men  have  lived  and  died 
Are   haunted  liouses.     Through  the  open 

door 
The   harmless  phantoms  on  their   errand* 

glide, 
With  feet  that  make  no  sound  upon  the 

floor. 

This  house,  after  the  battle  of  Bun- 
ker's Hill,  was  given  to  General  Wash- 
ington as  his  headquarters,  and  Long- 
fellow prized  the  privilege  he  enjoyed 
of  occupying  the  General's  own  room — 

Once,  ah  once,  within  these  walls 
One  whom  memory  oft  recalls, 
The  Father  of  his  country  dwelt. 

Up  and  down  these  echoing  stairs. 
Heavy  with  the  weight  of  cares, 
Sounded  his  majestic  tread  ; 
Yes,  within  this  very  room 
Sat  he  in  those  hours  of  gloom. 
Weary  both  in  heart  and  head. 

This  house,  which  had  once  been  the 
scene  of  dignified  aristocratic  English 
life — the  scene  of  sumptuous  feastings 
of  men  and  fair  women,  the  scene  of 
grave  consultations  of  brave  and  ear- 
nest men  in  the  great  crisis-hour  of 
their  national  history,  was  a  fit  resi- 
dence for  the  great  American  poet, 
and  here  it  was  that  he  heard,  in  his 
reveries,  '  Voices  of  the  Night,'  and 
the  footsteps  of  angels,  and  from  this^ 
place  he  continued,  until  his  death,  to 
send  forth  his  pure,  sweet,  melodious 
songs  so  gladly  welcomed  in  the  homes, 
of  his  own  and  other  lands. 


LONGFELLOW. 


Longfellow,  in  his  poetry,  takes  us 
into  his  home,  introduces  us  to  his 
friends,  and  allows  us  to  sympathize 
with  himself  in  his  joys  and  sorrows. 
The  lights  and  shades  of  his  own  home, 
thrown  upon  his  verses,  make  them  so 
precious  in  the  homes  of  others.  Those 
short  poems,  into  which  he  has  so  deli- 
cately woven  his  own  fireside  experi- 
ences, have  come  to  the  firesides  of 
others  as  very  angels  of  mercy  to 
soothe,  to  teach,  and  to  purify.  A 
'  poet  of  the  affections,'  '  a  poet  of  the 
fireside,'  '  a  poet  for  women  and  chil- 
dren,'call  him  what  you  will,  there  are 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  hearts  on 
l)0th  sides  of  the  Atlantic  in  which 
dwell  love  and  gratitude  for  the  poet, 
whose  sympathetic  Hues  have  touched 
them  in  such  poems  as  '  The  Reaper 
and  the  Flowers,'  'Resignation,'  'The 
Two  Angels,'  '  The  Children's  Hour,' 
and  other  household  favourites. 

In  1831,  he  married  Miss  Potter,  a 
lady  of  rare  beauty  and  accomplish- 
ments, but  his  happiness  was  not  of 
long  continuation.  During  his  second 
sojourn  on  the  Continent,  in  1835,  she 
died  suddenly  at  Rotterdam.  In  the 
'  Footsteps  of  Angels,'  he  makes  the 
well-known,  most  touching  allusion  to 
his  sorrow — 


Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door  ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted, 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more. 

And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 

More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me, 
With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

His  second  wife,  Miss  Appleton, 
who  has  been  by  some  identified  with 
Mary  Ashburton,  the  '  Sweet-voiced 
dark  Ladie,'  the  heroine  of  Hyperion, 


491 

was  taken  from  his  side  by  a  sad  cala- 
mity— her  dress  caught  fire  whilst 
amusing  her  children,  and  she  was 
burned  so  severely  that  death  ensued. 
These  and  other  domestic  sorrows 
enabled  him  to  speak  to  the  bruised 
in  spirit  so  that  of  him,  as  of  every 
true  poet,  we  know  that — 

He  learned  in    sorrow  what  he  taught  in 
song. 

Longfellow  began  to  write  very  early 
in  life.  We  may  not  say  that  'he 
lisped  in  numbers,'  but  we  know  that 
in  his  '  teens  '  he  successfully  wooed 
the  poetic  muse.  There  are  still  re- 
tained in  his  published  works  seven 
))ieces  written  before  he  was  nineteen. 
These  are,  'An  April  Day,'  'Autumn,' 
'  Woods  in  Winter,'  '  Hymn  of  the 
Moravian  Nuns  at  Bethlehem,'  '  Sun- 
r'se  on  the  Hills,'  '  The  Spirit  of 
Poetry,'  and  '  Eu  ial  of  the  Minni- 
sink.' 

Healso,at  this  early  age,  contributed 
articles  to  the  Xorth  American  Review. 
In  1833  he  published  a  translation  of 
the  celebrated  Spanish  poem  of  '  Don 
Gorge  Manrique,'  on  the  death  of  his 
son.  In  1835,  'Outre  Mer,'  a  series 
of  prose  sketclies,  giving  impressions 
of  his  first  Continental  journey.  In 
1839  appeared  '  Hyperion,'  a  prose  ro- 
mance. Here  I  may  be  permitted  to 
state  that  Longfellow's  prose  works, 
though  their  fame  has  bean  over- 
shadowed by  his  poetry,  are  eminently 
worthy  of  their  author.  '  Hyperion  ' 
will  well  repay  m(jre  than  one  perusal. 
It  is  pervaded  throughout  with  the 
experiences  of  life,  and  is  a  combina- 
tion of  poetry,  philosophy,  and  ro- 
mance rarely  to  be  met  with  in  any 
work. 

In  1840,  he  published  his  first  col- 
lection of  poems,  under  the  title  of 
'  Voices  of  the  Night.'  In  1841  ap- 
peared '  Ballads  and  other  Poems  ;  ' 
1842,  'The  Spanish  Student,'  and 
'Poems  on  Slavery;'  1845,  'Poets 
and  Poetry  of  Europe;'  1846,  'The 
Belfry  of  Bruges,  and  other  Poems  ;  ' 
1848,  'Evangeline;'  1849,  '  Kavan- 


492 


LONGFELLOW. 


agh ; '  1850,  'The  Seaside  and  the 
Fireside;'  1851, 'The  Golden  Legend; ' 
1855,  '  The  Song  of  Hiawatha  ; '  1858, 
*  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish ; ' 
1863,  'Tales  of  a  WaysMe  Inn;' 
1867,  translation  of  '  Dante's  Divina 
Commedia;'  1868,  'The  New  England 
Tragedies;'  1872,  'The  Divine  Tra- 
gedy,' also,  '  Three  Books  of  Song,' 
continuation  of  '  Tales  of  a  Wayside 
Inn;'  1873,  'Aftermath;'  1874, 
'The  Hanging  of  the  Crane;'  1875, 
'  Morituri  Salutamus  ; '  1878,  '  Ker- 
amos.'  He  also  sent  forth,  from  time 
to  time,  small  collections  of  poems, 
which  he  called  '  Birds  of  Passage,'  of 
which  we  have  five  flights. 

His  latest  published  poem,  *  Hermes 
Trismegistus,'  is  in  a  recent  number 
of  the  Century  Magazine,  and  we  have 
been  told  to  expect  the  last  song  from 
his  pen  in  the  current  number  of  the 
Atlantic  Monthly.  Thus  consistently 
did  the  poet  illustrate  his  own  adage  : 

Age  is  opportunity  no  less 
Than  youth  itself. 

The  poems  of  Longfellow  may  for 
convenience  be  classified  under  the 
heads,  (1)  Poems  of  an  Epic  nature, 
such  as  '  Evangeline,'  '  Hiawatha,' 
'  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish,' 
(2)  Dramatic,  (3)  Lyrics,  (4)  Trans- 
lations. 

Of  the  first  class,  that  which  is 
most  widely  known,  and  perhaps  most 
highly  appreciated,  is  '  Evangeline.' 
It  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  very  best 
poems  of  the  affections  ever  written. 
If  pathetic  force,  beautiful  descrip- 
tion, faultless  language,  and  sustained 
and  simple  narrative  can  give  endur- 
ance to  any  work,  '  Evangeline'  will 
not  die.  I  believe  that  as  long  as 
English  is  read  and  there  are  hearts 
that  respond  to  the  deep  pathos  of 
love,  the  poet  can  call  for  his  audience. 

Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and 

endures,  and  is  patient, 
Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  aad  strength 

of  woman's  devotion, 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by 

the  pines  of  the  forest ; 


List  to  the  tale  of  love  in  Acadie.home  of 
the  happy. 

There  may  be  faults  pointed  out  in 
the  plot  of  the  story.  There  may  be 
those  who  are  not  satisfied  with  the 
[  metre,  but  no  sensitive  heart  can  read 
I  'Evangeline'  without  tears,  or  is  likely 
to  forget  the  sad  story  of  love's  long, 
fruitless  search  : 

The  hope,  the  fear,  and  the  sorrows, 
All  the  aching  heart,    the  restless  unsatis- 
fied longing, 
All  the  dull    deep  pain,  and  constant  an- 
guish of  patience. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the 
gigantic  force  and  unwearying  devo- 
tion of  true  love  have  seldom  if  ever 
been  better  illusti'ated. 

As  a  poem,  '  Evangeline'  is  one  of 
sustained  interest  throughout.  Its 
characters  are  distinct  and  truly  de- 
veloped. It  is  like  a  beautiful  brace- 
let artistically  clasped.  Let  any  one 
read  the  poem  continuously  through, 
and  taking  special  note  of  the  refer- 
ences in  the  opening  and  closing  lines, 
and  he  will  feel  the  truth  of  this  com- 
parison. 

*  Evangeline'  abounds  in  beautiful 
descriptions, — descriptions  that  could 
only  have  been  written  by  a  loving 
observer  of  Nature,  and  one  thoroughly 
alive  to  the  forms  and  suggestings  of 
her  beauty.  We  are  not  afraid  of 
offending  our  readers  by  referring  them 
for  an  example  of  this,  to  the  oft- 
quoted,  much  admired  description  of 
an  evening  scene  on  the  Mississippi. 

Softly   the  evening  came.     The  sun  from 

the  western  horizon, 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand 

o'er  the  landscape  ; 
Twinkling    vapours   arose  ;    and    sky  and 

water  and  forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted 

and  mingled  together. 
Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with 

edges  of  silver, 
Floated  the  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars  on 

the  motionless  water 
Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with   inex- 
pressible sweetness. 
Touched   by  the   magic  spell,    the  sacred 

fountains  of  feeUng 


LONGFELLOW. 


Glowed  with  the  light  of  love,  as  the  skies 

and  the  waters  around  her. 
Then  from  neighbouring  thicket  the  mock- 
ing bird,  wildest  of  singers, 
Swinging  aloft   on   the  willow-spray  that 

hung  o'er  the  water 
Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of 

delirious  music, 
That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods   and  the 

waves  seemed  silent  to  listen. 
Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad  ; 

then  soaring  to  madness 
Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel 

of  frenzied  Bacchantes. 
Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful, 

low  lamentation  ; 
Till  having  gathered  them  all  he  flung  them 

abroad  in  derision 
As  when,    after  a   storm,  a  gust  of  wind 

through  the  tree-tops 
Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain   in  crystal 

shower  on  the  branches. 

This  passage  will  also  serve  to  illus- 
trate the  mai-vellous  command  which 
Longfellow  had  over  words  and  me- 
tres, whereby  he  was  enabled  to  make 
the  Hexameter  in  English  smooth 
and  harmonious,  so  that  his  narrative 
flows  along  in  it  with  steady  musical 
rhythm. 

Although  the  fame  of  Longfellow  is 
more  popularly  associated  with  'Evan- 
geline,' than  with  any  other  of  his 
longer  poems,  there  are  not  wanting 
those  who  express  their  preference  for 
'  Hiawatha.'  Its  peculiar  metre  was 
adopted  from  the  'Kalevala,'  the  great 
Epic  of  the  Finns,  a  circumstance  which 
gave  rise  to  an  absurd  charge  of  pla- 
giarism from  that  poem.  It  is  a 
metre  whose  flow  and  resonance  are 
easily  caught,  and  it  has  therefore 
been  the  subject  of  innumerable 
parodies  and  not  a  little  merry-making 
on  the  part  of  some  critics.  Long- 
fellow has  made  it  do  good  service 
in  stringing  together  the  interesting 
legends  and  myths  of  the  aborigines 
of  this  continent.  It  was  a  happy 
thought  that  prompted  the  poet  to 
write  this  'Indian  Edda,'  as  he  him- 
self calls  it.  His  love  for  legendary 
lore  naturally  led  him  to  the  subject, 
and  he  has  accomplished  his  task  with 
great  care  and  study.  It  is  a  grace  to 
the  Red  Man,  and  will  undoubtedly 
remain  a  permanent  work  in  literature 


493 

and  history.  There  will  always  be  a 
strange  fascination  about  the  poem. 
The  natural  and  supernatural  are 
made  to  mingle  and  blend  so  strik- 
ingly in  it,  the  myths  and  traditions 
are  so  interesting  and  fanciful,  and  so 
many  beautiful  thoughts  and  felici- 
tous expressions  meet  the  eye  on 
every  page,  that  the  popularity  it  has 
attained  is  not  to  be  wondered  at. 
Many  apt  quotations  have  been  culled 
from  it  to  grace  and  enforce  the  argu- 
ments of  the  writer  or  orator,  and 
surely  no  reader  of  poetry  would  like 
to  miss  such  pictures  as  are  given  us 
in  '  Hiawatha's  Wooing,'  and  '  The 
Death  of  Minnehaha." 

In  the  Shakesperian  sense,  Long- 
fellow is  not  a  dramatist  ;  but  he  has 
written  dramas  which  are  poems  full 
of  life  and  power.  We  need  not  ex- 
pect to  see  them  brought  out  on  the 
stage  with  scenic  and  histrionic  effect, 
but  as  embodying  truth  in  human 
personalities  which  make  a  deep  im- 
pression upon  the  imagination  and 
heart  of  the  reader,  they  are  in  every 
way  worthy  of  his  genius. 

In  the  '.Spanish  Student'  there  are 
scenes  of  rare  beauty  and  power.  The 
'  Golden  Legend'  has  by  some  been 
considered  the  poet's  most  finished 
work,  and  has  been  awarded  high 
praise  from  the  most  competent  critics. 
John  Riiskin  gives  it  as  his  opinion 
that,  'Longfellow,  in  the  "  Golden  Leg- 
end," has  entered  more  closely  into 
the  temper  of  the  monk  for  good  and 
evil,  than  ever  yet  theological  writer 
or  historian,  though  they  may  have 
given  their  life's  labour  to  the  analy- 
sis of  it.'  Another  critic  has  ex- 
pressed the  opinion,  'that  there  is 
nearly  as  much  fine  poetry  in  the  "  Gol- 
den Legend  "  as  in  the  celebrated 
Drama  of  Goethe  ;'  and  calls  Elsie  as 
'  beautiful  a  character  as  was  ever  form- 
ed in  the  mind  of  a  poet.'  Setting  aside 
the  somewhat  hackneyed  n)acliinery  of 
the  poem,  and  allowing  our  minds  to 
dwell  on  its  characters,  lessons,  and 
beauty  of  thought  and  language,  we 
will  not  fail  to  reciprocate  the  warmest 


494 


LONGFELLOW. 


words  of  praise  spoken  by  its  friendly 
critics. 

In  1873  'The  Divine  Tragedy,' 
'  The  Golden  Legend,'  and  *  The  New 
England  Tragedies  '  with  *  Introitus  ' 
and  '  Interludes'  were  brought  together 
by  the  poet  as  having  in  them  a  cer- 
tain unity  of  thought  or  theme.  They 
may  be  looked  upon  as  representing 
three  phases  of  religious  life.  The 
'  Divine  Tragedy  '  is  an  almost  literal 
and  thoroughly  reverent  rendering 
into  verse  of  the  main  facts  and  teach- 
ings of  the  Gos])el  narrative.  It 
therefore  represents  the  Christian  re- 
ligion as  exhibited  in  the  person  and 
teachings  of  Christ  himself,  '  The 
Golden  Legend  '  is  a  picture  of  the 
Christian  religion  during  the  darkness 
and  superstition  of  the  monkish  and 
and  medifeval  period.  In  '  The  New 
England  Tragedies'  are  brought  before 
us  the  intolerance,  the  superstitions, 
and  the  mistakes,  which  marred  the 
Christian  religion  as  exhibited  in  early 
New  England  Puritan  life. 

Only  the  dull  heart  and  blinded 
conscience  will  fail  to  learn  lessons  of 
truth  and  charity  from  this  great  work 
of  poetic  art.  It  will,  I  think,  not  be 
denied  that,  however  much  Longfel- 
low's longer  poems  may  be  read  and  ad- 
mired, and  however  enduring  a  foun- 
dation they  may  lay  for  his  fame  in 
the  future,  his  shorter  lyrical  poems 
are  those  by  which  he  is  most  widely 
known,  and  those  that  have  gathered 
around  him  the  greatest  host  of  ad- 
mirers and  friends.  These  have  come 
into  the  homes  and  hearts  of  the  peo- 
ple. They  have  been  treasured  in 
scrap-books  and  copied  into  albums. 
They  are  to  be  found  in  every  reading 
book  and  collection  of  poetic  gems. 
They  are  recited  by  the  school- boy 
and  quoted  by  the  senator  and  the 
divine.  They  have  been  embellished 
■with  choicest  engravings,  and  wedded 
to  sweet  music,  sent  singing  down  the 
ages.  They  have  given  inspii'ation  to 
many  a  noble  ambition,  courage  in 
many  an  hour  of  conflict,  and  have 


dropped  like  healing  balm  on  many 
a  crushed  and  sorrowing  heart. 

The  'Psalm  of  Life'  has  not  yet 
lost  its  popularity  or  its  power.  Nor 
will  it,  for  this  simple  reason,  that  it 
contains  a  ti'uth  common  and  univer- 
sal set  in  most  musical  numbers  and 
pervaded  by  the  subtle,  indescribable 
essence  of  poetry.  Its  riveiUe  will 
be  heard  by  the  heart  of  youth  and 
age  alike 

In  the  world's  iJioad  field  cf  battle 

In  the  bivouac  of  life, 
Be  not  like  dumb  driven  cattle, 

Be  a  hei-o  in  the  strife. 

Its  trumpet  call  will  be  responded  to 
by  every  true  heart  that  makes  life 
real  and  earnest  : 

Act,  act  in  the  living  present 
Heart  within  and  God  o'erhead. 

The  '  Village  Blacksmith '  is  a  por- 
trayal of  the  same  earnest  side  of  life. 

Toiling,  rejoicing,  sorrowing 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 
Each  evening  sees  its  close  ; 

Something  attempted,  something  done 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

A  similar  chord  is  struck  in  'The  Light 
of  Stars.' 

The  star  of  the  unconquered  will, 

He  rises  in  my  breast. 
Serene,  and  resolute  and  still. 

And  calm  and  self-possessed. 

And  again  we  find  the  same  recurring 
strain — an  inspiration  to  noble  ambi- 
tion and  action — in  'The  Ladder  of  St. 
Augustine.' 

The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight. 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. 

There  is  nothing  of  the  comic  ele- 
ment in  Longfellow's  lyrics.  He  does 
not  seek  to  provoke  our  laughter. 
Even  the  joyous,  buoyant,  soaring 
strain  is  wanting.  What  is  pure  and 
bright  and  sweet  and  happy  in  social 
and  domestic  life  has  a  charm  for  him 
and  we  cannot  fail  to  see  his  gladness 
at  it.  We  believe,  however,  he  could 
more  deeply  weep  with  those  who  weep 


LONGFELLOW. 


495 


than  rejoice  with  those  who  do  rejoice. 
The  sorrows  of  life — the  solemn  real- 
ities of  death  and  the  grave,  have  called 
forth  his  truest,  most  sympathetic  and 
oft-quoted  lines.  Many  a  mourning 
mother  has  read  in  tears  '  The  Reaper 
and  the  Flowers,'  and  the  bow  of  hope 
baa  shone  upon  her  tears  as  she  read  : 

Though  the  breath  of  these  flowers  are  sweet 
to  me 
I  will  give  them  all  back  again. 

And  the  mother  gave,  in  tears  and  pain, 

The  flowers  she  most  did  love  ; 
She  knew  she  would  find  them  all  again 

In  the  fields  of  light  above. 

The  poems  '  Resignation,'  and  '  The 
Two  Angels '  are  full  of  comforting 
thoughts  for  the  sorrowing,  and  eveiy- 
one  will  recognise  the  utterance  of  a 
full  heart  in  the  short  poem  '  Suspiria.' 

Take  them,  O  Death,  and  bear  away 
Whatever  thou  canst  call  thine  own,  &c. 

'  The  Skeleton  in  Armour'  and  *The 
Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,'  have  in  them 
the  genuine  ring  of  the  old  ballad,  and 
show  how  easy  it  was  for  Longfellow, 
with  his  tuneful  ear,  to  catch  the  tone 
and  spirit  of  that  species  of  lyric. 

It  would  have  been  a  delightful  task 
to  point  out  the  many  poetic  beauties 
and  wholesome  life-lessons  contained 
in  these  lyric   gems,  but  we  must  be 
satisfied   to  name  with  honour  those 
that  please  us  most.     The  poem  en- 
titled   '  Maidenhood '    appears    to    us 
perfect  both    in    thought    and    form. 
■*  The  Slave's  Dream  '  has  not  lost  its 
pathetic    power,    although    the    curse 
against  which  it  was  directed  has  been 
banished  from  our  continent.       '  Ex- 
celsior' still  rings  in  clarion  tones  the 
fate  of  poetic  and  all  other  ambitions. 
In  the  '  Arsenal  at  Springfield,'  the 
poet  raises  a  voice,  sweet-toned  indeed,    ' 
but   powerful,    against  the  horrid  in- 
humanities of   war.        People  do  not    i 
seem  to  tire  of  '  The  Bridge '  and  its 
much  sung  music.     What  household    I 
treasure  his   poems  on   children   and 
childhood  have  become  1    '  The  Golden    I 
Milestone,'  '  Haunted  Houses,'  *  Foot-    i 
steps  of  Angels,'  and  many  such  poems   1 


have  found,  and  will  continue  to  find, 
a  ready  response  from  hearts  that  can 
lay  claim  to  even  the  least  poetic  sen- 
sibility. There  is  a  richness  of  feeling 
about  his   later  poems,  all  tinged  as 
they  are  with  the  musings  of  one  who 
is  looking  back  through  the  changes, 
ambitions,  and  friendships  of  a  long 
life  time.       We    would   not  willingly 
miss  the  sweetly-sad  and  salutary  les- 
sons of  '  Morituri  Salutamus,'  or  the 
picture  of  wedded  life  given  in   '  The 
Hanging  of  the  Crane,'  or  the  pleasing 
effects  of  '  The  Masque  of  Pandora,' 
and  '  Keramos.'  '  The  Tales  of  a  Way- 
side Inn,'  some  of  which  are  poems  of 
great  intrinsic  beauty,  and  the  '  Court- 
ship of  Miles  Standish,'  deserve  from 
our  hands   a   more   extended  notice ; 
but  the  object    of    this    article  is  to 
bring  before  the  reader  the  man  and 
the  poet,  referring  only  to  such  of  his 
works  as  will  best  serve  to  illustrate 
his  genius  in  the  varied  fields  of  poetic 
composition  he  has  chosen  for  its  ex- 
ercise.      One    other  department,    in 
which  Longfellow  shines  pre-eminent, 
remains  to  be  noticed.      He  has  been 
one  of  the  most  successful  of  transla- 
tors.     Out  of  many  languages,  and  in 
many   varieties    of    poetry    from    the 
short  '  Jeu  d'esprit,'  to  the  long  Epic, 
the  'Divina  Commedia,  he  has  rendered 
the  choice  pieces  of  continental  litera- 
ture  into   his  own   tongue.     He   at- 
tempted much  in  this  <lirection  and  ac- 
complished well  all  that  he  attempted 
Every  lover  of  literature   must  feel  a 
debt  of  gratitude  to  the  man  whose 
careful   study,    fine    taste,   and  poetic 
genius   have  unlocked  from  their  cas- 
kets, and  spread   before  our  view  so 
many  beautiful  and  precious  jewels  of 
song.      A  very    competent   critic  has 
said  that    *  poetry  is    of  so   subtle  a 
spirit    that   pouring  out   of    one  lan- 
guage into  another  it  will  all  evapor- 
ate.'    It  is,  I  think,  admitted   by  all 
who  are   competent   to  judge,   by  ac- 
quaintance   with    the    originals,  that 
Longfellow  has  overcome  the  difficul- 
ties and  accomplished  the  task  of  pre- 
serving the  very  essence  of  poetry  in 


496 


LONGFELLOW. 


transferring   the   thoughts   conceived 
in  one  language  into  another. 

Longfellow  has  stood  the  test  both 
of  literary  criticism  and  of  popular 
feeling,  and  his  place  of  honour  has 
been  adjudged  to  him.  On  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic  he  has  been  for  years 
the  object  of  reverence  and  admira- 
tion, and  we  are  told  that  he  is  even 
more  universally  a  favourite  in  Eng- 
land than  in  his  own  country.  He 
has,  so  to  speak,  *  reached  his  pedes- 
tal, has  begun  to  stand  idealized  be- 
fore the  public,  and  invested  with  a 
halo  like  the  figures  of  the  saints  in 
the  paintings  of  the  old  masters,  while 
his  best  works  are  becoming  set  like 
gems  in  the  memoi'ies  of  men.'  From 
the  very  outset  of  his  career  he  was 
received  into  public  favour.  His  fate 
has  not  been  like  that  of  some  of  the 
best  and  truest  of  our  poets,  in  their 
own  generation — 

Hiding  from  mauy  a  careless  eye 
The  scorned  load  of  agony, 

unknown,  unappreciated,  and  at  last 
sinking  into  the  grave  through  sheer 
penury  and  brokenness  of  heart.  His 
life,  on  the  contrary,  has  been  one  of 
culture,  and  comfort,  of  steady,  well- 
deserved  success,  and  of  hearty  and 
grateful  appreciation  from  his  fellow- 
men.  We  will  bring  this  article  to  a 
close  by  including  some  of  the  quali- 
ties of  the  man  and  the  poet  which  have 
contributed  to  this  success. 

In  no  small  degree  the  success  of 
his  litei'ary  career  seems  due  to  the 
fact,  that  he,  at  an  early  date  in  his 
life,  became  conscious  of  what  he 
could  do  ;  he  knew  his  power  and 
limitations,  and  therefore  has  not 
wasted  his  time  and  strength  on  what 
he  could  not  perform.  No  critic  could 
say  of  him  he  attempted  great  things 
and  failed.  Originality  has  been  de- 
nied him,  but  is  it  not  a  proof  of  ori- 
ginality and  innate  power  and  inde- 
pendence of  mind,  that  in  spite  of  the 
constant  study  of  other  languages  and 
the  mass  of  his  acquired  legendary 
and  poetic  lore,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 


he  spent  much  time  in  translations^ 
everything  that  has  come  from  his  pen. 
is   stamped  with  his  own   marked  in- 
dividuality ?     No  one  will  pretend  to- 
claim   for  him    great  creative  genius, 
nor  will  we  find  in  him  those  brilliant 
flashes    of   genius    whereby    a    single 
line  or   sentence  is  made  to  light  up 
the  whole  intellectual  sky.   We  are  not 
wrought  upon  by  any  marked  poetic 
frenzy.     There  are   depths  of  feeling 
he  does  not  reach,   and  ranges  of  ex- 
perience he  has  not  illuminated.     He 
is  not  Shakespeare,  he  is  not  Byron, 
he  is   not  Browning,  he  is  not  Tenny- 
son ;    but    he   has    his  own    peculiar 
poetic  gift  and  is  himself  throughout. 
Another    marked     feature     of    his 
poetry,  and   one  worthy  of  all  praise, 
is  his  clearness  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion.    He  does  not  give  his   readers 
poetical  knots  and  riddles  to  unravel. 
He    does   not    ask   us  to   discern  the 
poetic   fire  by  the  quantity  of  smoke 
but  by  the  clearness  of  the  flame.   He 
is  everywhere    clear    and    luminous, 
giving    expression  to  his  thoughts  in 
language  well  nigh  faultless  and  easily 
understood,  so  that  the  impression  of 
each  poem  is  left  in  all  its  sweetness 
and  clearness  as  the  possession  of  any 
one  who  will  read  with  a  fair  amount 
of  care  and  interest.     There  are  some 
strong  passages    and    expressions    in 
Longfellow's     writings,    but    he    evi- 
dently   disliked  all  that  was  jarring 
and  violent.   On  the  other  hand,  he  had 
a  strong  aflinity   for  everything   that 
was  beautiful  and  attractive  in  nature, 
in  home  and  social  life,  in  thought  and 
feeling.       An   atmosphere    of  beauty 
pervades   all   his   poetry,  giving,  like 
sunshine,  a  new  charm   to  life's  land- 
scapes,   and  lending   an   ideal  attract- 
iveness to  what  was  before  but  com- 
monplace. 

With  his  affinity  for  all  that  was 
beautiful  we  associate  his  affinity  for 
all  that  was  pure  and  good.  There  was 
an  earnest  moral  purpose  at  the  centre 
of  his  life  and  life  work.  It  is  the 
function  of  the  poet  to  fill  the  ima- 
gination with   beautiful  conceptions. 


LONGFELLOW. 


49T 


and  to  touch  the  deep  fountains  of  emo- 
tion but  it  should  be  his  highest  aim 
to  send  the  sliafcs  of  truth,  tipped  with 
flame,  into  the  hearts  of  men  to  kindle 
in  them  the  love  of  Truth,  and  the  life 
of  Truth.  Longfellow's  desire  to  make 
men  truer,  liappier,  and  better  shines 
conspicuously  in  all  his  works.  One 
critic,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  has  even 
made  this  a  ground  of  censure,  and  ill- 
naturedly  calls  him  not  a  poet  but  a 
preacher.  As  if  a  poet  should  not 
teach  and  preach !  No  one  surely 
living  a  pvire  and  holy  life,  and  desir- 
ing to  see  his  fellow-men  made  holier 
and  happier,  will  quarrel  with  the 
moral  lessons  of  labour,  trust  and  love 
which  Longfellow  has  involved  in  his 
poems,  and  which  to  many  of  his  read- 
ers, is  one  of  their  strongest  recommen- 
dationa 

One  more  quality  belonging  to  the 
poet  and  pervading  his  poems  we  must 
notice,  and  one  without  which  no  man 
can  win  and  hold  the  popular  heart. 
It  is  the  quality  of  humanity.  Man- 
kind are  like  the  poet's  'Village  Black- 
smith,' ever  '  toiling,  rejoicing,  sor- 
rowing.' The  poet  who  is  to  be  received 
and  crowned  by  human  hearts  must 
come  to  them  as  such  with  power  to 
see,  to  sympathize,  and  to  soothe ;  must 
stand  in  their  midst,  and  interpret  and 
give  expression  to  their  feelings;  must 
lift  the  burden  of  care  from  their  hearts, 
by  throwing  the  spell  of  his  idealization 
over  the  chequered  and  changeful  scene 
of  pain  and  grief,  and  joy  and  sorrow. 
Longfellow  has  done  this,  and  there- 
fore his  poems  are  in  the  true  sense  of 
that  term  popular.  The  memories  and 
sympathies,  and  sensibilities,  of  man- 
kind,have  found  expression  in  hiswords. 
In  the  '  Prelude  '  to  the  '  Voices  of 
the  Night,'  the  poet  tells  us  that  his 
poetic  inspirations  were  Nature,  Leg- 
end, and  Life  ;  how  tlie.  visions  of 
childhood  would  not  stay,  but  must 
give  place  to  other  and  higher  themes. 
He  heard  the  voice  saying  : 

Look,  then,  into  thine  heart,  and  write  ! 

Yes,  into  Life's  deep  stream, 
All  foi-ms  of  sorrow  and  delight, 


All  solemn  Voices  of  the  Night, 
That  can  soothe  thee,  or  affright,- 
Be  these  henceforth  thy  theme. 

And   he  did  look   into  his  heart  and 
wrote  what  he  saw  and  felt  there. 

He  is  gone.  'A  simple  life  has  utter- 
ed itself  in  song.  Men  listened  and  re- 
joiced and  loved,  and  now  they  mourn.' 
America  has  lost  her  gifted  singer  'The 
poet  of  America,' yet  cosmopolitan,  and 
American  in  a  real  sense  because  cos- 
mopolitan. We  have  not  dealt  in  this 
paper  in  negative  criticisms.  Our  aim 
has  been  to  present  a  picture  of  the  life 
and  genius  of  the  man.  We  have  not 
indulged  in  speculations,  as  to  what 
posterity  may  do  with  his  fame  or 
striven  by  nicely  regulated  standards  to 
determine  his  precise  place  among  the 
brotherhood  of  poets.  Of  one  thing  we 
feel  sure,  whatever  rank  may  be  as- 
signed him,  that  no  poet  has  left  thi» 
world  more  richly  crowned  with  the 
grateful  blessing  of  the  pure  and  good, 
and  none  of  this  generation  would,  if 
called  away,  leave  a  '  vacant  chair ' 
in  so  many  households.  To  himself  we 
can  now  apply  the  simile  in  which  he 
so  beautifully  refers  to  the  influence  of 
his  great  friend,  Charles  Sumner — 

Were  a  star  quenched  on  high, 

For  ages  would  its  light, 
Still  travelling  downward  from  the  sky, 
]  Shine  on  our  mortal  sight. 

I        So  when  a  great  man  dies, 
1        For  years  beyond  our  ken 

The  light  he  leaves  behind  him  lies 

Upon  the  paths  of  men. 

His  volumes  cannot  miss  the  place  of 
honour  his  kindly  ambition  desired 
for  them  in  the  goodly  company  of 

The  pleasant  books  that  silently  among 
Our  household  treasures  takefamiliarplaces,. 

And  are  to  us  as  if  a  living  tongue 

Spake  from  the  printed  leaves  or  pictured 
faces  ; 

And  most  cordial  hospitality  will  be 
the  response  of  those  who  love  what  is 
pure,  and  true,  and  refining  in  litera- 
ture, to  his  expressed  desire  : 

Therefore  I  hope,  as  no  unwelcome  guest 
At  your  warm  fireside  when  the  lamps  are 
lighted, 

To  have  my  place  reserved  among  the  rest, 
Nor  stand  as  one  unsought  and  uninvited  ! 


498  DESOLATA. 

DESOLATA. 

BY  FREDERICK   DIXON,    OTTAWA. 


Let  the  galled  jade  wince,  our 
withers  are  imwrung." 


SHUT  your  shutter,  and  close  your  blii  d  ; 
You  with  the  tears, 
The  ended  hopes  and  the  ended  fears ; 
Alone  with  it  on  the  bed  ; 
Alone  with  your  quiet  dead  ; 
Each  for  each,  and  each  to  his  kind  ! 

Yours  ;  all  yours  ;  and  yours  alone. 
Were  it  a  sod,  or  were  it  a  stone. 

Or  a  thistle-down  floating  away, 
The  world  would  be  just  as  sad, 

Just  as  merry  and  gay, 
Just  as  busy  and  mad 

As  it  is  to-day  ; 
Would  go  as  heedlessly  by 

With  never  a  thought  nor  word, 

With  a  heart  unstirred. 
And  an  undimmed  eye, 

As  it  does  to-day. 

What  does  it  know  or  care 

Who  may  be  lying  there  ! 
A  life  is  a  life,  and  a  death,  a  death, 

Be  it  foul  or  fair, 
And  the  final  gasp  of  that  poor  weak  breath. 
Whether  curse  or  prayer, 

Causes  no  surmise  ; 
And  the  last  long  stare 

Of  those  covered  eyes. 

If  of  love,  or  of  hate. 
Or  of  hope,  or  despair, 

(Though  you  weep  as  you  wait,) 

Matters  no  more 

To  the  world  outside 
Than  the  turn  of  a  straw 

In  the  play  of  the  tide. 

Shut  your  shutter,  and  close  your  blind  ; 
Each  for  each,  and  each  to  his  kind  ! 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


499 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


BY  A.   FREELANCE,  TOEONTO. 


THE  way  to  judge  of  a  question  is 
by  seeing  the  whole  of  the  ques- 
tion, not  by  concluding  from  your  ex- 
amination of  the  part.  A  fiscal  sys- 
tem in  the  State  may  be  likened  to  the 
works  of  a  clock  composed  of  a  num- 
ber of  wheels  acting  and  reacting  upon 
one  another,  the  absence  of  any  one 
rendering  the  system  impossible  ;  so 
that  it  is  only  by  examining  the  func- 
tion of  each  wheel  in  relation  to 
the  whole  that  you  are  enabled  to 
judge  of  its  value,  or  of  its  usefulness 
at  all.  So,  too,  I  take  it,  that  the 
reader  is  unable  to  judge  of  the  merits 
of  a  whole  case  by  reading  only  the 
part,  and  without  knowing  the  rela- 
tion of  that  part  to  the  whole. 

I  propose  in  this  paper  to  examine, 
in  the  light  of  some  facts  at  hand  and 
of  my  own  reason,  the  questions  of 
Free  Trade  and  Protection,  both  in 
theory  and  in  practice.  It  may  be 
thought  that  there  is  little  new  to  be 
said  upon  a  subject  that  is  the  topic 
for  a  thousand  newspapers  '  every  day 
in  the  year,  Sundays  excepted  ; '  but 
if  there  is  nothing  *  new  '  to  be  said, 
there  is  something  new  to  be  done  ; 
for  I  can  put  the  whole  subject  to- 
gether rather  than  present  to  my 
readers  only  a  limb  or  a  rib  of  the 
same — this  method,  I  adjudge,  being 
as  much  superior  to  the  fragmentary 
mode  as  the  presentation  of  a  land- 
scape painting  in  its  entirety  woidd  be 
to  the  serving  up  of  the  same  picture 
in  twenty  little  separate  frames,  put- 
ting a  rock  within  one,  a  tree  within 
another,  and  a  '  solitary  sandpiper  '  in 
a  third.  But,  with  the  daily  press, 
the  dujeda  membra  method  is  demand- 
ed by  space  and  time,  even  if  it  were 


not  the  inclination  of  the  party  jour- 
nalist to  give  only  such  features  of  the 
subject  as,  detached  and  alone,  look 
repugnant,  but  which  viewed  in  rela- 
tion to  the  whole  might  be  the  '  magic 
rounding  off'  in  the  system. 

I  propose  briefly  to  examine  the 
question  of  Protection  and  Free  Trade, 
as  the  wrong  and  right  sides  of  the 
trade  question,  as  a  whole,  and  ac- 
cording to  my  humble  understanding 
of  the  same.  In  doing  this,  I  am  con- 
scious that  much  more  depends  upon 
the  way  an  examination  is  made  than 
upon  the  examination  itself ;  for  we 
may  bring  the  thought  of  the  philoso- 
pher and  the  keen  accuracy  of  the 
microscope,  yet,  setting  out  in  error, 
mistaking  a  gradation  in  descent  for 
the  origin  of  the  subject,  our  most  ela- 
borate and  exact  researches  can  but 
tend  to  the  greater  multiplication  of 
error.  In  examining  whether  the  pro- 
tection of  native  industry  by  the  Gov- 
ernment of  the  State  is  desirable,  it  is 
necessary  to  trace  society  back,  as  an 
explorer  traces  a  river  up,  to  its 
source,  to  ascertain  the  starting  point ; 
:  for,  having  gained  that  position,  all 
I  the  springs  hidden  in  the  complexi- 
I  ties  of  civilization  in  its  descent  be- 
come clear ;  while,  having  once  dis- 
covered these,  we  are  on  open  ground, 
and  can  see  with  accuracy  the  effect  of 
the  application  of  any  theory  to  the 
development  of  trade  and  industry. 
This  position  is  no  less  the  command- 
ing point  of  observation  than  the  all- 
important  summit  of  the  destiny  of 
events.  This  idea  makes  itself  plain 
to  my  mind  in  this  way  :  On  the 
conical  mountain- top  there  I'ests  a 
stone,  which,  on  being  set  in  motion 


600 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


once,  rolls  down  the  mountain  side  to 
the  base.  Its  destiny,  whether  it 
shall  go  to  the  east  or  to  the  west,  de- 
pends upon  the  direction  in  which  you 
move  it  in  the  beginning. 

Let  us  suppose  a  republic  situate 
on  one  portion  of  a  great  continent, 
and  the  dei)endency  of  a  kingdom, 
lying  along  its  frontier,  separated 
only  by  a  political  line  on  another 
portion.  The  republic  is  in  the  full 
strength  of  its  manhood ,  and  has 
made  vast  strides  in  the  arts  and 
manufactures.  Millions  of  dollars  have 
been  invested  in  the  manufacture  of 
wool  and  cotton,  and  boots  and  shoes, 
and  agricultural  implements,  and  iron 
and  wooden  wares.  But  in  the  other 
territory,  this  state  of  progi-ess  has  not 
been  attained.  The  population  is 
sparse,  while  the  territory  is  rich  in 
all  the  natural  objects  required  for  the 
highest  ends  of  civilization.  The  soil 
is  fertile,  is  visited  by  kindly  rains  in 
proper  season,  and  produces  not  alone 
in  great  abundance,  but  in  wide  variety. 
It  has  vast  domains  of  forest,  unlimit- 
ed stores  of  economic  minerals,  and 
abundance  of  coal,  while  mighty  rivers 
of  unconceived  power  wind  through  it. 
But  the  people  are  little  better  than  in 
a  pastoral  state.  They  have  settled 
upon  the  territory,  some  possessing 
goodly  sums  of  money.  There  are  yet 
no  towns  or  cities,  oidy  here  and  there 
a  village,  the  rest  living  apart  from 
each  other,  each  one  a  distance  equal 
to  the  extent  of  his  farm,  from  his 
neighbour.  The  inhabitants  raise 
grain  of  every  kind,  garden  produce, 
etc.;  cut  timber  and  saw  it  into  boards, 
raise  cattle  and  sheep,  and  oxen  and 
horses,  and  of  all  these,  more  than 
they  need  for  their  own  use.  The  sur- 
plus they  sell  to  the  manufacturers 
of  the  republic,  who  come  up  to  their 
doors  with  farming  implements,  cot- 
tons, woollens,  and  all  the  domestic 
wares,  selling  these  in  exchange  for  the 
surplus  products  of  the  farm.  Thus 
the  pi'ocess  goes  on,  and  as  population 
increases  over  the  new  territory,  so 
does  the  market  for  the  republicans' 


manufactures  also  increase.  But  here 
and  there  in  this  new  territory  is  a 
farmer  who  has  some  capital,  in  money, 
which  he  does  not  need  in  his  agri- 
cultural pursuits.  He  has  become 
thoughtful  from  seeing  the  republican 
manufacturer  selling  his  wares  from 
year  to  year  at  his  own  and  his  neigh- 
bours' doors,  and  he  says  to  himself, 
'  I  have  $20,000  to  spare;  why  should 
I  not  manufacture  the  ploughs  and 
the  harrows,  and  the  reapers  these 
stranger  people  sell  at  our  doors  ] 
There  is  plenty  of  iron  to  be  got  in 
(lur  own  unworked  mines,  and  plentj 
of  wood  in  our  forests  :  why  should  I 
not  smelt  the  iron  and  prepare  the 
wood,  making  those  implements  our 
farmers  need  1  But  having  supplied 
these  things,  how  would  I  fare  1  I 
might  send  two  or  three  agents 
among  our  farmers,  but  from  across 
the  line  there  are  that  many  hundred 
agents.  Would  the  farmer  then  pur- 
chase my  articles,  because  homemade, 
in  jireference  to  the  foreign  1  No  ;  I 
think  it  would  be  the  other  way.  But 
there  is  a  greater  obstacle  than  this. 
I  put  a  capital  of  $20,000  into  this 
manufactory.  I  must  compete  with 
a  long-established  manufacturer,  who 
has  a  ca[)ital  of  half  a  million  dollars. 
In  a  contest,  he  brings  against  me  a 
power  nearly  thirty  times  greater  than 
mine.  With  my  $20,000  dollars  capi- 
tal I  shall  require  a  marginal  profit  of 
ten  per  cent.  ;  he  doing  thirty  times 
as  much  business,  can  make  more  by 
a  profit  of  eight  per  cent.,  by  reason  of 
the  better  division  of  laboiir  in  his 
larger  establishment.  He  can  under- 
sell me  by  two  per  cent.  Therefore  I 
will  not  enter  the  contest ;  I  will  go 
on  with  my  farming,  and  let  my  money 
lie  out  at  interest.'  What  is  true  of 
this  farmer-capitalist  is  true  of  scores 
of  others,  who,  for  similar  reasons,  will 
not  establish  cotton  or  woollen  mills 
or  wooden-ware  factories.  Under  such 
a  state  of  afiairs,  the  development  of 
the  higher  and  more  important  manu- 
factures is  a  plant  of  slow  growth. 
'  But,'  some  one  says,  *  the  conclu- 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


501 


sion  from  your  argument  is  that  with- 
out protection  by  the  State,  develop- 
ment of  native  manufacture  is  impos- 
sible. Yet  manufactures  have  urown 
up  in  unprotected  States,  and  flour- 
ished in  them,  too.'  Granted,  but 
what  I  here  endeavour  to  show  is,  how 
Protection  could  aid  manufacture,  and 
develop  the  nation's  wealth,  and  how 
Free  Trade,  under  the  given  condi- 
tions, can,  itud  does  seriously,  check 
and  injure  these.  Cities,  towns,  and 
villages  are  no  less  the  natural  pro- 
duct of  increased  population  than  a 
certain  class  of  manufactures  are  the 
outcome  of  the  clustering  together  of 
the  people.  The  process  of  town- 
growth  is  very  simple.  Here  and  there 
a  blacksmith  will  come  and  put  up  a 
smithy,  and  the  farmers  coming  there 
from  round  about,  it  occurs  to  some 
enterprising  person  that  it  would  be 
a  good  place  to  build  a  store.  This  is 
the  nucleus  of  a  village.  For  the  one 
store  is  no  sooner  built  than  the 
second  is  in  contemplation.  Then  the 
salesmen  must  have  houses,  and  so 
must  the  carpenters  who  build  the 
stores  and  the  houses  ;  and  so  the  ac- 
cumulation takes  place  till  there  is  a 
full-flown  village,  with  a  post-oflice, 
and  gradually  a  little  town.  But  be- 
yond being,  in  a  manufacturing  sense, 
an  unimportant  town,  under  the  condi- 
tions I  have  pointed  out,  it  rarely  can 
become.  There  always  will  be,  must 
be,  in  the  centre  of  fertile  farming  dis- 
tricts, supplying  points  where  the 
farmer  can  buy  the  necessities  of  life  ; 
but  there 'will  not  always  be  in  those 
towns,  there  rarely  will  be,  the  manu- 
factories—except to  a  limited  extent, 
and  these  the  least  important — from 
which  the  merchant  can  obtain  the 
articles  for  his  ware-rooms.  In  other 
words,  such  a  city  is  only  an  interme- 
diate station  between  the  farmer 
and  the  foreign  manufacturer,  where 
the  country's  wealth  of  raw  mate- 
rial passes  through  only,  but  does 
not  remain.  The  meat  and  the  hides, 
And  the  fleeces  of  wool — the  beeves 


and  the  horses,  the  surplus  corn  and 
grains  of  every  kind,  the  deals  and 
the  boards,  all  pass  through  on  their 
way  to  the  foreign  market,  where 
they  are  needed  for  the  maintenance 
and  the  occupation  of  the  foreign 
labourer.  It  is  true  there  are  a  few 
exceptions  to  this  rule,  these  being 
formed  generally  under  certain  geo- 
graphical conditions,  such  for  example 
as  at  points  to  which  freights  from  the 
foreign  market  are  high,  and  routes 
difficult  and  tedious.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances the  moderate  capitalist  is 
encouraged  to  invest  in  manufacture. 
But  clearly  the  capitalist  must  be  pi'o- 
tected,  it  not  statutably,  then  geogra- 
phically or  otherwise. 

But  it  may  be  objected — '  Then 
since  the  inadequacy  of  capital  is  the 
original  cause  of  this  state  of  afiairs, 
the  cure  must  be,  not  in  protection  by 
the  State,  but  by  adequacy  of  capital, 
by  putting  home  dollar  against  foreign 
dollar.  One  dollaris  as  powerful  as  ano- 
ther, and  there  should  be  no  State  in- 
terference.' Let  us  examine  this  propo- 
sition, by  supposing  that  in  a  town  in 
the  foreign  State — say  Hartford — there 
is  a  woollen  manufactory,  with  a  capital 
of  a  million  of  dollars.  In  Hamilton, 
in  the  young  State,  there  is  another 
like  manufactory  with  an  equal  capi- 
tal. This  is  '  home  dollar  for  foreign 
dollar,'  but  it  is  not  equality  never- 
theless ;  for  the  Connecticut  manufac- 
turer will  spread  a  swarm  of  his  drum- 
mers through  Canada — the  Free  Trade 
State — while  the  Hamilton  manufac- 
turer finds  his  '  travellers '  confronted 
by  a  tariff"  wall  on  the  American  fron- 
tier. 

I  have  shown  what  takes  place  in  a 
country  rich  in  all  the  natural  objects 
needed  to  civilization's  demand,  where 
such  a  state  lies  adjacent,  or  conve- 
nient, to  a  foreign  state,  the  latter  in 
its  manhood  and  having  its  native  in- 
dustry protected  by  the  Government, 
the  former  in  its  early  youth,  and  not 
having  protection  to  its  home  indus- 
tries.    I  have  shown  that  in  the  trade 


50: 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


contest  between  the  two  the  struggle 
is  as  that  between  the  boy  of  ten  and 
the  man  of  thirty. 

Having  seen  the  causes  for  the  fail- 
ure of  manufacture  in  natural  objects, 
we  are  in  a  better  position  to  talk 
about  the  remedy.  Had  the  State 
said  to  the  farmer  with  the  $20,000, 
'  This  country  of  ours  is  rich  in  na- 
ture's materials  ;  we  have  all  the  eco- 
nomic minerals,  wood,  cual,  and  unex- 
ampled water-power  ;  we  have  a  prac- 
tically unlimited  area  of  fertile  land, 
and  our  climate  is  most  favourable  to 
our  needs  ;  we  have  all  we  want  of 
our  own,  as  good  as  that  which  our 
neighbours  beyond  the  boundary  have. 
But  most  of  our  wealth  lies  untouched, 
while  that  which  we  develop  we  send 
out  of  the  country,  for  that  which  we 
mig'it  have  from  our  midst.  The 
Government  shall,  therefore,  aid  you 
to  establish  your  iron  works,  and  it 
shall  aid  your  neighbours  to  establish 
their  woollen  and  cotton,  and  other 
works  ;  and,  by  these  means,  we  shall 
keep  at  home  such  of  our  population 
as,  not  caring  for  farming  pursuits, 
and  who  cannot  find  skilled  labour 
here,  go  to  manufacturing  cities  abroad 
to  seek  it.  We  shall  compel  all  foreign 
manufactures  coming  into  this  country 
to  pass  through  our  custom-houses  and 
pay  there  a  tax,  which,  added  to  the 
price  of  their  goods,  will  enable  you 
to  compete  with  them.  The  adoption 
of  such  means  as  these  will  set  capital 
and  energy  of  our  own  smelting  our 
own  ores,  weaving  our  own  wool, 
and  fashioning  out  of  our  own  forests 
such  articles  as  we  need  for  our  do- 
mestic uses.'  This  would  have  effected 
the  cure. 

But  those  who  grant  all  this  will 
cry  out,  '  Yes — you  have  developed 
home  manufacture,  but  you  have  de- 
veloped taxation  as  well.  Vou  have 
shut  the  cheaper  foreign  article  out, 
and  you  compel  us  to  buy  the  dearer, 
because  made  at  home.  It  matters 
not  to  us  whose  goods  we  buy,  so 
long  as  the  article  suits  us.  The 
quality    being    equal,    we    want    the 


cheapei-,  let  it  be  made  in  China  or  by 
our  next-door  neighbour.  We  think 
this  tax  wrong ;  let  us  hear  you 
justify  it.' 

Now,  in  answering  this  question — 
a  question  involving  the  entire  charge 
made  by  Free  Traders  against  Protec- 
tionists— I  must  be  permitted  to  state 
that  the  end  sought  by  the  policy  of 
Protection  is  not  the  enrichment  of  the 
capitalist  with  the  $20,000,  or  the 
woollen  or  the  wooden  manufacturer, 
but  the  establishment  of  manufac- 
tories, the  manufacturers  themselves 
being  only  the  means  to  that  end  ;  for 
the  establishment  of  manufactories  in- 
cludes the  development  of  the  coun- 
try's natural  resources.  Tlie  national 
benefits  of  the  development  of  native 
natural  objects  are  plain,  and  they  are 
many.  The  mines,  hitherto  of  no  more 
use  than  the  mountain  rocks,  at  once 
become  valuable  to  their  owners  and 
to  the  community;  while  the  money 
used  in  the  manufacture  of  deals  and 
boards,  minerals,  wool,  hides,  tSic,  all 
of  which  were  hitherto  exported  for 
manufacture,  wall  be  kept  in  the 
country,  instead  of  being  sent  abroad. 
Let  me  make  this  plain  by  example. 
A.  lives  in  Canada,  and  he  is  an  ex- 
tensive dealer  in  carriages,  farm  wag- 
gons, horse  rakes,  ploughs,  mowing 
machines,  harvesters,  &c.  Before  the 
era  of  State  Pi-otection  he  bought  all 
these  things  from  American  manufac- 
turers, paying  to  the  latter  each  year 
half  a  million  dollars.  When  Protec- 
tion became  law  Canadian  manufac- 
turers began  to  make  these  articles. 
A,  therefore,  each  year,  under  Protec- 
tion, })aid  that  half  a  million  dollars 
to  B,  who  is  a  Canadian  manufac- 
turer. Canada,  by  that  one  transac- 
tion, is  half  a  million  better  ofi"  in 
the  year  under  Protection — that  is, 
the  sum  named  has  given  employment 
for  the  year  to  over  a  thousand  Cana- 
dians, instead  of  to  a  like  number  of 
Americans  under  Free  Trade.  But  still 
we  hear  the  question,  '  What  has  that 
to  do  with  my  tax  1 — with  my  being 
compelled  to  buy  a  (;!anadian  article  in 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


50^ 


preference  to  a  foreign  1  Justify  the 
tax,'  I  have  stated  that  the  enrich- 
ment of  manufacturers  is  not  the  end 
sought,  neither  is  taxation,  but  home 
manufacture.  Now,  then,  since  home 
manufacture  is  the  end  sought,  it  is 
tlie  state  of  affairs  under  tlie  accom- 
plishment of  that  end  we  should  ex- 
amine. Trees  do  not  bear  blossoms 
and  fruit  on  the  same  day  :  we  ought, 
therefore,  to  dismiss  time — the  time 
between  the  blossom  and  the  fruit, the 
time  between  the  adoption  of  an  im- 
post tax  and  the  development  of  manu- 
facture— and  what  we  deem  the  hard- 
ships of  that  time,  from  the  question. 
I  need  not  stop  here  to  argue  the 
matter  of  '  questionable  means  to  an 
end  be  it  never  so  good,'  for  I  judge 
that  those  who  would  suffer  perma- 
nent malady  rather  than  submit  to  a 
temporary  physic  are  not  very  niany, 
nor,  indeed,  very  wise.  I  shall,  there- 
fore, glance  ahead  to  a  period  when 
Protection  shall  have  been  employed 
a  sufficient  time  to  encourage  capital 
into  all  the  branches  of  manufacturing 
possible  or  needful  in  the  young  and 
pi-oiected  State.  I  say  at  this  period 
the  cry  of  discontent  against  taxation 
will  have  been  generally  stilled.  The 
person  who  asked  me  to  'justify  this 
tax  '  will  have  found  events  pleading, 
'  trumpet-tongvied,'  its  full  justifica- 
tion. There  will  be  little  left  of  the 
complained-of  tax,  except  upon  the 
Statute  books. 

But  the  incredulous  one  asks,  '  How 
has  this  come  to  pass  ?  We  have 
either  to  import  certain  articles  or  to 
buy  them  of  the  home  manufacturer. 
But  the  latter  will  sell  as  nearly  up 
to  the  foreign  price  jjIus  the  duty,  as 
he  dares.'  This  is  the  point  1  deny. 
Where  monopoly  does  not  exist,  trade 
always  goes  on  regulating  itself,  till, 
settling  upon  a  correct  basis,  it  ac- 
cords to  every  commodity  its  proper 
standard  value.  Nothing  is  more  im- 
possible under  Protection  than  mono- 
poly, for  the  pi'otection  of  the  State  is 
afibided  to  the  capital,  and  the  form 
of  the  enterprise  rather  than  to  the 


individual.  Let  me  illustrate  by  ex- 
ample :  'A.  establishes  a  sugar  refinery 
as  soon  as  the  protective  tariff  has 
been  proclaimed.  He  makes  money 
"hand  over  fist,"  in  the  current  slang, 
by  selling  his  sugar  only  a  "  shade" 
lower  than  the  imported  article.  B, 
has  half  a  million  dollars  to  invest^ 
and  he  says  :  '  A.  is  amassing  a  for- 
tune by  making  sugar,  yet  he  is  not 
able  to  supply  all  the  market ;  so  I 
shall  also  establish  a  sugar  refinery.' 
Then  if  these  two  continue  in  their 
good  luck,  a  third  capitalist  starts  a 
refinery.  Thus  a  wholesome  compe- 
tition is  established  ;  Greek  has  met 
Greek;  one  cuts  into  the  other  and 
down  comes  '  monopoly'  and  sugar  to 
its  absolute  standard  value.  Then  the 
sugar  made  at  home  is  .sold  as  cheap 
as  the  sugar  made  and  sold  abroad, 
and  for  tins  reason  none  of  the  foreign 
article  is  imported,  and  the  tax  exists 
only  upon  paper  ;  while  the  country 
is  enriched  to  the  extent  of  the  value 
of  the  refining  companies'  property, 
and  thousands  of  workmen  who  other- 
wise would  have  been  obliged  to  go 
abroad  for  a  livelihood,  obtain  it  at 
home.  What  is  true  of  sugar  manu- 
facture is  true  of  cotton,  woollen, 
iron,  wood  and  the  hundred  contingent 
manufactures. 

But  still  some  one  is  found  to  say, 
'  This  is  all  well  upon  paper ;  but  will 
not  one  set  of  manufacturers  adopt  a 
tariff  of  rates,  and  not  sell  their  arti- 
cles below  that  V  Will,  Thomas  Jones, 
I  answer,  keep  half  a  million  dol- 
lars' worth  of  goods  upon  his  shelves 
that  he  cannot  sell  at  a  profit  of  forty 
per  cent,  owing  to  his  rivals  having 
been  longer  in  the  trade  and  better 
known  among  cotton  buyers  than  him- 
self; will  he,  I  ask,  refuse  to  sell  these 
goods  at  twenty-five  per  cent,  profit, 
which  would  be  fifteen  per  cent,  lower 
than  his  rival's,  or  for  the  sake  of 
'  good  faith'  to  a  ring  treaty  will  he 
prefer  to  let  the  auctioneer  seP  them 
for  what  they  will  bring  ?  Why  it  is 
only  a  few  weeks  ago  since  two  news- 
papers in  Toronto  adopted  a  common 


60i 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


tariff  of  prices.  Everyday  since,  the 
one  has  been  cutting  into  the  other 
and  violating  the  compact  made. 

THE    TEST    OF    PROTECTION. 

The  state  of  affairs  which  I  have 
endeavoured  to  point  out  as  existing 
in  the  theoretical  state,  under  the 
policy  of  Free  Trade,  was  almost  ex- 
actly tlie  condition  of  Canada  previous 
to  the  general  elections  in  1878.  Vari- 
ous causes  had  been  in  operation  for 
some  years  before,  bringing  about  a 
state  of  depression  in  trade,  that  had 
been  unparalleled  in  the  history  of 
the  colonies.  Many  of  the  leading 
mercantile  houses,  regarded  as  towers 
of  strength,  had  come  toppling  down, 
involving  numerous  dependent  estab- 
lishments in  a  common  ruin.  Capital 
had  become  timid,  for  public  confi- 
dence was  gone.  Thousands  of  work- 
men were  out  of  employment  and  clam- 
oured for  bread,  but  the  Dominion 
had  none  to  give  them.  Those  who 
could  leave  the  country  went  away  to 
seek  employment  in  cities  in  the  New 
England  States.  It  was  then  the  ener- 
vating stream  of  emigration,  which 
even  under  a  changed  state  of  affairs 
proved  so  hard  to  check,  began  to  flow 
broad  and  deep.  '  Surely,'  said  some 
of  those  who  saw  the  hungry  and 
fleeing  workingmen,  '  the  Government 
ought  to  be  able  to  do  something  for 
these  people.  If  legislation  is  ever 
potent  to  do  public  good,  it  ought  to 
be  when  such  a  crisis  comes  as  this. 
Our  country  has  vast,  unlimited  re- 
sources, and  if  these  were  only  turned 
to  account,  our  suffering  and  emigrat- 
ing people  would  be  provided  for.  Is 
there  no  way,'  they  asked,  '  to  set  yon- 
der half -idle  factories  employing  labour 
to  full  capacity  ?  No  means  of  estab- 
lishing new  factories  where  our  suf- 
fering people  may  get  work  %  Is  it 
not  a  shame  to  see  the  agents  of  the 
foreign  manufacturer  sitting  upon  the 
door-steps  of  our  idle  factories  selling 
their  goods,  and  our  willing  and  able 
labourers  crying  for  work  1 '  Then  it 
was  represented  to  the  Government 


that  they  should  endeavour  to  solve 
the  problem.  It  was  told  them  that 
Canada's  mines  and  forests  were  prac- 
tically unlimited  ;  that  she  was  won- 
drously  wealthy  in  natural  objects  ; 
that  she  had  sufficient  energy,  capital, 
and  intelligence  to  develop  these,  and 
at  once  build  up  her  own  greatness  as 
a  commercial  State,  and  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  her  hungry  people  for 
work  ;  that  all  this  could  be  accom- 
plished if  the  Government  would  only 
grant  State  Protection  to  home  indus- 
try. '  How  will  that  better  the  coun- 
try's condition  1 '  said  Mr.  Mackenzie, 
the  Premier  of  the  day.  '  It  will 
protect  our  home  industries  from  the 
competition  of  more  powerful  foreign 
industries  ;  it  will  protect  our  infant 
national  energies  from  the  full-grown 
energies  of  a  powerful  neighbour  State. 
Let  the  Americans  make  no  longer 
all  the  articles  in  wood  and  iron 
that  we  need,  nor  the  woollens,  cot- 
tons, boots  and  shoes,  ready-made 
clothing,  hats  and  caps,  and  the  thou- 
sand other  things  that  we  buy  every 
year  from  the  agents  of  foreign  manu- 
facturers. As  v/e  can  make  all  these 
things  at  home,  as  the  making  of  them 
will  enrich  our  country  and  employ  our 
people,  we  beseech  of  you  to  aid  us  by 
legislation,'  Could  lesser  request  have 
been  made  at  such  a  time,  the  country 
being  in  such  a  state  ?  Could  we  have 
expected  a  lesser  granted  1  And  to  this, 
what  said  the  Canadian  Government  1 
Said  Sir  Kichard  Cartwright — '  We 
see  Toryism  under  the  mask  again 
asking  us  to  do  these  things.  The 
genius  that  gave  England  her  Corn 
Laws  is  loose  in  Canada,  I  tell  you, 
working-men,  the  belief  that  the  Gov- 
ernment can  help  you  in  your  straits 
is  a  delusion.  Governments  confront- 
ed by  such  questions  of  trade  as  these 
— conditions  above  and  beyond  the  in- 
fluence of  Government — are  as  flies  on 
the  wheel,'  '  That's  my  policy  too,' 
said  Premier  Mackenzie,  and  all  the 
Liberal  party  along  the  line  re-echoed 
these  sentiments.  '  The  plan  you  pro- 
pose to  make  affairs  better,'  said  they 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


505 


all  in  concert,  '  would  make  them  in- 
c<Mnparably  worse.  A  protective  tax 
would  cripple  our  weakened  commer- 
cial energies  ;  it  would  fail  to  px-oduce 
revenue,  because  our  people  could  not 
afford  to  pay  the  tax,  and  it  would 
equally  fail  to  develop  home  industry.' 
The  working-men  and  their  friends 
turned  away  in  despair. 

But  there  was  another  public  man 
in  Canada,  one  who  was  not  at  the 
time  a  member  of  the  government, 
and  he  said  to  the  working-men,  'Take 
heart.  The  eve  of  a  general  election 
is  at  hand  and  the  issue  is  with  you. 
I  stand  at  the  head  of  a  party  in  Can- 
ada whose  faith  is,  that  we  can  make 
or  mar  ourselves  ;  that  we  have  a 
destiny  which  is  our  own  in  the  work- 
ing out.  My  motto  is,  he  said,  "  Can- 
ada for  the  Canadians,"  protection  to 
home  industry,  development  of  our 
own  national  resources,  and  spending 
all  the  money  we  have  to  spend  in 
the  purchase  of  manufactured  goods 
at  home,  and  among  our  own  work- 
men, and  not  abroad  among  the  for- 
eign workmen.  I  predict,  that  if 
you  at  the  polls  declare  in  favour  of 
the  National  Policy  of  my  party,  de- 
pression will  pass  away  and  an  im- 
provement in  trade  take  place,  such  as 
the  country  has  not  seen  before.'  The 
man  who  said  this  was  Sir  John  A. 
Macdonald. 

The  new  policy  was  carried.  Let 
us  see  if  the  predictions  made  for  it 
have  been  verified.  I  shall  take  a  few 
general  figures  from  the  public  blue- 
books.  From  the  years  1874-75to  1878- 
79,  which  were  Free  Trade  years,  the 
deficits  in  the  revenue  of  the  Domin- 
ion, that  is,  the  excess  of  expenditure 
over  income,  reached  $5,491,269. 
Last  year  under  the  Protective  policy, 
there  was  a  surplus  revenue,  that  is, 
an  excess  of  income  over  expenditure 
of  $4,132,700,  though  the  Liberal 
party  declared  on  the  hustings  that 
the  National  Policy  would  neither 
'  raise  a  revenue  nor  develop  manu- 
facture.' The  value  of  our  average 
annual  exports  from  1874  to  1878  in- 
5 


elusive,  Free  Trade  years,  was  $68,- 
776,000.  The  average  value  of  our 
annual  exports  from  1879  to  1881  in- 
clusive, Protective  years,  was  $70,- 
369,000,  and  in  each  of  the  three  last 
mentioned  years,  commencing  with 
1879,  the  increase  has  been  by  a 
bound.  The  figures  speak  for  them- 
sel  ves. 


YEARS. 

EXPORTS. 

1879 

1880 
1881 

$60,089,000 
$70,096,000 
$80,921,000 

But  if  our  exports  under  Protection 
have  greatly  increased,  our  imports  of 
raw  material  under  the  same  policy 
show  a  remai-kable  increase  also.  In 
1877-78,  the  last  year  of  Free  Trade, 
we  imported  of  raw  cotton  to  the  value 
of  $7,243,413.  In  1880-81,  under 
Protection,  the  imports  of  raw  cotton 
were  valued  at  $16,018,721  !  So  too, 
of  hides.  In  1877-78,  we  imported  to 
the  value  of  $1,207,300.  In  1880-81, 
the  value  of  the  imports  of  hides 
reached  $2,184,884.  Of  wool,  in 
1877-78,  we  imported  6,230.084  lbs.  ; 
in  1880-81,  we  imported  8,040,287 
lbs.  The  increase  for  three  years  of  - 
Protection  in  the  manufacture  of  cot- 
ton, leather  and  wool  alone  in  the  Do- 
minion, reaches  $5,500,000.  Instead 
of  this  five  and  a  half  millions  going 
to  the  foreign  manufacturers,  our  own 
Canadian  manufacturers  and  working 
men  have  received  it.  Yet  Sir  Pilchard 
Cartwright  said  in  questions  affecting 
the  commercial  prosperity  of  a  coun- 
try, governments  are  only  flies  on  the 
wheel,  and  that  the  National  Policy 
would  'not  develop  home  manufac- 
ture.' 

But  the  increase  in  the  imports  of 
the  raw  material  quoted  is  only  indi- 
cative of  the  increase  all  around  in 
imported  raw  materials.  In  addition  to 
this  the  increased  production  of  native 
raw  material  within  the  same  years,  if 
it  could  be  estimated,  would  be  found 
to  be  very  large.  This  raw  material, 
manufactured  in  Canada  under  State 
Protection,  it  is  that  solved  the  ques- 


506 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


tion  which  the  Liberals  declared  to  be 
politically  insoluble.  It  was  in  this 
increased  manufacture,  that  the  thous- 
ands of  hungry  working  men  who  cla- 
moured around  the  hustings  on  the 
eve  of  the  general  elections  got  their 
■work.  How  the  working-man  has 
fared  in  Canada  with  respect  to  the 
employment  which  he  could  not  find 
when  we  had  Free' Ti-ade,  under  the 
Protective  policy  of  the  Government, 
will  be  best  shown  by  the  following 
figures.  Since  March  1879,  up  to  Oc- 
tober 1881,  it  is  estimated  that  one 
Hundred  and  forty  new  industries, 
developed  by  the  Protective  policy, 
have  been  established.  The  number 
of  men  employed  in  these  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  factories,  is  put  at 
10,000.  Allow  four  persons  as  de- 
pending upon  each  hand  employed 
in  these  industries,  and  we  find  that 
the  Government  by  their  policy  have 
created  in  this  item  alone,  a  livelihood 
for  40,000  souls.  Of  these  industries, 
twenty-nine  have  been  established  in 
Toronto,  giving  employment  to  1,678 
persons.  In  Montreal,  thirteen  indus- 
tries have  been  established  under  the 
government  policy  ;  and  in  Hamilton 
five.  In  addition  to  these,  there  are 
now  in  progress  of  construction  cotton 
factories,  which  will  be  in  operation 
within  the  next  twelve  months,  giv- 
ing employment  to  three  thousand 
persons.  Besides  the  facts  stated, 
four  hundred  factories  established  un- 
der Free  Trade  have  been  visited,  and 
it  has  been  found  that  under  Protec- 
tion these  employ  an  average  of  seven- 
teen per  cent,  more  hands  than  they 
did  under  Free  Trade.  So  that  it  will 
be  readily  seen  that  the  employment 
given  directly  and  indirectly  to  the 
labouring  classes  by  the  application  of 
Protection  is  enormous.  As  I  stated 
in  the  beginning  of  this  paper,  the 
commercial  system  of  a  nation  may  be 
compared  to  the  works  of  a  clock,  one 
wheel  of  which  put  in  motion  sets  all 
the  other  wheels  in  motion,  whilst  a 
clogging  of  the  one  wheel  will  i-etard 
the  motion  of  all  the  rest.  It  is  demon- 


strably certain  that  over  10,000  persons 
have  directly  obtained  employment  by 
reason  of  the  National  Policy.  I  have 
put  the  number  dependent  for  bread 
upon  these  at  about  40,000  persons, 
What  then  with  respect  to  this  item 
alone  in  results  has  the  National 
Policy  done?  Has  it  merely  given 
bread  to  these  40,000  ?  Well,  if  it 
did  only  that,  it  would  have  done  a 
good  thing,  a  great  thing,  a  something 
well  worthy  of  new  and  rcvolutionaiy 
legislation.  But  it  has  done  more.  The 
shopkeepers  of  the  country  have,  as  a 
consequence,  gained  40,000  more  cus- 
tomers, so  have  the  shoemakers,  the 
carpenters,  the  tailors ;  so  has  eveiy 
one  who  has  anything  to  sell.  In 
creating  these  producers  of  manu- 
facture, theGovernment  at  the  same 
time  created  consumers  of  manufac- 
ture ;  and  the  consumer  is  as  neces- 
sary to  the  producer  as  the  arm  is  to 
the  body.  Asa  very  searching  writer 
has  put  it,  '  They  ai-e  both  in  the  same 
boat,  and  must  sail  or  sink  together. ' 
So  that  when  the  Government  aided 
the  working-men,  to  a  like,  to  an  ex- 
actly equal,  extent  did  it  aid  the  whole 
community. 

As  the  Conservative  party  predicted 
that  prosperity  would  follow  the  Na- 
tional Policy,  and  as  the  Liberals 
maintained thatcommercial  ruin  would 
follow  it ;  and  as  prosperity  has  come, 
and  as  the  '  ruin '  has  not  come,  it 
rests  with  the  Liberal  politicians,  first 
to  confess  that  they  were  false  pro- 
phets in  1878,  and  next  to  explain  the 
forces  which  stopped  the  out-flowing 
tide  of  prosperity,  and  sent  it  back 
again  upon  this  country  in  all  its  force. 
I  believe  there  are  few  thoughtful 
men  in  this  country  to-day  who  do  not 
inwardly  believe  that  Protection  is 
good  for  Canada,  and  that  those  re- 
sults we  see  are  its  legitimate  fruits. 

FREE    trade    in     ENGLAND. 

The  chief  argument  the  Protection 
party  had  to  meet  on  the  hustings  in 
1878  was  the  cry,  '  Are  we  wiser  than 
England  1     Can  we  hope  to  be  more 


PROTECTION  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


507 


prosperous  than  England  ?  Yet  Eng- 
land's greatness  has  been  derived  vm- 
der  Free  Trade.  She  declares  Protec- 
tion to  be  bad.'  Now,  I  cannot  stop 
to  prove  my  contention  that  it  does 
not  follow  because  Free  Trade  is  the 
best  policy  for  England  that  it  must 
also  be  the  best  policy  for  Canada,  or 
because  Protection  would  be  an  evil 
policy  for  England,  that  it  must  also 
be  an  evil  policy  for  Canada.  I  will 
simply  deny  this,  and  then  I  shall 
show  that  Free  Trade  even  for  Eng- 
land is  not  a  boon.  Figures  from  her 
Trade  Returns  will  serve  ine. 

The  commerce  of  the  world  has  in- 
creased 36  per  cent,  in  ten  years. 

In  the  same  period,  the  commerce 
in  the  United  States,  under  Protec- 
tion, has  increased  68  per  cent. 

Under  Protection,  in  the  same 
period,  the  increase  of  commerce  in 
Holland  and  Belgium,  of  France  and 
of  Germany,  is  57,  51,  and  39  per 
cent,  respectively. 

But,  under  Free  Trade,  the  com- 
merce of  England  has  increased  21  i)er 
cent,  in  ten  years  ! 

Under  Protection,  America  is  accu- 
mulating annually  £165,000,000  ster- 
ling ;  under  Protection,  France  is  ac- 
cumulating annually  £75,000,000 
sterling ;  while,  under  Free  Trade, 
England  is  accumulating  annually 
£65,000,000  sterling.  Indeed,  ex- 
perts say,  since  1875  she  has  been 
losing  money  instead  of  accumulat- 
ing it. 

Under  Protection,  America  now 
•exports  more  than  she  imports  ;  un- 
der Protection,  France  annually  ex- 
ports £4,000,000  more  than  she  im- 
ports ;  while  Free  Trade  England  im- 
ports annually  £130,000,000  sterling 
MORE  than  she  exports  I 

During  the  past  ten  years,  in  Eng- 
land, over  a  million  acres  have  gone 
out  of  wheat  cultivation.  During  the 
same  period,  the  capital  of  the  agri- 
cultural classes  has  depreciated  by 
£500,000,000,  and  their  income  by 
£21,000,000  ;  and  the  process  is  going 
on.  A  million  acres  will  supply  wheat 


enough  for  3,500,000  people.  In  ten 
years  England's  population  has  in- 
creased by  3,000,000,  and  in  the 
same  period  a  million  acres  have  gone 
out  of  cultivation  ;  so  that  she  is  in  a 
position  now  to  feed  6,500,000  people 
less  than  she  was  ten  years  ago.  Eng- 
land's importation  of  corn,  meat,  dairy 
products,  and  vegetables,  averages 
£45,000,000  annually  more  than  it 
did  ten  years  ago.  In  the  ten  years 
between  1870  and  1880  England  pro- 
duced in  wheat  annually  to  the  value 
of  £13,000,000  less,  and  imported  an- 
nually to  the  value  of  £15,000,000 
more  than  in  the  years  between  1850 
and  1870.  The  reasons  for  this  state 
of  affairs  are  many,  and  most  of  them 
are  the  children  of  Free  Trade.  Whilst 
the  importation  of  manufactured  goods 
into  the  protected  countries,  France, 
Belgium,  Holland,  Germany,  and 
America,  are  each  year  diminishing, 
the  imports  into  Free  Trade  England 
are  annually  increasing.  That  is, 
while  each  year  those  countries  named 
are  learning  to  manufacture  what  they 
need  for  themselves,  instead  of  im- 
porting them  from  England,  they  learn 
also  to  manufacture  more  than  what 
they  need  for  themselves,  and  export 
their  surplus,  among  other  places,  to 
England.  Thus,  while  the  foreign 
market  is  closing  against  the  English 
manufacturer,  his  own  market  is  dis- 
puted with  him  by  the  foreign  manu- 
facturer, '  If  we  are  to  be  damned, 
let  us  be  damned  for  a  good  cause,'  is 
what  the  English  Free  Traders  say.  *If 
bankruptcy  is  to  come,  it  cannot  come 
for  a  more  noble  doctrine  than  Free 
Trade.'  The  vendor  of  the  shod- 
diest of  goods  comes  from  every  point 
of  the  compass  to  sell  his  wares  in  Eng- 
land. The  English  workman  must 
compete  with  the  shoddies  or  go  to 
the  wall.  What  takes  place  1  An 
able  writer  in  one  of   the  magazines 


Thirty  years  of  '  Freedom  of  Trade  ' 
have  iu  many  cases  ruined  the  quality  of 
English  products.  Too  frequently  we  hear 
complaints  of  inferior  quality,  of  adultera- 


)08 


LILITH. 


tion,  of  slovenly  work.  It  is  a  fact  that  it 
is  more  difficult  to  buy  good  silk,  good  cot- 
ton, and  good  steel  in  England  now  than  it 
was  twenty  years  ago.  This  is  the  result 
of  unrestricted  foreign  competition.  Eng- 
land has  been  made  the  market  for  the 
shoddy  of  all  nations,  goods  made  at  the 
lowest  possible  cost,  and  sold  at  the  lowest 
possible  price.  Every  influx  of  these  goods 
drives  the  English  manufacturer  to  lower 
prices.  In  order  to  lower  his  price  he  must 
lower  his  cost,  must  employ  cheaper  mate- 
rial and  cheaper  labour,  is  obliged  to 
'  scamp '  both  labour  and  material,  and 
produce  au  inferior  article. 

Beside  the  large  number  of  British 
operators  out  of  work,  a  large,  the 
larger,  proportion  of  the  rest  have  not 
an  average  of  more  than  four  days 
work  per  week.  For  seven  years  they 
have  been  consuming  their  savings, 
and  one  rich  trade  society  alone  in  the 
past  six  years  has  paid  out  in  relief 
and  aid  over  £200,000.  It  has  less 
than  £100,000  remaining.  So  much 
for  Free  Ti-ade  in  England. 


If  the  capital,  labour,  and  skill  of 
England  need  protection,  how  much 
more  so  does  not  Canada  need  it  ?  But 
I  am  not  one  of  those  who  believe 
in  protecting  a  full-grown  exten- 
sive and  powerful  State  by  legisla- 
tion against  competition  by  foreign 
States.  If  the  manufacturers  in  the 
State  full-grown  cannot  stand  in  the 
contest  with  the  foreign  manufac- 
turers, then  let  them  fall.  I  believe 
that  Protection  can  only  serve  a  cer- 
tain terminable  term  of  usefulness,  as 
the  parent  protects  its  offspring  till  it 
is  able  to  take  care  of  itself.  In  a 
given  time,  after  enterprise  and  capi- 
tal shall  have  established  manufacture 
solidly  in  Canada,  then  let  the  tariff 
be  abolished.  If  our  *  cotton  lords  ' 
and  '  sugar  kings  '  cannot  then  main- 
tain themselves  let  them  go  to  the 
wall. 


LILITH. 


Weri— Adam's  erste  Frau. — Faust. 


BY  E.   T.   F.,   QUEBEC. 


AGES  ago,  when  Adam  lived  on  earth, 
First  man,  first  monarch,  strong  in  limb  and  mind, 
In  whom  a  glorious  beauty  was  combined 
With  thoughts  of  fire ;  when  sin  had  not  gone  forth 
As  a  wide  pestilence  among  mankind. 
Dulling  the  senses  to  the  healing  worth 
Of  woods  and  waves,  and  sunshine  unconfined, 
Lilith  had  being.     She  was  one  of  those 
Shadowy  spirits,  from  that  twilight  bred 
Wherewith,  at  first,  the  world  was  overspread  : 
But,  three  great  periods  past,  the  sun  arose, 
And  one  by  one  her  sister-spirits  fled, 
And  she  remained,  hid  in  a  cavern  close. 


LILITH. 

There  was  a  broad,  still  lake  near  Paradise, 
A  lake  where  silence  rested  evermore, 
And  yet  not  gloomy,  for,  along  the  shore, 
Majestic  trees,  and  flowers  of  thousand  dyes. 
Drank  the  rich  light  of  those  unclouded  skies  ; 
But  noiseless  all.     By  night,  the  moonshine  hoar, 
And  stars  in  alternating  companies  ; 
By  day  the  sun  :  no  other  change  it  wore. 
And  hither  came  the  sire  of  men,  and  stood 
Breathless  amid  the  breathless  solitude  : 
Shall  he  pass  over  ?     Inconceivable 
And  unconjectured  things  perhaps  might  dwell 
Beyond  ;— things,  haply,  pregnant  with  new  good  ; — 
He  plunged  :  the  waters  muttered  where  he  fell. 

And  on,  and  on,  with  broad  untiring  breast 
The  swimmer  cleft  the  waters.     As  he  went, 
Things  full  of  novelty  and  wonderment 
Eose  up  beside  him.     Here,  it  was  the  crest 
Of  a  steep  crag,  up  to  the  heavens  sent, 
And  here,  a  naked  pine  trunk,  forward  bent, 
A  hundred  yards  above  him  :  still  no  rest, 
Onwards  and  onwards  still  the  swimmer  pressed. 
But  now  the  lake  grew  narrower  apace  : 
The  further  shore  came  curving  nearer  in  ; 
Till,  at  the  last,  there  towered  before  his  face 
A  wall  of  rock,  a  final  stopping-place  : 
But  lo,  an  opening  !     Shall  he  pass  therein. 
The  way  unknown,  the  day  now  vesper-time  1 

He  entered  in.     How  dim  !  how  wonderful  ! 

High- arched  above,  and  coral-paved  below  ; 

And  phosphor  cressets,  with  a  wavering  glow 

Lit  up  a  mighty  vault.     A  whisper  cool 

Ran  muttering  all  around  him,  and  a  dull, 

Sweet  sound  of  music  drifted  to  and  fro, 

Wordless,  yet  full  of  thought  unspeakable, 

Till  all  the  place  was  teeming  with  its  flow. 

■*  Adam  !     Strong  child  of  light ! ' — Who  calls  ?  who  speaks  ? 

What  voice  mysterious  the  silence  breaks  ? — • 

Is  it  a  vision,  or  reality  ? 

How  marble-like  her  face  !     How  pale  her  cheeks  ! 

Yet  fair,  and  in  her  glorious  stature  high, 

Above  the  daughters  of  mortality. 

And  this  was  Lilith.  And  she  came  to  him, 
And  looked  into  him  with  her  dreamy  eyes, 
Till  all  his  former  life  seemed  old  and  dim, 
A  thing  that  had  been  once  :  and  Paradise, 
Its  antique  forests,  floods,  and  choral  skies. 
Now  faded  quite  away  ;  or  seemed  to  skim 
Like  eagles  on  a  bright  horizon's  rim. 
Darkly  across  his  golden  phantasies. 


509 


510  LILITH. 

And  he  forgot  the  sunshine,  and  sweet  flowers, 
And  he  forgot  all  pleasant  things  that  be, 
The  birds  of  Eden,  and  the  winged  powers 
That  visited  sometime  its  privacy  ; 
And  what  to  him  was  day,  or  day-lit  hours, 
Or  the  moon  shining  on  an  open  sea  1 

So  lived  he.     And  she  fed  him  with  strange  food, 

And  led  him  through  the  sparry  corridors 

Of  central  earth.     How  solemnly  that  flood 

Went  moaning  by  !     How  strange  that  multitude 

Of  moving  shadows,  and  those  strong-ribbed  doors, 

Between  whose  earthquake-riven  chinks  he  viewed. 

With  gasping  breath,  the  red  and  glowing  stores 

Whence  the  great  Heart  drives  heat  through  all  its  pores. 

And  Lilith's  voice  was  ever  in  his  ear. 

With  its  delicious  tones,  that  made  him  weep, 

He  knew  not  wherefore  ;  and  her  forehead  clear 

Beamed  like  a  star  ; — yet  made  his  spirit  creep 

With  something  of  that  undefined  fear 

That  shadows  us,  when  love  is  over  deep. 

This  might  not  last.     What  thunder  shakes  the  arch  ? 

What  lightning,  in  its  swift  and  terrible  march. 

Shatters  the  massy  key-stone  1     Sudden  light 

Leaps  down,  and  many  a  column  stalactite 

Is  rent  and  shivered  as  a  feeble  larch. 

Alas  for  Lilith  !     Shrieking  with  aff'right. 

She  bowed,  and  felt  the  hateful  splendour  parch 

Her  soul  away  :  yet,  ere  she  vanished  quite, 

'  Think  of  me  sometime,  Adam,'  murmured  she, — 

'  Let  me  not  perish,  and  my  memory  be 

'  Lost  and  forgotten.     Now,  farewell,  farewell ! 

'  We  have  been  happy  ; — that  is  past,  and  we 

'  May  love  no  longer.'     Wakened  from  his  spell, 

He  turned  : — the  sun  was  shining  where  she  fell  I 


EDITOR  AND  CONTRIBUTOR. 


511 


EDITOR   AND    CONTRIBUTOR. 


AN  irrepressible  Englishman  has 
lately  published  a  volume  of  his 
unaccepted  offerings  to  periodicals,  un- 
der the  title  of  '  Outcast  Essays  ; ' 
and  the  only  review  of  the  book  that 
I  have  noticed  was,  on  the  whole,  a 
favourable  one.  In  the  March  num- 
ber of  the  Canadian  Monthly  there 
were  quoted  from  Belgravia  several 
remarkable  instances  of  highly  suc- 
cessful books  which  had  been  re- 
jected, piecemeal  or  in  the  lump, 
by  more  than  one  leading  maga- 
zine. And  the  writer  in  Belgravia 
goes  so  far  as  to  say  :  '  I  have  an  im- 
pression, which  is,  I  believe,  shared  by 
many  public  writers,  that  the  best 
articles  are  those  that  are  returned 
the  oftenest.  I  know  they  are  some- 
times the  most  successful.' 

The  opinion  and  the  facts  of  this 
magazinist  sent  me,  musing,  to  un- 
earth some  notes  that  I  had  made  upon 
a  very  diflerent  sort  of  article,  which 
appeared  in  the  '  Easy  Chair '  depart- 
ment of  Harper  s  Magazine  for  Feb- 
ruary, 1880.  It  is  written  in  the  de 
haul  en  has  style  affected  by  most  edi- 
tors when  they  condescend  to  sit  upon 
grumbling  contributors.  It  suggests, 
as  a  wholesome  reflection  for  Jones, 
that  his  M.S.  is  not  printed  simply 
'  because  it  is  not  so  good  as  Brown's 
or  Robinson's.'  It  states  that,  if  bards 
'  die  with  all  their  music  in  them,'  this 
'  is  not  because  of  favouritism  of  any 
kind  or  back-stairs  influence.'  It 
asserts  boldly  that  '  there  is  no  fa- 
vouritism in  editing  a  magazine  ; '  that 
'  the  magazine  editor  administers  his 
trust  in  good  faith  for  the  owners  ; ' 
that  '  his  personal  friendship  cannot 
affect  his  conduct  as  a  trustee.'  The 
then  occupant  of  the  '  Easy  Chair,'  in 
fact,  outlined  an  ideally-perfect  maga- 
zine editor,  modestly  leaving  the  reader 


to  guess  for  himself  where  such  a  man 
might  be  found. 

This  doctrine  of  the  moral  infalli- 
bility of  American  magazine  editors  is 
not  held  by  all  journalists.  Some  time 
ago  I  saw  a  letter  from  the  eminent 
editor  of  a  New  York  daily,  advising 
an  acquaintance  to  try  the  English 
market  for  a  sketch  of  his,  *  as  our 
magazines  are  close  corporations.' 
Though  their  labours  are  sometimes 
nearly  superhuman,  there  must  be 
some  human  nature  about  editors. 
Even  the  acumen  of  a  magazine  edi- 
tor, highly  conscious  of  his  own  integ- 
rity, may  unconsciously  prefer  the 
slightly  inferior  offering  of  a  friend  to 
the  slightly  superior  offering  of  an 
outsider.  And  self-interest  is  proba- 
bly a  commoner  motive  to  partiality. 
It  has  been  gossiped  that  some  wise 
editors  of  Gotham  were  predisposed  to 
buy  the  MSS.  of  persons  possessing 
social,  political,  and  literary  influence; 
of  their  employers'  friends  ;  of  editors 
and  correspondents  of  other  papers  ; 
of  compilers  of  '  Personal  Intelligence,' 
and — if  they  meditate  authorship — of 
book-reviewers. 

There  certainly  are  such  things  as 
journalistic  societies  for  mutual  ad- 
vertisement and  admiration.  I  cannot 
personally  vouch  for  any  magazine 
editor's  belonging  to  one,  but  I  have 
known  other  journalists  who  do  or 
did.  Among  these  was  the  smart  edi- 
tor of  a  weekly,  who,  during  his  stew- 
ardship, freely  published  the  common- 
place contributions  of  commonplace 
Avriters  who  happened  to  have  the  ear 
of  important  provincial  papers  ;  and  I 
noticed  that  the  said  editor's  name  ap- 
peared from  time  to  time  in  the  cor- 
respondence of  these  papers,  ingeni- 
ously connected  with  some  current 
event.     And  he  has  had  his  reward. 


512 


EDITOR  AND  CONTBIBUTOR. 


Some  sternly  disinterested  editors 
are  not  impervious  to  female  grace  and 
beauty  ;  and  it  would  be  interesting 
to  know  how  many  of  the  fair  colpoi'- 
tcurs  of  manuscripts  who  so  often  light 
up  editorial  sanctums  are  offering  the 
lucubrations  of  less  attractive  lius- 
bands,  friends  or  employers. 

Again,  extending  my  remarks  to 
periodicals  and  journals  in  general,  1 
believe  that  MSS.  are  often  returned 
or  destroyed  unread.  Some  years  ago 
I  received  back  a  MS.  (afterwards 
purchased  by  another  journal)  with 
the  first  and  second  pages  stuck  to- 
gether by  some  paste  which  I  had  used 
to  affix  a  printed  quotation.  At  ano- 
ther time,  I  had  a  sketch  returned  by 
a  New  York  publisher  who  issued 
several  periodicals,  which  sketch  was 
soon  afterwards  accepted  by  the  same 
house,  when  handed  in  by  an  acquaint- 
ance who  had  in  the  meantime  ac- 
quired an  influence  in  the  concern.  I 
may  add  that,  as  my  acquaintance's 
influence  waned,  the  publication  of  the 
ill-fated  sketch  was  postponed  from 
date  to  date,  until  finally  its  length  was 
grumbled  at  openly,  and  it  came  back 
to  me  excellently  preserved. 

What  portion  of  the  subsequently 
successful  articles  that  have  been  de- 
clined with  thanks  have  been  declined 
through  the  incapacity,  and  what  por- 
tion through  the  unfairness,  of  editors 
can  only  be  guessed.  I  myself  am  in- 
clined to  think  that  more  manuscripts 
have  been  wrongfully  condemned  from 
a  lack  of  judgment  than  from  a  lack 
of  justice.  Editors  who  are  also  sole 
or  part  proprietors  of  their  journals 
can  seldom  be  influenced  by  pique  or 
partiality  in  their  choice  of  offerings  : 
this  would  be  pinching  their  nose  to 
spite  their  face.  The  proprietor  of  a 
business  organ  (or  parasite  ? )  in  New 
York  once  accepted  an  article  by  a 
friend  of  mine,  and  subsequently,  as 
if  repenting  of  his  action,  contemptu- 
ously declined  some  others,  without 
reading  them  all  through.  After  a 
while  the  accepted  article  appeared, 
and,  being  short  and   clear  and  shal- 


low, and  magnifying  the  business  re- 
presented by  the  paper,  began  to  go  the 
rounds  of  all  similar  publications  in 
America  and  England.  The  editor  and 
j)roprietor  now  waxed  gracious,  and, 
from  time  to  time,  invited  my  despised 
and  rejected  friend  to  contribute  some- 
thing else,  and  my  despised  and  re- 
jected friend  declined  with  thanks.  It 
is  an  old  story  now,  that  a  short  poem 
by  James  Russell  Lowell — written 
with  pains,  in  oixler  to  make  the  ex- 
periment more  valuable — was  refused 
by  every  one,  as  well  as  I  recollect,  of 
a  number  of  periodicals  to  which  it 
was  pseudonymously  sent.  Some  of 
your  readers,  doubtless,  have  heard 
the  incident  told  at  length,  and  know 
better  than  I  whethpr  it  be  authentic 
or  not ;  but  se  non  c  vero,  h  hen  tro- 
vato. 

I  may  remark,  in  passing,  that  it 
seems  '  a  leetle  wee  bit '  self-sufficient 
in  the  occupant  of  the  '  Easy  Chair ' 
to  have  suggested  that  the  prospei'ity 
of  a  magazine  proves  the  excellence  of 
its  editorial  management.  The  prestige, 
the  connection,  the  energy  of  the  pub- 
lishers, and,  above  all,  their  ubiqui- 
tous advertisements  (to  be  seen  even 
in  the  country  papers  of  this  economi- 
cal Province),  would  give  Harper's 
Maga:ine  a  large  circulation,  even  if 
*  the  editor's  personal  fi'iendships ' 
could,  as  it  is  satisfactory  to  be  assured 
that  they  cannot,  '  affect  his  conduct 
as  trustee.' 

With  unstinted  means  and  the 
talent  of  a  continent  at  his  disposal, 
it  would  betray  a  singular  lack  of 
judgment  (or  of  probity)  in  the  liter- 
ary caterer  for  The  Century,  or  for 
Harper  s  Magazine,  if  he  failed  to  pre- 
sent tolerably  decent  bills  of  fare, 
varied  every  now  and  then  by  a  really 
bonne  houche.  In  all  probability  the 
Editor  of  The  Canadian  Monthly 
caters  inore  skilfully  than  either,  con- 
sidering his  more  limited  resources. 
And  if  our  national  magazine,  while 
more  essential  to  intelligent  Canadians 
than  any  foreign  periodical,  has  not 
yet  attained  so  uniform  a  standard  as 


EDITOR  AND  CONTRIBUTOR. 


513 


a  few  Englisli  and  American  month- 
lies, it  reflects  high  credit  on  its  suc- 
cessive editors  that  it  is  what  it  is. 
To  win  a  victory  witli  tlie  odds  against 
one  argues  better  generalship  than  to 
win  a  greater  victory  with  the  odds  in 
one's  favour. 

It  may  not  be  the  only,  and  it  may 
not  always  be  the  best,  road  to  success 
to  secure  celebrated  writers  ;  but  it 
certainly  is  the  safest  plan  for  an  edi- 
tor who  cannot  depend  upon  his  own 
taste.  Even  if  the  great  author  writes 
unconscientiously,  or  palms  off  his 
shelved  productions  for  fancy  prices, 
yet  his  name  is  to  all  of  the  subscrib- 
ers a  proof  of  the  publisher's  liberality, 
and  to  many  of  the  subscribers  a  proof 
of  the  merit  of  the  article.  The  bulk 
of  the  public  are  as  indiscriminating 
as  the  dullest  editor,  and  prefer  the 
most  fashionable  brand  of  story  as 
they  prefer  the  most  fashionable  brand 
of  champagne.  They  could  not  tell  it 
from  any  other  brand  with  their  eyes 
shut ;  but  they  are  fond  of  fancying 
that  they  can  appreciate  it  by  its  fla- 
vour as  well  as  by  its  label.  Any- 
how, they  think,  '  thei'e  is  nothing 
mean  about  it.'  Had  Horace  been 
ci'iticizing  a  composite  instead  of  a 
homogeneous  publication,  he  would 
never  have  belittled  the  imrpureus 
pannus.  The  proofs  are  millions — of 
dollars — that  such  names  as  Everett, 
Beecher,  Hall,  Tennyson,  and  Long- 
fellow may  profitably  serve  to  soothe 
the  self-esteem  of  sensation-seekers, 
and  throw  a  halo,  fringed  with  gold, 
around  the  more  thrilling  contribu- 
tions of  Nathan  D.  Urner  or  Sylvanus 
Oobb. 

Where  the  names  of  contributors 
are  suppressed,  of  course,  the  editor 
who  picks  out  the  best  writei's  will  be 
■distanced  by  the  editor  who  can  pick 
out  the  best  writings.  A  fourth  rate 
writer's  best  things  are  generally  bet- 
ter than  a  first-rate  .writer's  worst 
things,  I  remember  reading  in  an  ob- 
ituary notice  of  its  late  editor,  that 
The  Saturdai/  Review,  at  the  height  of 
its  renown,  had  few  contributions  of 


celebrity,  and  that  most  of  its  articles 
were  by  amateurs.  Its  uniform  bril- 
liancy was  due  solely  to  the  taste  and 
discernment  of  the  editor. 

One  kind  of  favouritism  is  not  for 
persons,  but  for  topics  and  their  treat- 
ment. Journalists  are  given  to  sneer- 
ing at  other  classes,  notably  clergymen 
and  teachers,  for  their  dogmatism  and 
narrowness.  Yet  even  editors  may 
have  their  arbitrary  standards.  One 
insists  upon  subjects  of  contemporane- 
ous interest,  forgetful  that,  though 
newness  and  interest  are  the  main  re- 
quirements in  a  news  item,  novelty  and 
interest  are  the  main  requirements  in 
a  work  of  fiction.  Another  exacts 
copious  dialogue  ;  a  third  refuses  to 
read  sketches  exceeding  a  cei'tain 
length.  And,  generally  speaking,  edi- 
tors are  as  dead  to  merit  not  conform- 
ing to  their  rules  or  caprices,  as  an 
Eton  master  is  to  the  ability  of  verses 
marred  by  a  single  false  quantity. 

Of  course,  when  a  manuscript  is  de- 
clined, and  its  author  murmurs,  the 
■presumpttion  is  decidedly  in  favour  of 
the  editor's  wisdom  and  fairness.  I 
am  only  maintaining  that  such  a  pre- 
sumption may  be,  and  often  has  been, 
rebutted  by  evidence,  and  that  editors 
are  neither  mentally  nor  morally  in- 
fallible. 

I  have  sometimes  wondered  that 
editors  who  have  printed  forms  for  de- 
clining MSS.  should  declare  therein, 
not  that  the  returned  offering  seems, 
but  that  it  ^s-  unsuitable,  or  not  avail- 
able. The  editors  of  two  magazines 
of  wide  circulation  and  admitted  merit, 
issued  by  the  same  New  York  Com- 
pany, do,  or  did,  use  a  more  modest 
and  less  snubbing  style ;  but  their 
forms  stand,  or  stood,  alone  among 
those  which  it  has  been  my  misfortune 
to  have  seen.  In  an  old  Ilbistratecl 
London  Neics,  I  read  that '  the  examin- 
ers for  the  Arnold  prize  (at  Oxford) 
have  reported  that  no  composition 
which  has  been  sent  in  appears  to  them 
to  deserve  the  prize.'  This  is  the  man- 
ner of  eminent  scholars,  judging  the 
productions  of  very  young  men.     Edi- 


;i4 


MEMORIALS. 


tors,  wlio  are  also  gentlemen,  show  a 
like  seemly  diffidence  in  their  unofficial 
relations.  I  was  present  at  the  first 
'Intercollegiate  Literary  Contest,'  at 
the  New  York  Academy  of  Music, 
when  the  umpires  for  the  prizes  in 
oratory,  as  their  spokesman  informed 
the  audience,  felt  long  and  grave  doubts 
about  their  decision.  These  umpires, 
if  I  remember  rightly,  were  William 
CuUen  Bryant,  George  William  Curtis, 


and  either  Whitelaw  Reid  or  Colonel 
Higginson. 

As  you,  Mr.  Editor,  are  aware,  I  am 
not  venting  the  spleen  of  a  -wholly  un- 
successful writer.  If  I  have  had  many 
articles  returned,  I  have  had  manu- 
scripts accepted  and  paid  for  by  dailies, 
■weeklies,  monthlies,  and  quarterlies, 
as  well  as  by  book  publishers. 

ISHMAEL. 

Truro,  N.S. 


i 


MEMORIALS. 


BY  '  ESPERANCE.' 


HE  wandered  through  the  garden, 
Admired  the  brilliant  flowers, 
Still  fresh  and  diamond-spangled 
From  recent  summer  showers  ; 
But  by  a  bed  of  pansies. 

He  stood  a  longer  space. 
And  to  the  little  purple  flowers 
Gave  words  of  special  grace. 


He  passed  along  the  gall'ry 

With  unad miring  eye. 
Saw  many  a  costly  painting, 

And  passed  them  lightly  by  ; 
A  sweet,  sad  face,  in  crayons, 

Hung  where  the  shadows  fall, 
'  Ah,  this ! '  he  cried,  with  bright'ning  eyes, 

'  Ah,  this  is  worth  them  all  ! ' 


A  bunch  of  withered  pansies, 

A  sweet,  sad,  pictured  face. 
Among  my  dearest  treasures 

Still  hold  a  foremost  place  ; 
For,  both  the  flowers  and  picture, 

I  laid  away  with  tears, 
Together  with  the  brightest  hope 

That  gladdened  girlhood's  years. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


51. > 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


BY    WILLIAM    WYE    SMITH 


IIL 


ODD   CHARACTERS  AND  CUSTOMS. 


ONCE,  w^hen  riding  down  beside 
the  river  Humber,  below  Wood- 
bridge,  with  my  friend  John  McCal- 
lum,  my  attention  was  drawn  to  a 
circle  of  stunted  trees,  on  the  flats  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  stream.  They 
wei-e  small,  spreading  and  crooked  ; 
bastard  willow  and  hawthorn  ;  stand- 
ing in  an  irregular  circle,  and  leaning 
out  and  in.  '  See  ! '  my  friend  ex- 
claimed, *  does  not  that  remind  you  of 
an  Indian  bear-dance  V  And  the  ludi- 
crous idea  seemed  not  inappropriate. 
There  were  other  and  nobler  trees 
scattered  over  the  flats  and  above  our 
heads ;  and  to  our  left,  a  forest  of 
giant  growth  ;  but  we  took  more 
notice  of  the  '  bear-dance,'  because  of 
the  oddity  of  those  low-browed  trees, 
spinning  round — as  we  tried  to  ima- 
gine— in  a  circle,  in  the  contortions  of 
an  Indian  war-dance.  But  the  reader 
must  not  conclude  that  there  were  no 
sober-minded,  sensible  men  among  the 
settlers  I  knew  in  my  boyhood,  be- 
cause I  describe  those  who  formed 
the  *  bear-dance.'  In  point  of  fact,  the 
majority  of  them  were  steady,  moral, 
sensible  men  :  but  to  speak  of  these 
would  perhaps  afford  little  of  enter- 
tainment. They  are  to  be  found  in 
every  settlement,  and  their  best  memo- 
rial is  the  influence  for  good  they  leave 
behind  them.  For  the  first  settlers  of 
a  township  or  neighbourhood,  deter- 
mine the  character  of  the  place  for 
generations  after.     I  think  I  can  al- 


ways tell  what  the  first  settlers  were, 
from  the  moral  tone  of  the  neighbour- 
hood as  it  now  is.  I  have  here  set  my- 
self to  the  task  of  describing  the  odd 
charactei's  of  a  generation  ago — those 
who  composed  the  '  bear-dance  ' — for 
the  amused  spectators  around.  Nor 
yet  must  it  be  supposed  that  my  own 
part  of  the  country  had  more  odd  cha- 
racters than  other  parts.  Others  may 
describe  their  'bear-dances  :'  I  describe 
the  one  I  know  ! 

Certainly  the  greatest  oddity  we  had 
in  South  Dumfries,  was  John  Loree. 
He  was  a  New  Jersey  man  ;  and  had 
probably  come  into  Canada  when 
young.  The  Hon.  William  Dickson, 
who  originally  bought  the  [undivided] 
township  of  Dumfries,  had  sold  two 
concessions  to  Samuel  Street,  of  Nia- 
gara ;  who  in  turn  sold  the  wild  land 
to  settlers.  Loree  had  a  fifty-acre  lot 
of  Street's  land.  But  it  fronted  no- 
where ;  had  a  '  fifty  '  in  front,  and  a 
'hundred'  behind  it.  This  did  not 
matter  much,  as  long  as  the  township 
was  but  half-cleared  ;  but  when  the 
neighbours  began  to  fence  in  their 
farms,  and  the  open  '  bush  '  disap- 
peared, Loree  found  that  he  had  no  legal 
road  out.  In  the  Eastern  Townships 
of  Quebec,  they  manage  better.  Every 
man  who  owns  land  in  a  township,  can 
legally  claim  from  the  Township 
Council  a  road  out.  In  order  that  such, 
slices  off"  a  man's  land  may  not  wrong 
him,  the  oi'iginal  surveys  (which  did 


51( 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


not  include  roads  laid  off,  as  in  Onta- 
rio), gave  every  lot  two  or  three  acres 
extra,  to  make  up  for  contingencies. 
Loree  took  a  journey  to  Niagara,  to 
ensure  that  when  all  the  deeds  should 
be  granted,  Ids  should  specify  a  right 
of  way  through  the  lot  in  front.  He 
often  wished  '  some  ivhite  man  would 
buy  out  Atkinson  ! '  for  he  denied  to 
his  Scotch  neighbour,  whom  we  have 
called  Atkinson,  the  proper  standing 
of  a  white  man,  seeing  that  he  would 
not  give  him  a  way  out !  What  pro- 
mises Ml-.  Street  gave  him,  I  do  not 
Iftiow  ;  butLoree's  details  of  his  jour- 
ney to  Niagara  were  exceedingly  en- 
tertaining to  the  neighbours.  Among 
other  things,  he  told  us  of  his  being 
invited  to  tea  by  the  great  man.  '  And 
I  swow,'  he  would  say,  '  there  wa'nt 
bread  and  butter  enough  on  the  table, 
more  'n'nough  fur  one  man  !  And  it 
was  cut  so  thin  !  I  tell  ye,  a  feller  had 
to  be  keerf ul  there  ! '  - 

It  was  amusement  for  all  the  men 
and  boys  of  the  neighbourhood,  at  the 
time  of  the  annual  road-work,  to  set 
Loree  at  Atkinson.  *  Atkinson  ! '  he 
said,  on  one  such  occasion,  '  we're 
thinkin'  of  gittin'  up  a  subscription  fur 
you,  sir ! ' 

'  "What  are  ye  gaun  to  get  up  a  sup- 
})erscription  for  mey,  for  1 ' 

*  Well  sir,  we're  goin'  to  buy  "  a 
coffin"  fur  you,  sir— hev  it  ready  fur 
you,  beforehand.  You'd  feel  awful  bad 
if  you  thought  any  of  yer  money  would 
go  to  buy  a  coffin,  after  you  was  dead ; 
and  so  we're  goin'  to  hev  it  ready  fur 
you,  sir  ! '  All  this  was  said  with  the 
most  outlandish  twang,  which  he  had 
brought  with  him  from  the  pine-bar- 
rens of  New  Jersey.  And  then  he 
would  sometimes  end  his  attack  by 
adding,  '  Atkinson,  you're  too  stingy 
to  live  !  Ye  sell  all  ye  kin  sell ;  and 
what  ye  can't  sell  ye  feed  to  yer  hogs  ; 
.and  what  yer  hogs  won't  eat,  ye  eat 
yourself  !' 

The  first  time  1  saw  him  was  in 
December,  1837  ;  the  month  Macken- 
zie was  on  Navy  Island,  when  his  sky 
•was  lowering.     He  was  in  our  barn 


threshing  some  oats  he  had  bought 
from  the  former  owner  of  the  place. 
First  his  boy  came  in  to  warm  him- 
self. '  Well,  captain  ! '  said  my  father, 
'  what  has  happened  to  your  coat-tail?' 
for  he  had  a  little  frockcoat  of  home- 
spun cloth,  with  one-half  the  skirt  gone! 
'  I  was  sowing  once  in  the  spring,'  said 
he,  with  the  same  drawling  elongation 
of  the  accented  vowels ;  'I  was  sowing 
once  in  the  spring,  and  the  wind  caught 
it,  and  tuck  it  off !  '  This  colloquy  oc- 
curred during  one  of  those  '  cold  snaps' 
we  sometimes  have,  and  the  father 
soon  came  in  to  warm  his  fingers. 
'  Well  neighbour,'  was  my  father's  sal- 
utation, *  what  side  do  you  take  in 
these  ti-oublous  times?'  '  Weil,  sir,' 
said  Loree,  *  /  shall  jine  the  side  that 
takes  the  kintry  I '  He  was  determined 
not  to  have  his  fifty-acre  farm  confis- 
cated, however  matters  might  go  ! 

Once  he  came  round  inviting  'hands' 
to  a  '  dung-frolic'  My  father  asked 
him  what  that  was  1  He  explained 
that  it  was  a  *  bee,'  to  get  his  barn- 
yard manure  hauled  out  to  the  fields. 
As  my  father  was  of  opinion  that  each 
farmer  should  haul  out  the  contents 
of  his  own  barnyard,  we  missed  the 
'  dung-frolic  '  and  the  pumpkin-pies, 
*  Mirandy'  knew  so  well  how  to  bake. 
But  I  thought  my  vocabulary  was  en- 
riched by  the  term  ! 

The  '  bee,'  however,  left  John  still 
some  of  the  accumulation  of  years  to 
haul  out  himself.  He  was  hard  at 
work  at  it  one  day — and  he  did  not 
like  that  kind  of  work  ! — when  he  be- 
thought himself  that  his  son  '  Abe  ' 
(his  three  elder  boys  were  Abraham, 
Isaac  and  Jacob),  should  be  there  to 
help  him.  But  Abe  was  off  with  his 
gun ;  for  it  was  the  time  for  black 
squirrels.  At  last  Abe  came  sauntering 
along  with  the  gun  on  his  shoulder. 
He  rated  Abe  for  his  idleness,  and 
said,  *  he  had  a  great  mind  to  give 
him  a  hoss-ioJiipping  ! '  Abe  incau- 
tiously and  undutifully  muttered, 
'  Better  take  care  !  Maybe  gunpow- 
der's stronger  than  you  are  ! '  intimat- 
ing that,  as  he  was  armed,  it  might  be 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


5ir 


dangerous  to  interfere  with  him. 
'  With  that '  said  Loree,  '  I  just  tuck 
his  gun,  and  I  chucked  it  about  two 
rod  ;  and  I  did  smoke  the  hoss-whip  on 
to  him  ;  I  smoked  it  on  to  him,  sir  ! ' 

He  went  round  for  years,  with  an 
old  beaver  hat,  whose  crown  would  no 
longer  stay  in  it,  and  so  his  wife  sewed 
it  up  to  a  pyramidical  point.  My 
father  called  it  a  '  hail  splitter,'  and  it 
was  probably  in  that  hat  that  he  came 
to  the  first  'railroad  meeting'  ever 
held  in  Dumfries.  It  was  at  St. 
George,  in  the  year  184:9  or  '50.  Mr. 
Gilkinson,  a  lawyer  from  Hamilton, 
was  the  principal  speaker.  Dr.  Stim- 
son,  of  St.  George,  supported  him. 
The  proposition  was,  for  the  ratepay- 
ers to  sanction  a  subsci-iption,  on  the 
part  of  the  municipality,  of  810,000 
to  the  stock  of  the  Great  Western 
Railway.  The  farmers  generally  were 
averse  to  the  proposal ;  and  some  one 
put  Loree  vip  to  oppose  the  lawyer. 
In  a  few  doleful  words,  he  painted  the 
loss  and  risk  to  the  township  ;  and 
wound  up  by  saying.  '  I've  known  that 
'ere  lawyer  since  he  was  knee-high  to 
a  grasshopper,  and  I  would'nt  believe 
a  word  he  says  no  further  than  I 
could  throw  a  two-year  old  bull  by 
the  tail  !  The  best  thing  some  lawyers 
could  do,  would  be  to  go  home  and 
stick  to  the  plough-tail  !  And  some 
doctors  too  ! '  he  added,  with  a  bow 
to  Dr.  Stimson.  The  applause  was 
unbounded ;  the  motion  before  the 
meeting  was  negatived ;  and  Loree 
was  declared  to  be  the  man  who  had 
defeated  the  lawyers  !  The  poor  fellow 
appropriated  it  all  ;  and  the  next 
day  drove  with  his  farm -waggon  to 
Brantford,  to  give  the  lawyers  a  se- 
cond '  settling'  at  a  county  meeting  in 
the  interest  of  the  railway  !  But  alas  ! 
he  was  not  now  among  his  friends 
and  neighbours.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  among  strangers  ;  and  no  sooner 
had  he  begun  to  open  fire  in  his  own 
peculiar  style  on  '  the  lawyers,'  than 
the  audience  fairly  hooted  him  off  the 
platform  ! 

In  the  ten  or  twelve  years  that  suc- 


ceeded the  Rebellion  of  1837,  times 
were  'hard.'  The  farmers  were  not 
then,  as  now,  the  victims  of  Loan 
Agents  and  Societies  ;  but  they  were 
continually  getting  '  accommodation 
notes'  discounted  at  the  Banks.  Loree 
\  wanted  to  get  §200,  probably  to  pay 
;  on  his  land  ;  and  went  to  his  neigh- 
bour, Andrew  Vanevery,  to  ask  for 
his  name  as  endorser.  Some  Dutch 
neighbour  had,  at  sometime,  called 
him  by  an  abbreviation  of  Andreas, 
'Dreas  ;  and  by  this  name  he  was 
known.  Dreas  cautiously  asked  John 
what  his  prospects  wei'e  for  repay- 
ment ?  '  Well,'  said  he,  '  I  mean  to 
get  it  out  of  the  Gore,  and  pay  it  into 
the  Commercial,  when  it  comes  due  ;. 
and  when  that  comes  due,  I'll  get  it 
out  of  the  Commercial,  and  pay  it  into 
the  Gore  ! '  He  hoped  by  this  finan- 
cing to  gain  a  year,  and  to  have  the 
benefit  of  another  crop.  But  'Dreas- 
wouldn't  sign  the  note  \  though  he 
was  not  disinclined  to  recount  John's 
proposal  to  the  first  neighbour  he  met,. 
Loree  was  good  at  praising  or  de- 
preciating a  horse.  Speaking  of  one- 
of  his  own,  he  said,  '  That's  as  good  a 
hoss,  sir,  as  ever  looked  through  a 
collar  /|'  And  speaking  of  a  poor  lean 
nag  belonging  to  a  neighbour — '  He'll 
never  hear  the  whippoorwills  ! '  said 
Loree.  '  He'll  never  hear  the  v;hii}- 
poorwills,  sir  ! ' 

Old  Solomon  Markle,  of  Dumfries,, 
when  I  was  a  youth,  sometimes  enter- 
tained a  few  of  us  with  tales  of  the 
old  war  times.  He  told  us  he  was  in 
the  Battle  of  Queenston  Heights,  in 
1813,  Markle  had  a  peculiar  voice, 
and  spoke  as  if  he  had  a  bad  cold  in 
his  head.  '  Gedderal  Brock'  he  would 
say,  '  charged  right  up  the  hill,  he  did  ; 
and  the  Abbericads  picked  hib  off, 
they  did  !  '  And  then  he  would  branch 
off  on  other  subjects — once  when  on 
the  depredations  of  the  grasshoppers, 
he  i-elated  to  us  how  he,  his  wife,  and 
all  the-children,  had  armed  themselves 
with  green  branches,  to  drive  them 
out  of  his  clover.  He  told  us  that 
they  formed  a  line,  and  *  got  the  hop- 


518 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


pers  stai'ted,'  and  then  pressed  them 
hard  !  'And  Oh  man  ! '  said  he,  '  be- 
fore we  got  them  to  the  other  fence, 
how  they  did  loll  out  their  tongues  !  ' 

One  of  those  Scotch  mechanics,  who, 
after  a  while,  turn  into  Canadian  fai'- 
mers,  when  bantered  about  the  var- 
ious things  he  would  be  expected  to 
do  in  the  backwoods,  among  others, 
pig-killing — asked,  in  all  seriousness, 
'  Will  they  no  droon  ?  '  A  river  which 
flowed  past  his  proposed  location, 
seemed  to  offer  a  solution  of  that  diffi- 
culty at  least  !  The  same  settler  once 
^eld  a  conversation  with  a  little  pine 
tree  about  as  high  as  his  head.  It 
may  be  premised  that  his  lot  had 
many  pines  on  it.  *Ah,'  said  he,  '  if 
I  had  only  come  to  Canada  when  they 
were  all  as  small  as  you,  I  could  have 
managed  better  ! ' 

Another  Scotch  mechanic,  who  had 
turned  farmer — the  late  Robert  King, 
ofVaughan — by  way  of  showing  me 
how  little  he  knew  of  rural  affairs 
when  he  came  to  Canada,  and  how 
much  he  had  learned  since ;  told  me 
that  on  one  occasion  he  borrowed  a 
saddle,  and  started  on  horseback  to 
Toronto,  about  twenty  miles  distant. 
He  had  got  four  or  five  miles  on  his 
way,  with  the  saddle  strapped  wrong 
side  foremost  on  the  beast's  back  !  He 
had  been  muttering  objurgations  all 
the  way  about '  thae  Yankee  saddles!' 
He  was  sure  that  '  they  did  not  ride 
half  as  easy  as  the  saddles  they  made 
in  Scotland  ! '  Soon,  however,  a  black- 
smith, at  whose  shop  he  called  to  get 
a  shoe  fastened,  insisted  on  putting 
his  saddle  I'ight  for  him.  After  all, 
many  of  our  best  farmers  have  been 
mechanics.  And  it  has  a  steadying 
and  encouraging  effect  to  have  a  trade; 
so  that  if  farming  does  not  seem  to 
succeed,  the  man  can  always  fall  back 
on  the  manual  arts. 

An  educated  but  young  and  wild 
Scotsman  who  had  been  sent  out  to 
Canada  by  his  friends,  in  the  vain  hope 
that  he  would  take  to  steady  habits, 
left  the  neighbourhood  of  Owen  Sound 
where  I  had   known  him,  and  went 


gold-seeking  to  the  Pacific  Coast.  A 
year  or  two  afterwards,  another  young 
man  wrote  back  that  he  had  met  him 
at  Aspinwall.  He  was  a  capital  player 
on  the  bagpipes,  and  had  a  pair,  mag- 
nificently mounted,  which  he  asserted 
(probably  with  truth)  had  been  played 
at  '  Killiecrankie.'  He  was  often  seen 
at  pic-nics  and  excursions,  with  kilts 
and  pipes.  He  had  now  a  ticket  for 
New  York,  and  so  his  passage  back 
was  secured  ;  but  he  had  lingered  so 
long  among  the  liquor  saloons,  that 
the  steamer  had  gone  off  without  him  ; 
and  if  he  had  any  baggage,  it  had  gone 
on  to  New  York.  He  was  sans  coat 
— very  nearly  'sans  everything.'  But 
he  had  his  precious  pipes  with  h.im. 
And  there  he  was,  *  putting  in  *  the 
two  weeks  as  best  he  could,  till  another 
steamer  would  be  '  up  '  for  New  York, 
playing  Scotch  reels  for  a  drink,  and 
any  number  of  strathspeys  for  a  'square 
meal.'  Apparently,  however,  he  was 
perfectly  happy. 

Speaking  of  the  gold  regions  re- 
minds me  of  the  experience  of  another 
of  our  old  neighbours,  who  also  went 
to  California,  and  only  staid  there  three 
weeks.  He  had  all  the  adventures 
of  riding  over  the  Coast  Range  on 
the  back  of  a  mule,  and  of  seeing  a 
great  many  things  he  had  never  seen 
before.  Among  other  stories  which 
he  used  to  relate  was  that  of  the  train 
of  which  he  and  his  mule  formed  part, 
being  '  whipped  up  '  as  fast  as  possible 
through  a  place  where  robbers  were 
sometimes  found.  To  get  through 
without  molestation,  he  said  '  every 
man  had  just  to  lay  on  the  stick  with 
all  his  might,  and  follow  the  mule  be- 
fore him,  and  then  to  get  out  as  quick 
as  ever  he  could  ! '  After  this,  he 
contentedly  came  back,  saying  that 
'  he  had  seen  enough  to  pay  for  all 
the  money  he  had  spent.'  He  was 
wiser  than  many  others.  The  same 
man,  who  was  in  some  respects  as  vi- 
sionary as  a  boy,  was  once  '  mowing 
away  '  wheat  with  a  hired  man,  in  his 
big  barn.  There  wei-e  eight  or  ten 
thousand  sheaves  in  the  '  bay,'  and  he 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


519 


thus  gave  voice  to  the  thought  that 
struck  him,  as  he  was  packing  in  the 
wheat.  Said  he,  '  I  wish  this  bay  was 
just  as  full  of  gold  ! '  '  And  what 
would  you  do  with  it  all  1 '  enquired 
the  poor  man  who  was  working  for 
him.  '  Well,  I  know  what  I  would 
do  with  some  of  it ;  I'd  give  you  half 
a  bushel  ! '  The  offer  was  liberal  in 
itself,  and  the  more  so  that  it  never 
needed  to  be  fulfilled  ;  but  the  man 
thought  it  was  a  very  small  percent- 
age of  the  harnful  he  himself  dreamed 
of. 

Some  of  the  most  enterprising  men 
I  meet  in  the  country  are  returned 
'  Calif ornians.'  Some  brought  gold 
home  with  them,  but  most  came  as 
they  went ;  and  many  a  case  of  family 
estrangement  arose  out  of  the  unnatu- 
ral absence  of  husband  and  fathei- — for 
those  who  went  off  were  not  all  young 
men.  Among  them  were  bride- 
grooms, who  went  off  in  a  pet  and 
never  returned  ;  husbands  deliberately 
deserting  their  wives — dramas  of  the 
Enoch  Arden  type — in  one  of  which 
the  deserted  partner  became  the  hope- 
less inmate  of  an  Insane  Asylum — as  I 
well  remember,  and  could  give  name 
and  date  for ;  but  I  forbear. 

Whether,  because  they  are  gathered 
into  asylums,  or  whether  there  are 
fewer  of  them,  I  hardly  know,  but  we 
have  not  in  Canada,  as  in  Britain, 
imbeciles  and  idiots  in  every  neigh- 
bourhood. One  incident  of  the  unfor- 
tunates was  mentioned  to  my  father  a 
few  years  ago  at  Windsor,  which  I 
have  never  met  with  in  print.  The 
landlord  of  the  hotel  in  which  my 
father  lodged  overnight,  told  him  of  a 
'  crazy  man  '  he  had  for  a  few  days  to 
do  odd  jobs  about  the  house  and  sta- 
bles. '  But,'  said  the  landlord,  '  ano- 
ther crazy  man  came  to  town  and  mine 
left  at  once.  When  the  other  man 
came  on  his  heat,  he  disappeared  !  And 
you  will  always  find  it  so — two  crazy 
men,  if  they  have  their  own  way,  will 
never  stay  in  one  place.  They  don't 
seem  to  like  one  another.' 

Somebody  told  my  father  that  '  he 


had  discovered  an  infallible  test  for 
the  ineljriety  of  any  one.'  As  this  is 
often  a  desideratum,  it  may  be  worth 
while  to  give  this  man's  formula.  He 
held  that  drunkenness  affected  a  man's 
speech.  If  he  were  but  slightly  intox- 
icated, his  utterance  would  be  but  a 
little  affected.  With  deeper  potations 
he  would  be  more  so.  But  a  man  who 
was  only  moderately  overcome  with 
drink,  could  never  properly  and  dis- 
tinctly pronounce  the  words — 'United 
Empire  Loyalists.'  He  would  offer  to 
do  so,  indeed  was  quite  certain  that  he 
could  pronounce  the  phrase,  but  would 
be  sure,  while  he  was  thus  boasting,  to 
expose  himself ! 

The  unconsciousness  of  a  drunken 
man  is  sometimes  amusing.  Once  at 
a  township  agricultural  show,  held 
in  a  field,  where  the  entrance  to  the 
show-ground  was  a  gap  in  the  rail 
fence,  a  drunken  man  sat  down  beside 
tlie  gap,  and  was  unable  to  rise.  Soon 
came  along  another  drunken  man, 
who,  however,  was  able  to  walk,  but 
not  to  stand  still.  '  Aint  you  ashamed 
of  yourself  '? '  he  called  out  to  his  pros- 
trate friend.  '  Aint  you  ashamed  of 
yourself,  to  be  sitting  there,  and  every- 
body laughing  at  you  % '  And  having 
pointed  his  finger  at  him, and  'shamed ' 
several  times,  he  staggered  on.  A  few 
boys  near  set  up  a  merry  laugh.  The 
man  turned  round,  and  called  out, 
'That's  right !  Laugh  at  him  boys  ! 
He  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself !  ' 

Strange  it  is,  yet  not  more  strange 
than  true,  that  the  brightest  men  are 
often  found  the  slaves  of  drink.  I 
remember  one  James  E.,  whose  name 
will  be  sure  to  be  tilled  in  by  some 
of  the  old  settlers  in  Scarborough,  as 
well  as  in  Dumfries.  A  bright  fellow 
E.  was  ;  finely  educated,  and  full  of 
well-digested  information.  He  was 
however,  an  inebriate  and  could  not 
be  kept  sober  for  more  than  a  month 
or  two  at  a  time — and  must  have  a 
periodical  break-out.  I  never  saw  a 
man  could  swing  an  axe  as  E.  could. 
He  cut  us  twenty  cords  of  wood 
one  fall ;  and  then  went  (I  suppose), 


520 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


and  drank  the  money.     He  was  more-   ' 
over  full  of  anecdotes,  one  of  which,    ! 
about  a  Falkirk  man,  at  the  Battle  of    i 
Waterloo  (he  was  from  Fa'kirk  him-   i 
self),  he  liked  to  relate  to  i;s.     This   ! 
Falkirk   man   was    wounded    in    the 
battle,  and  ran  to  the  rear  to  get  his 
wound,  which  was  a  serious  one,  bound 
up.     '  Dress  me  quick,  doctor  !'  cried 
he,  '  and  let  me  win  back  again  !  But 
O  man.  Doctor  ?     Does  na'  this  mind 
ye  o'  the  Tryst  o'  Fa'kirk  ? '    The  sur- 
geon was  also  a  Falkirk  man  ;  and  the 
'Tryst'  was  the  great  cattle-fair,  where 
all  the  cattle  from  the  Highlands  were 
brought  for  sale.     The  noise  and  con- 
fusion of  battle,  reminded  the  hero  of 
the  exciting  scenes  and  the  turmoil  of 
the  cattle-fair. 

Another  character,  I  remembei-, 
named  Morrison,  who,  though  a  school- 
master, was  not  a  master  of  morals. 
He  was  an  accomplished  scholar  ;  had 
an  agreeable,  gentlemanly  way  with 
him  ;  and  might  have  stood  deservedly 
high  in  society.  But  he  could  not  keep 
sober  ;  and  though  unsteadiness  in  a 
teacher  was  less  sternly  noticed  in 
those  days  than  now,  yet  he  '  lost  his 
place,' — or  rather  he  failed  to  obtain  a 
re-engagement ;  and  for  a  time  I  lost 
sight  of  him,  A  few  months  after- 
wards, my  father  saw  him  at  Gait  fair ; 
ill-clothed  and  wretched-looking — with 
a  string  round  his  neck,  from  which 
depended  a  raisin-box,  filled  with 
ginger-cakes  he  was  retailing  to  the 
boys  on  the  faix'-ground.  My  father 
accosted  him,  expressing  wonder  at 
meeting  him  there  and  in  that  guise. 
'  Oh,  man,'  said  he,  apparently  quite 
unabashed,  '  I  manage  to  study  human 
nature,  this  way  ! '  Poor  Mori-ison  ! 

Burns  says  of  drink,  '  It  pangs  us 
fu'  o'  knowledge !  '  and  one  of  his 
countrymen  showed  it  on  the  '  flats'  of 
Paris — now  cut  up  by  the  hydraulic 
canal,  and  dotted  over  with  houses — 
where,  in  the  autumn  of  1847,  a  plea- 
sant Temperance  pic-nic  was  held,  at 
which  I  was  present.  Dr.  Bungay, 
now  of  New  York,  and  Dr.  David.son, 
a  Baptist  clergyman,    were  the  chief 


speakers,  Bungay,  I  had  often  heard 
before  ;  but  Davidson,  I  thought,  was 
the  funniest  man  I  ever  heard !  Several 
times,  a  Scotch  mason,  in  a  limey  mole- 
skin jacket,  attempted  to  mount  the 
platform  ;  at  last  he  got  up  before 
anyone  seemed  aware,  and  began  this^ 
speech  :  '  Friends  and  brethren  ! '  he 
shouted,  'I'm  muckle  obleeged  to  ye, 
for  your  kindness  to  me  this  day  ! 
But  there's  just  one  thing  I  want  to 
say  ;  and  that  is,  that  ye'll  no  find  Tee- 
total in  a'  the  Bible  ;  nor  in  the  Dicti- 
onar'  either  !  And  that's  all  I've  got 
to  say  !  ' 

A  storekeeper,  at  a  lumbering  sta- 
tion, on  the  edge  of  civilization,  told 
me  a  few  years  ago,  of  a  rather  *  soft ' 
specimen  of  the  great  Anglo-Saxon 
family,  who  wanted  to  marry  a  hand- 
some Indian  girl,  whose  Ojibway  name 
I  have  forgotten,  but  it  meant '  Long- 
face.'  The  suitor,  in  accordance  with 
Indian  custom,  carried  on  the  negotia- 
tion with  the  parents.  *  And  what  did 
Long-face  think  of  the  proposition  ?  * 
I  asked. 

'  Oh,  she  left  it  all,  Indian  fashion, 
to  her  parents.' 

*  And  how  did  the  affair  end  ? ' 

'  Very  unfortunately  for  the  would- 
be-groom.  He  was  anxious  to  impress 
the  ''  old  folks  "  with  the  idea  that  he 
was  a  man  of  consequence  and  of 
means.  He  spoke  of  his  farmand  other 
possessions,  until  at  last  the  Indian 
and  his  wife  said  he  might  have  Long- 
face,  if  he  would  "  keep  "  the77i,  as  long 
as  they  live  ! '  Not  feeling  either  able 
or  willing  to  support  the  whole  Indian 
family  in  idleness,  the  affair  was  bro- 
ken off;  *  at  which,'  my  informant 
added,  '  Long-face  was  rather  pleased.' 

I  remember  a  young  man,  James 
Dobie,  who  was  always  ready  to  em- 
bark in  anything — it  did  not  seem  to 
matter  what — that  could  yield  him 
either  fame  or  profit.  I  never  knew 
a  man  so  versatile.  When  I  first  be- 
came acquainted  with  him,  he  was  "a 
salesman  in  a  dry -goods  store  ;  and  a 
polite,  good  salesman  he  made.  Not 
long  after,  he  had  a  small  contract  on 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


521 


a  macadamized  road,  with  a  few  la- 
bourers under  him.  Then,  some  war- 
rumours  getting  abroad,  he  wrote  to 
the  adjutant-general,  offering  to  raise 
a  troop  of  volunteer  horse.  But  this 
came  to  nothing.  Once  I  heard  of 
him,  down  under  ground,  mining 
gypsum  at  Paris.  Then  he  taught  a 
school,  for  a  term  or  two,  on  the 
Governor's  Road,  and  was  well  spoken 
of  as  a  teacher.  Later  on,  he  was 
'  clerking'  in  a  store ;  this  time  in 
Waterloo  township,  where  an  ac- 
quaintance with  German  was  neces- 
sary ;  and  he  began  to  sputter  '  Dutch' 
among  the  natives.  Next  I  found 
him  coming  to  St.  George  with  his 
butcher's  waggon,  he  having  begun 
business  with  a  partner,  in  Paris.  It 
is  impossible  a  man  can  know  every- 
thing however ;  and  a  stoi-ekeeper, 
whose  clerk  I  was  at  the  time,  played 
a  practical  joke  on  him.  He  had  a 
carcase  of  very  lean  mutton  in  tha 
store,  and  he  asked  Dobie  'if  he  would 
exchange  beef  for  venison,  pound  for 
pound  ] '  Yes,  he  answered,  he  would 
do  that.  So  the  dealer  ran  out,  and 
hastily  removed  the  head  from  the 
mutton,  the  better  to  pass  it  off  for 
venison,  before  the  butcher  came  in. 
The  trick  succeeded.  Thirty  or  forty 
pounds  of  good  beef  were  exchanged 
for  a  like  weight  of  the  thinnest  mut- 
ton I  ever  saw ;  and  the  venison  was 
offered  to  a  hotel  in  Paris,  before  the 
joke  was  discovered.  Not  long  after, 
he  served  the  same  storekeeper  as  an 
assistant,  for  a  few  months.  Then  he 
took  a  contract  for  excavating  a  huge 
barn-cellar,  and  made  double  wages 
by  doing  two  men's  work.  After  this, 
for  a  year  or  two,  he  '  ran'  a  steam 
saw  mill  in  Buffalo.  Finally,  he  dis- 
appeared from  my  sight,  as  a  travelling 
agent  or  inspector  for  some  great 
bridge-building  iron  firm  in  New 
York  ;  aud  was,  when  I  last  heard  of 
him,  overseeing  the  building  of  some 
iron  bridges  in  Virginia ;  being  re- 
spectably married,  and  likely,  at  last, 
to  '  make  his  mark.' 

Habits  and  customs  change ;  per- 
G 


haps  all  the  sooner  now  that  there  is 
moi-e   of   education    abroad   than   in 
former  days.     The  loss  of  a  few    of 
these  customs  we  regret — of  more  we 
applaud.  Of  the  category  of  the  latter 
is  the  charivari.      Both  the  thing  and 
the  name  seem  to  have  come  from  the 
French.    The  original  intention, doubt- 
less, was  a  mock  serenade  for  some  ill- 
assorted  couple — as  for  instance  an  old 
woman  and  a  young  man.  But  forty  or 
forty-five  years  ago,  the  custom  was  so 
prevalent,    in   some    parts   of  Upper 
Canada,  that  no  couple  whatever  could 
hope   to   escape   the    infliction    of    a 
charivari   at  their  marriage.     And  I 
knew  two  men,  who  were  '  captains  ' 
in  such  enterprises,  by  acknowledged 
right ;  and  led  their  forces   through 
many  a  perilous  adventure.     The  un- 
earthly hub-bub   of  a  charivari,  heard 
!    at  the  distance  of  a  couple  of  miles,  on 
j    a  still  evening,  is  something  never  to 
be    forgotten.      A    dozen   strings    of 
I    sleigh-bells — the    old-fashioned    kind, 
I    of  graduated  sizes  and  tones ;  half  a 
:    dozen  cowbells  ;  a  number  of  old  tin- 
i    pans  to  rattle ;  two   or  three   guns ; 
I    two  or  three  tin  horns ;  and  all,  ex- 
I    cept  the  performers  on  the  tin  horns, 
i    shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices — 
'    such  was  this  backwoods  music.     It 
!    came  in  bursts  ;  lasting  for  about  five 
I    minutes.  Human  lungs  could  not  stand 
it  longer.     They  generally  took  care 
;    not  to  '  trespass ; '    but  kept  on  the 
highway.      A.  party,  of  at  least  fifty, 
serenaded  an  old  widower,  a  mile  fi-om 
i    us,  who  had,  as  the  youngsters  thought, 
changed  his  solitary  position  too  hur- 
;    riedly.     At  an  earlier  date,  a  '  treat ' 
would  have  been  demanded  ;  but  Tem- 
perance had  made  strides  in  the  mean- 
t   time,  and  the  serenaders  were  content 
1    when  the  groom  and  bride  came  out 
I   on  the  '  stoop,'  and  sang  them  a  duet 
I   in  the  moonlight.     The  whole  party 
then  moved  off,  preceded  by  a  fife,  past 
my  father's  house,  for  a  mile  or  two, 
to   charivari   a    Methodist    minister, 
who  had  just  been  married.     He  was 
very  indignant,  and  threatened  legal 
proceedings.     This  gentleman,  who  is 


522 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


now  one  of  the  leading  ministers  of  bis 
Church,  will  no  doubt  remember  the 
evening  of  his  wedding,  on  the  second 
concession  of  Dumfries  ;  and  the 
astonishing  music  then  made  by  that 
volunteer '  choir.' 

Sometimes  legal  proceedings  did  fol- 
low the  demonstration.  Within  half 
a  mile  of  where  the  old  widower  was 
serenaded,  there  had  been,  a  few  years 
before,  an  unfortunate  charivari. 
Some  of  the  family  fraternized  with 
the  rioters,  and  found  out  who  they 
w^ere  ;  and  had  twenty  or  thirty  of 
them  arrested  for  'riot.'  They  m^ ere 
all  bound  over  to  appear  at  the  Quar- 
ter Sessions  in  Hamilton  ;  except  one, 
who  being  a  stranger  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, had  to  bear  a  weary  two  months 
in  gaol.  The  case  was  tried  before 
Judge  O'Eeilly,  and  all  were  fined. 
One  of  the  number,  Colin  Kerr  by 
name,  was  a  Scotchman  from  Falkirk, 
and  had  a  rich  Lothian  brogue.  He 
had  prepared  himself  for  this  unde- 
sirable occasion,  by  a  grand  bowse — a 
frequent  proceeding  on  his  part — and 
when  he  sat  in  the  pi-isoner's  box,  he 
became  very  thirsty.  '  I  want  a  drink 
o'  watter  J  '  sang  out  Colin  ;  but  no 
one  answered  his  appeal,  except  per- 
haps to  warn  him  to  keep  '  order.'  '  I 
want  a  drink  o'  watter  I '  said  Colin. 
*  Can  some  o'  you  no  bring  a  man  a 
a  drink  o'  watter  ?  There's  not  a  decent 
man  in  the  house,  but  myself,  and  the 
little  man  [the  Judge]  with  the  fence 
round  him  ! '  Probably  the  urbane 
Judge,  who  always  managed  to  put 
everyone,  even  defeated  suitors,  into 
good  humour,  ordered  Colin  his  '  drink 
o'  watter  ! ' 

When  maple  sugar  is  made,  the 
'  sugaring- off '  is  an  occasion  of  brief 
festivity.  This  industiy  has  almost 
died  out  in  the  older  parts  of  Ontario, 
the  farmers  having  plenty  of  other 
work  to  do  as  soon  as  the  spring  be- 
gins to  open,  and  grudging  the  wood 
that  is  necessary  for  sugar-making.  It 
is,  however,  in  Lower  Canada  that  it 
is  seen  in  most  perfection  ;  not  in  the 
Trench  country  along  the  St.  Law- 


rence, but  out  in  the  eastern  town- 
ships towards  the  New  England  bor- 
der. Sugar-houses  are  built  in  the 
woods — small  frame  concerns — and  a 
simple  '  arch  '  of  brick  is  put  in.  In 
reality,  it  is  merely  two  small  brick 
walls,  two  or  three  feet  high,  with  a 
large  sheet-iron  pan  resting  on  them, 
and  the  fire  put  underneath.  The 
trees  are  tapped,  about  an  inch  deep, 
with  a  small  auger,  and  cedar  buckets 
without  handles  are  hung  on  a  nail, 
under  short  spouts  of  sheet-iron.  The 
sap  is  brought  in  a  large  puncheon 
on  a  sled  drawn  by  oxen,  and  every 
means  is  taken  to  save  labour,  and 
to  ensure  perfect  cleanliness.  Many 
farmers  never  buy  a  pound  of  sugar 
in  a  long  series  of  years.  They  often 
make  800,  1,000,  and  up  to  2,000 
or  more  pounds.  A  farmer's  wife 
said  to  me,  *  If  it  is  a  poor  year, 
and  we  only  make  300  pounds,  we 
make  it  do  •  and  if  it  is  a  good  year, 
and  we  make  800  i)ounds,  we  use  it 
all.'  This  was  for  a  family  of  seven, 
with  an  occasional  '  hired  hand.'  The 
procedure  is  as  follows  :  When  the 
season  is  over,  the  buckets  are  washed 
out,  and  neatly  piled  up  in  the  sugar 
house,  along  #ith  a  couple  of  cords  of 
firewood,  for  the  next  spring.  When 
the  sugar  is  ready,  the  eastern  town- 
ships' man  will  go  outside  his  sugar- 
house  and  '  holler  '  (as  they  phrase  it). 
Everybody  within  reach,  who  has  the 
time  to  spare,  will  come  and  '  eat 
sugar.'  I  have  counted  twenty -two 
or  twenty-four  on  such  occasions. 
Each  comer  is  supplied  with  two  pad- 
dles ;  a  big  one  to  dip  into  the  pan, 
and  a  small  one  to  scrape  from  the 
lai'ger  one,  and  put  to  your  mouth — 
for  it  is  unpardonable  rudeness  to  put 
the  paddle  from  your  mouth  into  the 
pan.  There  is  always  a  demand  for 
salt  bacon  or  smoked  beef  at  dinner, 
after  a  '  sugaring,'  or  for  the  sourest 
pickles.  These  act  as  a  preventative 
of  nausea  ;  and  those  who  have  eaten 
from  a  half  to  a  whole  pound  of  sugar 
each,  will  be  ready  in  the  afternoon 
for  another  '  sugaring.'      The  neigh- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CANADIAN  LIFE. 


523 


bours,  who  are  almost  all  natives,  of 
New  England  descent,  deliglit  in  re- 
counting humorous  stories  of  new  im- 
migrants and  their  sugar  experiences. 
A  new  arrival  in  Eaton  tapped  all  the 
trees  he  came  to,  and  wondered  why 
some  of  theim  yielded  nothing.  Old 
Mr.  Williams,  of  Oro,  in  Ontai-io,  had 
a  similar  experience,  and  told  a  neigh- 
bour, as  an  unexplained  circumstance, 
'  that  he  had  five  trees  with  their 
spouts  all  pointing  into  one  trough,  and 
not  a  drop  of  sap  from  one  of  them.' 

The  fact  was,  he  had  tapped  a  clump 
of  basswood,  mistaking  them  for 
maples.  The  same  worthy  old  Eng- 
lishman, who  had  spent  most  of  his 
life  in  Woolwich  Dockyard,  was  chop- 
ping in  his  cedar  swamp,  and  '  lodged' 
a  tree.  He  thought  '  he  would  go 
up '  and  loosen  the  entanglement ! 
He  ascended  the  sloping  trunk  for 
about  twenty  or  thirty  feet  from  the 
ground,  when  down  came  the  tree 
with  Mr.  W.,  his  axe  and  all  !  The 
old  man  i^eceived  such  injuries  in  his 
hip  that  he  was  lame  ever  after.  He 
said  '  he  did  not  see  how  he  had  his 
mishap,  for  he  had  manv  a  time  gone 
to  the  masthead,  and  surely  could  go 
up  that  I ' 

The  Eaton  man  having  been  put 
right  as  to  the  trees  that  gave  sap, 
and  those  that  gave  none,  got  his  su- 
gar works  going  at  last,  and  in  due 
time,  had  a  quantity  of  syrup,  which 
he  thought  he  would  take  to  the  house 
to  '  sugar  off.'  So,  having  come  on 
horseback  to  his  sugar-works — for  the 
'  going  '  is  almost  an  impossible  thing 
for  a  week  or  two  in  the  spring  ; — he 
would  take  his  buckets  of  hot  syrup 
by  horse.  Behold  him  then  on  horse- 
back, with  a  neck-yoke  on  his  shoul- 
ders, at  either  end  of  which  depends  a 
pail  of  hot  syrup  !  It  would  needs  be 
a  steady  horse  and  a  good  road !  But 
it  was  neither  of  those.  The  horse 
floundered,  and  the  syrup  scattered 
over  his  flanks — and,  though  not  hot 
enough  to  scald  him,  was  warm  en- 
ough to  frighten  him.  He  bolted  off, 
and  after  the  syrup  was  strung  along 


and  '  spun  '  into  fine  threads  over  the 
snow  for  a  half  a  mile,  the  man  got 
home  ;  but  had  nothing  to  sugar-oft 
that  day  ! 

It  is  populai'ly  believed  there,  that 
the  festivities  of  the  sugar  season  are 
favourable  to  matrimonial  arrange- 
ments ;  for  on  the  end  of  a  sugar-house 
near  Bulwer,  I  read,  as  I  passed,  this 
warning  painted  in  rude  letters  : 

NO  SPARKING 

ALOWED 

HEAR 

Here  is  a  story  I  found  in  a  news- 
paper, a  great  many  years  ago,  illus 
trating  the  Canadian  custom  of  com- 
pelling a  man  to  put  out  his  hand 
to  'anything  that  comes  along.'  A 
steamer  was  ascending  the  Ottawa. 
At  one  of  the  stopping-places,  a  mill- 
owner  came  on  board,  and  asked  the 
captain  '  if  he  had  any  immigrants  on 
board?  for  he  wanted  a  man.'  The 
captain  pointed  out  an  immigrant,  a 
man  with  a  family,  as  perhaps  likely 
to  suit  him.  The  gentleman  went  to 
him,  and  told  him  it  was  he  who 
owned  the  mills  here,  and  he  wanted 
him  to  land  and  to  work  for  him  ;  and 
he  would  give  him  a  house,  rent  free, 
to  live  in,  etc. 

*  And  what  kind  of  work  do  you 
want  me  to  do  ? ' 

'  I  want  you  to  make  barrels.' 

*  O,  but  I'm  not  a  cooper  :  I  never 
made  a  barrel  in  my  life  !  ' 

*  Never  mind  that ;  you'll  soon  learn. 
Just  put  your  "traps"  ashore,  that  will 
be  all  right ! ' 

And  he  overcame  all  his  objections, 
and  compelled  him  to  come  ashore — 
gave  him  a  house  to  live  in — and  set 
him  at  once  to  work.  Years  after, 
the  cooper  himself,  telling  this  story, 
ended  by  saying,  '  I  am  now  living  in 
my  own  house ;  my  children  are  all 
grown  up  and  well  educated  ;  I  earn 
good  wages,  and  have  several  men 
working  under  me,  and  am  well  off  in 
every  way.' 

To  be  continued. 


524 


TRUE  LOVE^ 


TRUE  LOVE, 


BY   E,    B.    H. 


TO  love— 'tis  but  a  little  word,, 
'Tis  lightly  said  by  some, 
And  said  with  gay  and  merry  heart, 
To  those  who  go  and  come. 

A  few  short  months,  a  few  short  weeks 

Of  idle,  tender  play, 
Just  touched  with  passion — not  too  much- 

That  quickly  fades  away. 

The  next  that  comes  is  quite  as  dear, 

The  vows  as  freely  made, 
'  Sweetest,  T  never  loved  but  you. 

Beside  you  all  loves  fade.' 

And  this  is  Love — nay  not  to  all — 

Some  hearts  are  not  so  won  ; 
Prosaic  as  our  world  has  grown, 

A  few  still  love  but  one 

To  love — to  such  it  means  to  give 

The  heart  and  soul  entire, 
Eternal,  pure,  and  changeless  love. 

Though  touched  with  earthly  fire. 

Such  love,  once  given,  is  evermore, 

'Twill  deeper,  purer  grow. 
And  less  of  earth  and  more  of  heaven 

As  years  advance  'twill  know. 

Once  and  forever— earthly  change 

Is  for  a  poor,  weak  heart ; 
Immortal  Love  will  conquer  Time, 

It  of  the  soul  is  part. 

Thus,  call  not  by  that  sacred  name 

The  poor  and  selfish  thing. 
That  to  the  nearest  or  the  last 

Of  many  loves  will  cling. 

True  Love  is  not  recalled  at  will, 

It  grows  with  every  year ; 
Part  of  the  being  that  we  breathe 

Till,  in  a  higher  sphere. 
Freed  from  the  dross  of  earth  "twill  rise 

In  God's  light,  pure  and  clear. 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


THE   PERMANENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


BY    '  ALCHEMIST,'    MONTREAL. 


STUDY  of  modern  scientific  matter 
has  forced  upon  many  individuals 
important  religious  conclusions.  They 
have  felt  that  in  the  dispute  between 
the  rei)resentative  theologians  and  the 
prominent  scientists  the  latter  on 
many  points  present  the  most  reason- 
able arguments.  They  are  convinced 
that,  in  questions  still  doubtful,  the 
scientist,  besides  his  superiority  of 
method,  has  the  advantage  of  having 
placed  a  number  of  starting-points 
fairly  beyond  dispute.  They  accept 
Darwin's  theory  of  natural  selection  as 
a  simple  and  clear  solution  of  the  his- 
tory of  life,  and  find  it  impossible  to 
receive  the  opposite  doctrine  of  special 
creations.  In  their  belief,  geology,  re- 
vealing the  stupendous  age  of  our  earth 
and  countless  past  races  of  vegetable 
and  animal  existence,  has  reduced  the 
six  days'  creation  and  the  Noachic 
genealogies  to  legends.  Cosmology, 
with  them,  intensities  the  argument 
of  geology.  Astronomy  ignores  '  the 
waters  above  the  firmament '  and  the 
stayed  sun  of  Gibeon.  Physiology  and 
Mechanics,  which  give  quantity,  mea- 
surement and  material  laws  to  nerve 
and  will-force,  and  show  them  capable 
of  transposition  into  heat,  electricity, 
gravity,  abolish  a  hundred  theories 
concerning  responsibility,  freedom  and 
the  nature  of  immortal  life.  Utilita- 
rianism, the  pleasure-theory  of  Ethics, 
has  been  only  half  successful,  not  be- 
cause its  principle  is  untrue,  but  be- 
cause by  friends  and  opponents  only 
half  understood ;  and  this,  too — the 
finding  of  a  blood-relation,  in  one  as- 
pect, between  pleasure  and  good,  and 
between  will  and  the  feelings,  is  occa- 
sioning  wholesale    collapse   among  a 


certain   class  of  speculations  on  the 
conscience,  guilt  and  sin.     Then  there 
is  Comparative  Mythology  tracing  the 
pedigree  of  the  Genesis  legends  dis- 
'    tinctly  to  Assyria  ;    and  Comparative 
i   Religion   discovering   sweet    rules  of 
righteousness  at  the  roots  of  Buddhism, 
and  noble  lives  and  maxims  in  China 
before  Our  Lord,  and  the  worship  of 
one  great  '  Father-in-Heaven  '  by  the 
earliest  Aryan  ploughmen,  and  psalms 
like  David's  in   Chaldea,  and  every- 
;    where  tendencies,  likenesses,  affinities, 
'    to  the  loftiest  truths  of  Christianity  ; 
and  discovering  that  Christianity  itself 
has  the  same  kind  (not  degree,  how- 
ever) of  defects  as  all  those  other  x-e- 
ligions,  as  if  One  had  left  them  there 
to  show  its  connection  with  His  plan. 
And  next  arises  Historical  Criticism, 
with   renewed,    combined,    persistent 
researches  into  the  apostolic  and  sub- 
apostolic  ages,  lighting  up  a  score  of 
Gnostic  systems  and  influences  which 
afi^ected  the  Church  itself;  construct- 
I   ing  pictures   of  the   great  Schools  of 
Palestine,  and  of  the  national  misfor- 
tunes and  other  events  which  deflected 
the  New  Testament   documents,  and 
even  of   Persian  and  Babylonian  so- 
ciety and  the  times  of  the  Maccabees. 
With  Historical  comes  Literary  Criti- 
cism,  demonstrating  that  the  wrecks 
of  the  same  original  Gospel-story  form 
the  body  of  the  three  first  Evangels, 
:    that  it  varies  in  each,  that  it  contains 
'    no  account  of  the  Resurrection,  that 
'   it  has  been  added  to  and  displaced  by 
many   hands,  that   its  narrations  are 
almost  wholly  miiaculous  in  its  earlier 
I    pai't,  but   grow  clear  as  it  approaches 
!    the  Supper  and  Crucifixion — that  dif- 
ferent endings  are  tacked  to  it  in  every 


;2C 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


Gospel  and  different  beginnings  in 
Matthew  and  Luke,  and  that  these 
contain  more  of  myth  and  less  of  fact 
than  the  main  stoiy.  Innumerably 
more  things — a  countless  mass  of  facts 
— does  Literary  Criticism,  without  de- 
scending to  philological  puerilities, 
reveal  to  the  impartial  mind.  It  seems 
as  if  every  petty  science  had  also  its 
bitter  drop  for  the  cup  of  Divinity.  Phi- 
lology, Philosophy,  Logic,  even  Pure 
Mathematics,  combine  to  add  trouble. 
And  most  significant  is,  that  the  ob- 
jections from  natural  science  are 
grounded  on  the  simplest  logic,  and, 
unlike  objections  from  Metaphysics, 
bear  easy  stamps  of  truth.  Miracles, 
likewise,  we  can  no  longer  hold.  They 
have  not  only  against  them  the  prece- 
dent improbability  of  discordance  with 
well-known  laws,  but  are  oftenest  re- 
ported in  the  most  superstitious  times 
and  credulous  places ;  where  alone 
they  yet  linger.  They  disappear  in 
exact  proportion  to  the  progress  of 
civilization.  They  have  been  claimed 
as  evidence  by  the  most  degraded  sys- 
tems. No  demoniacs  live  now.  There 
are  neither  ghosts  nor  witches,  nor 
risers  from  the  dead.  New  sciences 
establish  the  whole  argument  of  Hume 
to  this  extent.  We  are  forced  back, 
in  natural  matters,  to  find  no  workings 
of  God  except  through  his  ever-pre- 
sent laws.  *  But '  demand  of  us  what- 
ever theologians  may  still  have  ex- 
pected of  i;s  as  friends,  '  where  then  is 
your  support  for  Supernatural  Reve- 
lation ;  the  Trinity  ;  and  the  Resur- 
rection, which  you  cut  from  the  end 
of  the  Gospels  ;  and  Redemption,  if 
there  be  no  free-will ;  and  the  Di- 
vinity of  Christ  ? ' 

We  see  no  support  for  them  ;  the 
proofs  are  too  clearly  against  them. 
And  not  only  can  it  be  shown  that  they 
are  mainly  illogical  among  themselves 
but  they  can  be  traced  to  their  sources 
of  mistake.  Take  one — the  Divinity 
of  Christ,  Followed  impartially  along 
the  writings  of  the  age,  it  proves  a 
descendant  of  Philo  of  Alexandria's 
theory  of  the  Word,  in  combination 


with  Christ's  earnest  appropriation  to 
Himself  of  the  Fatherhood  of  God 
calling  Himself  His  Son  as  He  wishes 
the  disciples  to  do  for  themselves.  It 
was  contributed  to  by  the  reverent 
early  traditions  regarding  Him,  and  by 
the  incorporation  of  Philo's  theory  by 
the  Jews  with  their  own  Messianic 
expectations.  Its  associate  doctrine^ 
the  Trinity,  is  but  that  which  hap- 
pened to  be  chosen  by  the  Church  out 
of  many  Gnostic  ones.  Hermas,  for 
instance,  brother  of  Pope  Pius,  in  the 
second  century,  wrote  a  book  called 
'  The  Pastor,'  long  read  for  edification 
in  the  churches.  A  parable  is  told 
in  it  concerning  a  servant  who  tilled 
the  vineyard  so  faithfully  in  the  ab- 
sence of  his  Lord  that  the  Lord  made 
him  co-heir  with  his  Son  ;  and  it  is 
explained  that  the  Son  is  the  Holy 
Ghost  who  had  existed  from  before 
the  world  with  the  Father,  while  the 
servant  is  Jesus  who  so  well  estab- 
lished the  work  of  God  on  earth  and 
so  pleased  the  Holy  Spirit  which 
descends  within  good  men  that  these 
two  had  taken  counsel  to  receive 
Him  into  their  number. 

What  are  these  dogmas  but  the 
beautiful  and  strange  conceptions  of 
imaginative  times  ?  This  conclusion 
they  press  upon  us  ;  which  again  vei'i- 
fies  itself  in  accordance  with  the  best 
requirements  of  Logic,  in  every  suc- 
ceeding deduction.  Not  that  those 
dogmas  were  puny  or  inconceivable  as 
a  system,  but  their  bases  of  fact  fall 
so  clearly  into  place  under  simple  and 
methodical  sciences. 

By  such,  and  ten  thousand  corrobo- 
rative conclusions,  gathered  not  so 
much  from  specialist  arguments  as 
from  a  genei-al  search  for  facts,  we 
have  had  borne  home  to  us  the  con- 
viction that  something  ivas  lorong  loith 
theology  ;  and  the  majority  have  been 
tempted  to  consider  Christianity  itself 
a  fabric  of  misconceptions. 

But  are  not  a  few  facts  obvious  on 
the  other  side  1  Amidst  all  the  mis- 
conceptions innumerable  would  a  sin- 
gle one  bear   the    construction   that 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


527 


Christianity  is  wilfully  false  ?  The 
answer  even  of  enemies  has  been  given 
in  the  universal  rejection  of  the  Re- 
surrection Theory  of  Fraud.  Of  like 
fate  is  Kenan's  suggestion  that  Jesus 
was  compelled  by  expediency  to  ac- 
cept reputation  as  a  miracle- worker. 

1.  Then  those  misconceptions  have 
been  mistakes  and  not  falsehoods. 
Much  myth  there  is  in  the  Gospels 
and  in  Genesis  and  other  books,  but 
myth  is  not  a  lie.  It  is  but  naturally 
distorted  truth,  subject  to  laws  of 
distortion  (like  the  laws  of  reflection 
of  light)  which  are  beginning  to  be 
discovered,  and  the  patient  study  of 
which  will  gradually  recover  the  en- 
tire truth. 

2.  In  the  meantime  has  myth  so 
hopelessly  disturbed  the  Bible  that 
its  general  contents,  even  now,  mis- 
lead any  reader  slightly  instructed  in 
the  nature  of  such  influences?  Are 
not  such  influences  even  absent  from 
the  greater  part  1  Cannot  a  common- 
sense  man  so  instructed  acquire  a  coi-- 
rect  idea  of  the  life  of  Christ,  His  say- 
ings, difiiculties,  sorrows,  work  and 
death  with  much  more  ease  than  he 
3an  of  the  great  propositions  of  Natu- 
ral Science? 

The  Bible,  then,  is,  on  the  whole, 
a  book  not  difficult  to  understand. 
Even  commentators  on  it  would  re- 
quire to  spend  more  labour  on  the 
study  of  those  sciences  which  throw 
light  upon  it  than  they  have  spent 
over  the  riddles  of  Divinity.  It  is 
this  portion  which  the  Germans  have 
well  begun  :  but  Knglish  attempts  are 
on  the  more  important  track  in  seek- 
ing a  way  not  so  much  to  exhibit  the 
lore  as  to  preserve  the  life. 

3.  But  now,  though  straightfor- 
ward (1)  and  simple  to  comprehend 
(2),  does  it  contain  matter  worth 
while  1  Yes.  It  contains  the  only 
possible  future  religion.  And  great 
men  of  this  latter  age  who  have  stu- 
died history  and  human  needs  have 
affirmed  or  admitted — according  to 
their  other  views — that  mankind  can- 
not attain   to  goodness  without  reli- 


gion (esp.  Froude,  *  Essays  on  Science 
and  Theology,).  The  proofs  of  this 
proposition  have  been  so  often  lately 
set  forth  that  it  requires  but  mention. 
It  is,  therefore,  just  as  necessary  to 
retain  the  Bible  as  we  found  it  rea- 
sonable to  alter  theology. 

Upon  the  whole  question  the  out- 
line of  solution  is  this  :  1.  That  right- 
eousness is  indispensable.  2.  That  the 
mass  of  men  cannot  attain  to  righteous- 
ness loithout  a  religion.  3.  That  they 
cannot  reach  it  by  means  of  a  philo- 
sophy. 4.  Nor  by  means  of  a  mixture 
of  religious  systems.  5.  But  only  by 
some  single  system.  6.  That  among 
religions  the  best  imperatively  excludes 
the  others.  7.  That  only  a  true  system 
can  be  entertained.  8.  And  that  to  b 
permanent  it  must  be  expressive  of  the 
highest  truths. 

Christianity  I  believe  to  possess 
the  common-sense  advantage  of  ful- 
filling these  conditions.  I  believe  it 
to  be  the  best  of  systems — a  superior- 
ity given  it  by  evolution  through  na- 
tural causes,  with  God  working  by 
means  of  them,  and  with  the  usual 
wonderful  results  of  high  evolution. 
And  I  believe  it  by  its  fundamental 
preference  of  the  spirit  to  the  letter, 
to  be  expressive  of  the  entire  gist  and 
possible  extent  of  truth.  And  I  be- 
lieve its  great  special  doctrines  to  be 
true. 

The  creed  may  be  clearer  on  consi- 
deration of  two  questions  :  I.  What 
is  a  religion  ?  II.  What  reasons  ex- 
ist for  holding  Christianity  to  be  trvie 

I.  A  religion  is  a  system  of  means 
found  capable  in  pi-actice  of  bringing 
men  to  righteousness.  And  righteous- 
ness is  conduct  directed  to  secure  the 
greatest  harmony  of  all  conscious  na- 
tures with  all  things,  'i'hose  to  whom 
the  most  important  of  '  all  things'  is 
Deity,  genei-ally  define  a  religion  'a 
worship  of  Deity'  in  some  form.  Ethics 
is  the  theoretic  science  of  right- 
eousness. Religion  and  law — to  use 
the  latter  for  illustration  of  the  tirst — 
have  the  relation  to  ethics  of  practical 
sciences,   engaged    with  the    efficient 


128 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


means  of  righteousness.  Law  is  tlie 
abstract  science  of  external  means. 
Religion  of  internal.  The  former  re- 
gards the  outward  act,  and  is  incapa- 
ble of  arriving  at  pure  righteousness, 
which  depends  upon  intention  ;  but 
religion  dealing  principally  with  inten- 
tion itself,  is  capable  of  accomplishing 
essential  righteousness.  Each  of  them 
has  for  subject-matter  many  (concrete) 
systems — codes  and  religions — in  dif- 
ferent stages  of  improvement,  from 
Papuan  tahu  to  Roman  jurisprudence, 
from  Shinto  to  Christianity. 

What  is  a  practical  science  1  What 
is    the   distinction    between   practioe 
and  theory.     The  former   consists  of 
conduct  adapted  simply  to  things  and 
events  as  they  actually  occur.     It  fol- 
lows the  maze  of  life  and  nature — 
'  the  subtilty  of  things* — without  at- 
tempt at  analysis.     The  one  require- 
ment of  a  practical  rule  is,  not  that  it 
shall   be  the  expression    of  a  casual 
law,  nor  be  couched  in  terms  of  pre- 
cision, nor  bear  any  relation  to  scien- 
tific system — but    only   that    it    will 
work — not  that  its  Deduction  shall  be 
clear,  but  that  its  Verification  shall,  to 
use  the  terms  of  Mill.     The  one  re- 
quirement of  a  practical  observation 
is,  that  it  prove   true  when  required. 
I  may   hold   whatever  view  I  please 
concerning  free-will ;    may    consider 
myself  a  sheer  automaton  moved  by 
physical  forces,  but  in  pi^actice  I  must 
recognize  that  I  can  withhold   myself 
with  perfect  ease   from  knocking  my 
knuckles  on  the  door,  and  I  have  con- 
sequently a  practical  free-will.     And 
so  about    every  such    question.     We 
have  one  safe  end  of  it  if  we  know  it 
in  practice.     Apply  this  to  some  ideas 
on  religion.     The  way  to  lead  men  to 
goodness,  say  some,  is  to  instruct  them 
in   morality,   purity,    truth  ;  but   the 
worship    of     Buddha's       Tooth    has 
proved  as  fruitful.   Every  ethical  phi- 
losoph)^  again,  but  in  greater  degree 
if  its  ethics  are  true,  has    a  I'eligion 
deeply  bound  with   it,   the  mere  con- 
templation  of   good  ideas   producing 
some  warmth  of  desire  in    the  mind 


which  acts  as  a  means  of  righteousness. 
These  ideas,  however,  being  abstract, 
are  difficult  to  conceive  without  study 
and  attention,  and  are  always  less 
vivid  than  oljjects  from  ilife  (see  Ba- 
con on  'Art  of  Memory,'  Advt.  of  Lg. ). 
Being  consequently  not  fitted  to  the 
conditions  of  mankind  in  its  varied 
characters,  classes,  occupations  and 
historical  ups-and-downs,  ethical  phi- 
losophies are  valueless  as  universal 
religions — (hence  icvong  as  religions, 
for  he  who  chooses  his  cult  should  do 
so  keeping  in  view  its  influence  on  all 
men).  This  is  why  even  Stoicism 
failed  at  Rome,  and  early  Taoism  in 
China,  and  why  Confucianism  there 
has  lost  the  lower  ranks. 

With  mixtures  of  systems,  like  the 
Brahmo  Somaj,  the  difficulty  is  partly 
the  same,  but  partly  also  that  they 
lose  the  force  of  concentration.  To 
dilute  force  is  to  lose  means  and  efface 
claim  to  rank  as  a  religion. 

Practice  has  been  the  test,  and 
moulder  of  Christianity  being  the  form 
of  Natural  Selection  with  which  Evolu- 
tion has  acted  upon  religions.  Hun- 
dreds were  the  systems  of  superstition^ 
philosophy  and  religion  proper,  from 
which  Christianity  emerged  the  chosen 
— the  complex  result  of  many  cen- 
turies fulfilling  in  its  assemblage  of 
superiorities,  the  ultimate  conditions. 
Contemplate  its  maehina  of  peculiar 
methods,  emotions,  and  appeals  to  a 
grand  example,  of  which  Christ  is  the 
soul  and  chief — that  intensely  attract- 
ing figure,  burnt  into  history  —  the 
greatest  human  genius  devoted  to  the 
noblest  human  object,  born  in  the 
most  fitting  age,  living  a  pure  and 
strikingly  eventful  life,  teaching  sub- 
lime and  piercing  truths,  and  dying  for 
principles  out  of  love  to  God  his  Fa- 
ther and  to  men.  Ever  since  the  ages 
have  bern  rolling  up  for  his  religion 
another  force — a  vast  prestige.  His 
way  is  the  best  way — for  most  men 
the  only.  It  asks  but  an  unprejudiced 
trial  for  even  the  contemptixous  mora- 
list to  find  his  correct  life  quickened 
in  a  degree  he  will  not  deny.   As  well 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


529 


may  one  invent  another  Man  as  ano- 
ther Christianity, 

But  what  if,  while  effectual,  its 
means  and  dogmas  be  false  ?  Are,  for 
instance,  the  ethics  of  Christ  in  accord- 
ance with  the  ethics  of  fact  1  Has  not 
Kant  shown  right  and  wrong  to  be 
intuitions  of  the  reason  ?  Or  Hume, 
Sidgwick  and  Spencer,  that  they  are 
I  based  upon  pleasure  and  pain  1  And 
'■  from  one  of  these  principles  must  not 
each  thinker  start,  who  wishes  to  ar- 
rive at  the  rest  ? 

Not  necessarily.  For  whatever  right 
or  wrong  be,  we  feel  and  see  them  for 
the  most  part  easily  enough  in  prac- 
tice. The  great  thing  in  studies  of  our 
nature  is  the  proper  interpretation  of 
it.  For  this  delicate  questioning  some 
men  ai-e  fitter  than  others — geniuses, 
•ever  true.  And  that  Christ  was  such, 
we  have  verifications  in  the  way  his 
words  interpret  to  oiir  natures  what 
we  had  not  noticed  was  their  voice. 
Upon  this  study  he  turned  intense 
illumination  of  great  powers,  reach- 
ing results  corroborated  even  by  the 
clumsier  independent  solutions  of 
Buddha  and  Confucius — men  far  less 
great  than  he.  1  recognize  in  him  a 
delicate  instinct,  which,  notwithstand- 
ing recent  discussions,  will,  I  think,  be 
proved  in  eveiy  case  correct  as  to  its 
decisions  on  righteousness. 

God  and  Immortality  are  the  other 
two  dogmas,  of  which  we  should  like  to 
feel  quite  sure.  Of  them,  too,  natural 
theology  must  consolidate  the  proofs 
from  science  and  history.  But  I  hold 
that  their  most  important  testimony  is 
that  of  Christ  himself,  and  the  vigor- 
ous successions  of  geniuses,  who  spent 
their  powers  in  examining,  discovering 
and  improving  their  practical  forms, 
and  handed  them  down  to  the  Artist, 
a  celestial  legacy.  The  right  they  have 
to  authority  here  depends  partly  on 
the  nature  of  the  questions  (whose  dif- 
ficulty consists  in  his  co-ordination  of 
deductions,  rather  than  in  the  neces- 
sity of  many  inductive  examples), 
and  partly  on  the  general  character  of 
genius.     Logicians,  dazzled  by  the  su- 


periority and  ease  of  regular  induc- 
tion within  its  proper  sphere,  have 
overlooked  the  value  of  other  descrip- 
tions of  investigation.  Regular  induc- 
tion has  only  been  subduing  the  fields 
of  knowledge  into  sciences  (/.e.  demon- 
strating their  causal  laws)  by  degrees. 
While  sciences  have  been  taking  shape, 
there  ran  ahead  into  tracts  yet  unsub- 
dued an  instrument  more  fit  to  cope 
with  chaotic  states,  namely  Genius, 
the  precursor  of  Science,  which  for 
many  fields  makes  a  very  good  instru- 
ment indeed,  but,  in  this  case,  crown- 
ing a  consensus  of  metaphysical  and 
historical  reasonings,  possesses  convin- 
cing value.  It  is  to  such  questions  the 
same  solvent  as  the  common-sense  of 
ordinary  men  to  ordinary  situations 
of  life.  Genius  is,  in  fact,  but  exalted 
common-sense,  which  again  is  but  ano- 
ther term  for  good  judgment.  The 
greater  the  genius,  the  more  trust- 
worthy the  solvent.  Christ's  achieve- 
ments in  ethics  prove  his  genius  great, 
under  circumstances  which  permit  us 
to  test  it. 

The  Hebrew  method  of  investiga- 
tion was  the  natural  method  of 
Genius.  It  has  been  universally  de- 
preciated and  misunderstood,  but 
happened,  in  this  case,  to  possess  the 
conditions  of  a  useful  logical  plan.  It 
did  not  much  occupy  itself,  like  Greek 
reasoning,  with  propositions  and  words, 
but  rather  carried  in  the  mind  those 
pictures  and  impressions  of  things 
themselves  which  lie  at  the  back  of 
all  the  formulas  and  signs  of  speech — 
by  which  logicians  indeed  correct  their 
ideas.  The  great  minds  of  Israel  so 
equip{)ed  went  up  and  down  the  uni- 
verse of  facts,  asking  of  doctrines  and 
assertions  the  simple  questions,  '  Is 
this  true  %  Is  that  true  ? '  and  closely 
comparing  the  essential  alleged  facts 
with  the  facts  pictured  by  memory  in 
the  mind.  There  were  difficulties  cer- 
tainly. The  labyrinth  of  words  was 
exchanged  for  the  laybrinth  of  things. 
A  strict  national  habit  of  truth  was  the 
necessary  atmosphere,  and  imagination 
is  difficult  to  restrain.     Furthermore, 


530 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


where  decisions  were  made  regardless 
of  fixed  terms,  it  was  difficult,  lacking 
the  latter, todemonstrate  the  decisions. 
Finally,  it  needed  a  strong  mind  to 
think  without  tlie  aid  of  syllogistic 
rules  and  the  registering  facilities 
which  a  system  of  propositions  afford. 
But  these  have  been  found  so  treachei-- 
ous  in  complicated  questions  that  syl- 
logism and  deduction  have  been  made 
the  object  of  the  greatest  outcries  in 
science.  Bacon's  revolt  against  them 
made  our  civilization.  Locke  exalted 
over  them  external  and  internal  expe- 
rience— induction  and  common  sense. 
The  later  history  of  logic  is  chiefly  that 
of  defining  their  exact  place.  Ueber- 
weg  and  Mill  conclude  that  our  ulti- 
mate test  of  the  truth  of  a  proposition  i 
is  its  agreement  with  the  truth  of 
things.  Where  syllogistic  method, 
however,  most  conspicuously  fails  is  in 
great  and  complex  questions  in  which 
there  are  processes  of  co-ordination — 
of  reasoning  at  the  same  moment  on 
many  interweaving  lines  of  thought. 
Here  the  method  of  Genius,  if  in  pro- 
portion to  the  strength,  delicacy,  and 
accustomedness  of  the  mind,  suppos- 
ing it  to  have  all  necessary  matejial, 
has  greatly  the  advantage.  In  the 
hands  of  one  like  Christ,  it  practically 
amounts  to  Keason  rejecting  the 
shackles  of  logical  form,  and  making 
straight  at  conclusions  which  experi- 
ence subconsciously  endorses.  To  rea- 
son about  the  world  and  the  soul,  and 
their  Creator,  he  had  not  to  know  and 
track  out  all  the  theories  which  could 
be  made  into  words  on  those  subjects, 
but  rose  to  lofty  perceptions  of  the 
divine,  just  as  he  did  of  righteousness 
— by  diligently  pondering  the  world 
of  actualities,  and  with  extraordinary 
clearness  of  sight  and  good  judgment 
refusing  whatever  was  false  to  them. 
When  the  grounds  of  faith  are 
rightly  analyzed  it  will,  I  think,  be 


discovered  that  Christianity  has  a  firm, 
dogmatic  base,  as  well  as  practical  effi- 
ciency. The  method  of  Genius  should 
govern  till  the  method  of  Science  has 
completely  subdued  the  field.  Effi- 
ciency and  reasonableness  constitute 
for  it  a  solid  assurance  of  permanence. 
To  the  man  who  believes  on  and  trusts- 
in  God,  its  claims  of  doctrine  and  plan 
are  plain  and  easy.  And  for  the  truth 
about  God,  he  is  logical  in  trusting 
Christ. 

Two  rules  of  practice  also  must  Con- 
servatism teach  :  To  reverently  trust 
the  old  thinkers,  at  least  till  we  under- 
stand their  subjects;  and  never  to  reject 
a  belief  till  it  has  completely  fulfilled 
the  conditions  of  disbelief.  And  a  fur- 
ther lesson  is,  that  having  once,  by 
wide  and  careful  independent  study, 
or  by  deliberate  choice  of  leaders,  rea- 
soned out  our  faith,  we  should  drop 
that  chilling  attitude  and  live  what 
God  has  taught  us.  Very  little  of 
Christianity,  except  the  form  of  its  sci- 
ence, is  destined  to  change.  Instead  of 
theorizing  we  must,  as  Christ  did, 
realize.  Deduction  must  give  way  to 
a  new  inspection  of  facts.  Instead  of 
Direct  Inspiration  and  the  Divinity  of 
Christ,  we  must  attain  to  the  ancient 
truths  they  used  to  mean — the  convic- 
tions, namely,  that  all  good  things  are 
more  nearly  the  final  purpose  of  God  ; 
and  that  a  man  like  Christ  is  a  being 
infinitely  higher  than  the  average  man. 
In  place  of  the  Holy  Ghost  we  should 
feel  the  communing  presence  of  our 
Father  Himself.  Redemption  will  be 
no  longer  a  bai-gain  with  Jehovah,  but 
the  willing  sacrifice  of  Jesus  for  each, 
when  he  chose  anguish  and  aoath 
rather  than  desert  the  truth  which  he 
believed  would  save  the  world.  Of 
God,  our  ideas  must  be  practical  and 
not  analytical — Avhat  He  is  to  our 
helplessness — to  each  Our  Father  in 
Heaven. 


^^ 53B 


TO  . , 

BY  L.  L.,  MONTREAL. 


I  WISH  that  thou  wouldst  die, 
But  with  thy  parting  sigh, 
I  would  have  thee  confess 
Thou  lovest  me. 

That  with  thy  crushed  right  hand, 
As  I  beside  thee  stand. 
Thou  wouldst  my  fingers  press 
"\yith  tenderness. 

That  when  thy  soul  has  fled, 
And  mortals  call  thee  dead, 
I  o'er  thy  face  might  bend 
And  kiss  thy  lips. 

The  memory  of  past  joy. 
Perfect,  without  alloy. 
Our  throbbing  frames  may  rend 
With  cries  and  sobs. 

But  deeper  far  the  grief 
Which  only  finds  relief 
In  cursing  present  things, 
And  life  itself. 

To  see  thee  walk  alone, 
To  hear  thy  passing  groan 
Which  in  my  spirit  rings, 
W^hat  agony  ! 

To  feel  the  'witching  charm 
Of  thy  encircling  arm. 
Which  twines  itself  by  chance 
Around  mine  own. 

To  look  into  thine  eyes, 
Which  mirror  stormy  skies. 
And  tremble  neath  their  gaze, 
What  happiness  ! 

Yes  I  have  felt  all  these, 
Have  known  the  evening  breeze 
To  bear  upon  its  wings 
Thy  spoken  words. 


;532  (^^1^  ENGLISH  CRITICS. 

But  yet  I  cannot  say 
(Although  each  day  I  pray) 
If  these  strange,  trivial  things 
Are  aught  to  thee. 

And  I  live  on  in  fear, 
Dreading  the  world's  cold  jeer, 
Dreading  its  chilling  smile 
If  it  knew  all. 

I  cannot  ask  of  thee 
If  thou  my  friend  wilt  be, 
For  thou  might'st  sneer  the  whiU 
And  kill  all  hope. 

To  know  that  thou  wert  dead, 
Ijying  in  narrow  bed 
Within  the  cold,  dull  ground, 
Would  be  sharp  pain. 

But  better  far  this  pain, 
(We  both  might  meet  again) 
Though  on  thy  lowly  mound 
My  tears  should  fall ; 

Sure  of  thy  lasting  love. 
Which  then  would  live  above, 
I  could  work  on  and  strive, 
Though  sorrowing  ; 

Than  that  in  doubt  and  grief. 
Crushed  like  some  withered  leaf, 
Sorrow  my  soul  should  drive 
To  war  with  life. 


OUR  ENGLISH  CRITICS. 

BY    THOMAS    CROSS,    OTTAWA 


THE    statesmen    of   Canada   have 
for  many   years   devoted   their 
best  energies  to  the  consolidation  and 


as  in  political  constitution.  In  this 
they  have,  to  all  appearance,  the  hearty 
concurrence  of  the  Canadian  people. 


development  of  the  Dominion,  and  to    j    while  their  efforts  are  watched  with 


the  establishment,  on  the  half  of  the 
American  continent  over  which  they 
rule,  of  a  strong  and  united  people, 
English  in  thought  and  feeling  as  well 


interest,  and  not  without  generous 
expressions,  by  the  great  people  over 
the  border.  Why,  then,  should  Can- 
ada everlastingly  be  made  the  subject 


OUR  ENGLISH  CRITICS. 


53^ 


of  sneers  and  detraction,  generally 
grossly  untrue,  by  her  own  kith  and 
kin,  Englishmen  born  and  bred?  Why, 
of  all  things,  should  she  be  charged 
with  a  desire  to  be  annexed  to  the 
United  States  1 

It  is  stated  by  the  Pall  Mall  GazeMe 
(10th  October)  that  hardly  anybody 
in  Canada  wants  to  maintain  the  Bri- 
tish connection,  but  a  small  knot  of 
professional  politicians  and  others  who 
have  a  fancy  for  knighthoods  and  the 
like.  That  Canadian  farmers  and 
merchants  feel  '  isolated  '  on  this  con- 
tinent. That  England  is  quite  mis- 
taken in  supposing  that  the  Canadian 
people  in  general  care  to  remain  under 
her  flag,  and  that  the  feeling  in  favour 
of  annexation  is  every  day  growing 
stronger. 

If  this  be  so,  how  is  it  that  we  who 
live  in  Canada  hear  so  little  of  it? 
Why  does  no  Canadian  public  man, 
no  Canadian  public  print,  give  voice 
to  the  desires  of  the  people?  Who 
has  heard  of  these  desires,  how  have 
they  been  expressed,  and  what  author- 
ity has  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette  for  mak- 
ing such  a  charge  % 

The  matter  being  thus  forced  upon 
us  in  such  a  strange  and  unnatural 
way  by  Englishmen,  it  behoves  us  to 
consider  what  we  should  gain  by  an- 
nexation, and  what  we  should  lose. 
We  might  gain  by  the  application  to 
our  resources  of  that  enterprize,  and 
adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  which  so 
eminently  distinguish  our  neighbours  ; 
but  we  may  take  a  leaf  out  of  their 
book  in  these  ways  without  annexa- 
tion. What  we  should  lose  is  plain. 
The  first  result  would  be  an  Indian 
war  in  our  North- West,  with  its  fifty 
years  of  horrors  and  atrocities,  and 
its  efiects  for  generations  to  come  on 
our  people's  character  in  the  forms  of 
falsehood,  truculence  and  cruelty,  and 
disregard  of  human  life  and  sufiering. 
Then  we  should  exchange  our  present 
admirable  political  machinery,  wich 
its  responsible  ministry,  for  an  execu- 
tive utterly  irresponsible,  and  our 
present    equitable   administration   of 


justice,  sound  public  opinion,  and  com- 
parative safety  of  life  and  person,  for 
the  state  of  things  with  which  the 
American  press  keeps  us  familiar.  As 
to  our  feeling  '  isolated  '  on  this  con- 
tinent, have  we  not  half  the  continent 
to  ourselves,  ample  railway  accommo- 
dation, seaports,  and  a  mercantile 
marine  ranking  the  fourth  in  the 
world  %  We  are  no  more  isolated 
than  the  Americans  or  anybody  else. 

The  Ga:idte  tliinks  that  because  one 
tortuous  stream,  the  Red  River  of  the 
north,  compared  with  whose  course  a 
writhing  snake  is  a  mathematical 
straight  line,  runs  from  American  ter- 
ritory into  Manitoba,  the  produce  of 
Minnesota  and  Dakota  should  '  follow 
the  water  power. '  Said  produce  thinks 
otherwise  and  goes  just  the  other  way. 
No  produce  meant  to  pay  interest 
on  capital  will  ever  go  meandering 
through  the  bends  of  the  Red  River. 
But  this  is  about  as  sensible  as  the 
rest  of  the  Gazette's  talk  about  Canada, 
and  is  a  specimen  of  the  average  ac- 
quaintance possessed  by  Englishmen 
with  the  geography  of  their  '  premier 
colony.' 

Oar  independent  yeomen  are  as  de- 
mocratic as  the  most  radical  of  men 
could  wish,  democratic  enough  to 
know  that  the  institutions  under  which 
they  live  and  thrive  could  not  well  be 
made  more  democratic  than  they  are, 
and  sensible  enough  to  prefer  a  demo- 
cracy which  has  *  broadened  slowly 
down  from  precedent  to  precedent,'  to 
a  crude  and  cobbled  democracy,  whose 
imperfections  show  themselves  every 
day,  and  under  which  people's  liberties 
are  interfered  with,  in  ways  no  English- 
man would  submit  to  in  his  own  is- 
land, and  certainly  no  Canadian  in  his 
own  Canada. 

It  is  an  open  question,  whether  we 
should  get  on  faster,  even  in  a  mate- 
rial way,  under  the  stars  and  stripes, 
than  we  do  now.  Since  Confederation, 
fourteen  years  ago,  our  imports  have 
increased  82  per  cent,  and  our  exports 
107  per  cent.,  against  52  per  cent,  and 
51  per  cent.,  in  the  case  of  those  of 


;34. 


OUR  ENGLISH  CRITICS. 


the  United  States.  The  capital  of  our 
banks  has  increased  97  per  cent.,  their 
circulation  225  per  cent.,  their  assets 
179  per  cent.  The  deposits  in  Savings 
Banks  have  increased  1015  per  cent., 
and  the  Railway  mileage  250  per  cent. 
^Ye  are  doing  pretty  well  as  we  are. 

But  it  takes  two  to  make  a  bargain, 
and,  in  the  present  case,  it  would  take 
three.  Supposing  we  wanted  annex- 
ation, would  England  calmly  resign 
her  control  of  half  the  Amerian  con- 
tinent, with  its  vast  possibilities  of 
usefulness  to  herself  ?  Her  two  vital 
Necessities  are  food  and  markets,  Ame- 
rica and  Russia  give  her  the  former  ; 
but  they  try  all  they  can  not  to  give 
her  the  latter.  Now,  every  man  in 
€anada  consumes  many  times  as  much 
of  British  manufactures  (a  late  writer 
in  the  Nineteenth  Cenhiry  says,  twenty 
times  as  much)  as  he  would  if  he  lived 
in  the  States.  So  if  Canada,  as  no 
doubt  she  soon  will,  proves  able  to 
supply  England  with  food,  England 
can  pay  for  that  food  with  her  manu- 
factures, and  keep  her  people  em- 
ployed and  comfortable,  instead  of 
paying  Russia  and  America  largely  by 
transfer  of  securities,  and  at  the  same 
time  keeping  her  people  half  their 
time  unemployed  and  uncomfortable. 
As  compared  with  foreign  mai'kets, 
the  colonial  demand  is  steady,  and  at 
the  same  time  it  increases  at  a  far 
faster  rate.  And  there  is  another 
consideration.  Will  England  allow 
the  four  millions  of  Canada,  and  all 
her  other  subjects,  who  may  cross  the 
Atlantic,  to  follow  the  millions  al- 
ready in  the  Republic,  who  have  sworn 
to  fight  the  Republic's  battles  against 
all  princes  and  rulers,  '  especially  the 
Queen  of  England  ?  '  Should  Canada 
ever  make  any  serious  attempt  at  en- 
tering upon  Commercial  Union  with  the 
States,  to  the  exclusion  of  England,  I 
fancy  she  will  find  the  present  silken 
rein  exchanged  for  something  more 
like  a  curb  of  steel ;  that  is,  if  Eng- 
land is  mindful  either  of  her  interests 
or  her  hdnoui-. 

I  can  onlv  account  for  the  English 


notion  that  Canada  wants  annexation, 
by  supposing  that  Englishmen  feel 
that  their  snubs,  insults  and  neglect 
ought,  by  this  time,  to  have  thoroughly 
destroyed  all  attachment  on  the  part 
of  Canadians  to  the  British  connection. 
English  opinion  has  been  too  much  in- 
fluenced by  the  reports  of  gentlemen, 
who,  at  a  loss  to  dispose  of  their  daily 
twenty-four  hours  of  elegant  leisure 
in  Canada,  have  gone  home  and  pro- 
nounced her  '  no  country  for  a  gentle- 
man.' What  are  rich  plains  and  forests, 
endless  waterways,  mountains  of  iron, 
and  continents  of  coalfields  1  In  one 
province,  a  farmer  shot  a  fox,  when 
English  gentlemen,  even  guardsmen, 
were  scampering  after  him.  In  ano- 
ther province,  the  salmon  won't  take 
the  fly.  Why  keep  such  a  country  1 
What  can  a  gentleman  do  in  it,  you 
know  1  And  so  territory  after  terri- 
tory has  been  handed  over  to  the  Re- 
public, to  confront  us  in  these  days  in 
the  shape  of  mighty  and  rival  States, 
But  now  English  statesmen,  manufac- 
turers, farmers  and  labourers,  are 
looking  abroad,  thinking  of  other 
things  than  salmon  and  foxes,  and 
seeking,  not  a  country  for  a  gentle- 
man, but  for  a  man, 

Mr,  Gold  win  Smith  has  recently, 
in  the  English  journals,  had  a  good 
deal  to  say  about  Canada,  and  the 
railway  policy  of  her  Government, 
For  instance,  in  a  late  number  of 
the  Contemporary,  he  asks  us  to  be- 
lieve that  the  Intercolonial  Railway 
can  only  be  run  at  an  annual  loss 
of  half  a  million  dollars.  When  Mr. 
Smith  wrote,  there  were  figures  at  his 
command,  showing  the  loss  on  run- 
ning this  line  for  the  last  yeai",  whose 
returns  were  then  })ublished,to  be  only 
197,000,  not  $500,000,  and  this  loss 
was  converted  into  a  small  profit  in 
the  following  year.  Thus  do  people 
dress  up  facts  which,  naked  and  not 
ashamed,  would  spoil  points  they  want 
to  make,  '  The  Intercolonial  and 
Pacific  Railways,'  says  Mr,  Smith, 
'  ought  not  to  be  built,  because  parts 
of  them  go  through  unproductive  re- 


IN  EXILE. 


gions.'  It  would  be  hard  to  build  a 
line  one  or  two  thousand  miles  long 
anywhere  whose  whole  course  should 
lie  in  smiling  plains.  It  now  turns  out 
that  one  portion  of  the  Pacific  Rail- 
way censured  by  INIr.  Smith  traverses 
one  of  the  richest  timber  countries  in 
the  world,  as  well  as  a  vast  mineral 
region,  neither  timber  nor  minerals 
being  available  without  the  railway. 
Any  way,  so  long  as  the  shrewd  capi- 
talists who  have  undertaken  the  work 
have  no  misgivings,  Mr.  Smith  may 
surely  have  none.  But  whether  these 
roads  pay  to  begin  with  or  not, 
they  are  virtually  necessary  to  our 
progress.  In  his  desire  to  estab 
lish  the  impossibility  of  a  united  Can- 
ada, Mr.  Smith  represents  our  large 
and  powerful  Fi-ench  element  as  look- 
ing toward  France  in  quest  of  some 
alliance  as  to  the  nature  of  which  v/e 
are  not  informed.  Nay,  he  has  stated 
boldly,  in  print,  that  *  Algeria  is  no- 
thing but  a  garrison ;  Quebec  is  the  only 
■colony  of  France.^  (The  italics  are 
mine).  The  French  Canadians  are  not 
so  unnatural  as  not  to  cherish  the 
warmest  feelings  for  the  land  of  their 
ancestors,  but  their  affection  is  rather 
for  the  golden  lilies  than  for  the  tri- 
color. The  traditions,  the  romance, 
the  poetry,  and,  above  all,  the  old  re- 
ligion of  the  old  land,  are  all  entwined 


535 

i-ound  monarchy.  If  the  writer  in  ques- 
tion would  use  that  knowledge  of 
French,  which  forms  part  of  his  attain- 
ments, in  general  conversation  with 
French  Canadians,  he  would  hear  ex- 
pressions anything  but  complimentary 
to  the  rulers  and  the  politics  of  France, 
and  he  would  find  that  tradition  and 
sentiment  are  not  the  only  reasons  for 
which  French  Canadians  regard  fear  of 
God  and  honour  of  the  King  as  natu- 
ral allies.  The  constitutional  monarchy 
under  which  the  French  Canadians 
have  thriven  so  well  seems  quite  to 
their  taste.  Any  change,  moreover, 
which  would  threaten  the  influence  of 
the  Church  of  their  ancestors,  would 
find  but  poor  welcome  among  them. 

The  friendship  between  the  great 
English-speaking  peoples  must  be 
viewed  with  pleasure  by  all  good  men  ; 
and  Canadians,  of  all  people,  are  in- 
tei-ested  in  its  maintenance.  But  we 
have  no  present  reason  for  desiring  a 
change  in  our  political  conditions.  If 
four  millions  of  freemen  really  want 
anything,  what  they  want  will  not  re- 
main long  in  doubt ;  and  if  our  free 
and  manly  yeomen,  our  keen  men  of 
business,  and  all  other  Canadians  who 
care  nothing  for  knighthoods  and  the 
like,  want  annexation,  what  powerful 
magic  ties  their  tongues  ? 


IN  EXILE. 


THE  singing  streams  and  deep,  dark 
wood 
Beloved  of  old  by  Robin  Hood, 

Lift  me  a  voice,  kiss  me  a  hand, 
To'call  me  from  this  younger  land. 

What  time,  by  dull  Floridian  lakes. 
What  time,  by  rivers  fringed  with  brakes, 

I  blow  the  reed  and  draw  the  bow. 
And  see  my  arrows  hurtling  go 


Well  sent  to  deer  or  wary  hare. 

Or  wild-fowl  whistling  down  the  air  ; — 

What  time  I  lie  in  shady  spots 
On  beds  of  wild  forget-me-nots. 

That  fringe  the  fen-lands  insincere 
And  boggy  marges  of  the  mere. 

Whereon  I  see  the  heron  stand. 
Knee-deep  in  sable  slush  of  sand, — 

I  think  how  sweet  if  friends  should  come 
And  tell  me  England  calls  me  home. 


)3G 


IN  EXILE. 


I  keep  good  heart  and  bide  my  time 
And  blow  tlie  bubbles  of  my  rhyme  ; 

I  wait  and  watch,  for  soon  I  know 
In  Sherwood  merry  horns  shall  blow, 

And  blow,  and  blow,  and  folk  shall  come 
To  tell  me  England  calls  me  home. 

Mother  of  archers,  then  I  go 
Wind-blown  to  you  with  bended  bow. 

To  stand  close  up  by  you,  and  ask 
That  it  be  my  appointed  task 

To  sing  in  leal  and  loyal  lays 

Your  matchless  archers'  meed  of  praise, 

And  that  unchallenged  1  may  go 
Through  your  green  woods  with  bended 
bow — 

Your  woods  where  bowered  and  hidden 

stood 
Of  old  the  home  of  Robin  Hood. 

Ah,  this  were  sweet,  and  it  will  come 
When  merry  England  calls  me  home  ! 


Perchance,  long  hence,  it  may  befall. 
Or  soon,  mayhap,  or  not  at  all, 

That  all  my  songs  nowhither  sent, 
And  all  my  shafts  at  random  spent, 

Will  find  their  way  to  those  who  love 
The  simple  truth  and  force  thereof. 

Wherefore  my  name  shall  then  be  rung 
Across  the  land  from  tongue  to  tongue, 

Till  some  who  hear  shall  haste  to  come 
With  news  that  England  calls  me  home. 


I  walk  where  spiced  winds  raff  the  blades 
Of  sedge-grass  on  the  summer  glades  ; 

Through  purfl^d  braids  that  fringe  the 

mere, 
I  watch  the  timid  tawny  deer 

Set  its  quick  feet  and  quake  and  spring, 
As  if  it  heard  some  deadly  thing, 


When  but  a  brown  snipe  flutters  by 
With  rustling  wing  and  piping  cry'; 

I  stand  in  some  dim  place  at  dawn, 
And  see  across  a  forest  lawn 

The  tall  wild  turkeys  swiftly  pass, 
Light-footed,  through  the  dewy  grass. 

I  shout  and  wind  my  horn,  and  go 
The  whole  morn  through  with  bended 
bow, 

Then  on  my  rest  I  feel  at  noon 
Sown  pulvil  of  the  blooms  of  June  ; 

I  live  and  keep  no  count  of  time, 
I  blow  the  bubbles  of  my  rhyme  ; 

These  are  my  joys  till  friends  shall  come 
And  tell  me  England  calls  me  home. 


The  self-yew  bow  was  England's  boast ;; 
She  leaned  upon  her  archer  host, — 

It  was  her  very  life-support 
At  Crdcy  and  at  Agincourt, 

At  Flodden  and  at  Halidon  Hill, 
And  fields  of  glory  redder  still ! 

O  bows  that  rang  at  Neville's  Cross  ! 
O  yeomanry  of  Solway  Moss  ! 

These  were  your  victories,  for  by  you 
Breast  -  plate   and   shield   were    cloven- 
through. 

And  mailed  knights,  at  every  joint 
Sore  wounded  by  an  arrow-point, 

Drew  rein,  turned  pale,  reeled  in  the  sell. 
And,  bristled  with  arrows,  gasped  and 
fell  ! 

O  barbed  points  that  scratched  the  name 
Of  England  on  the  walls  of  fame  ! 

O  music  of  the  ringing  cords 

Set  to  grand  songs  of  deeds,  not  words  ! 

O  yeomen  !  for  your  memory's  sake 
These  bubbles  of  my  rhyme  I  make  ; 

Not  rhymes  of  conquest,  stern  and  sad,. 
Or  hoarse- voiced,  like  the  Iliad, 


TO  MA  URICE  THOMPSON. 


But  soft  and  dreamful  as  the  sigh 
Of  this  sweet  wind  that  washes  by 

The  while  I  wait  for  friends  to  come 
And  tell  me  England  calls  me  home. 


537 


And  wasted  dreaming  foolish  dreams 
Of  English  woods  and  English  streams, 

Of  grassy  glade  and  queachy  fen 
Beloved  of  old  by  archer-men. 


I  wait  and  wait ;  it  would  be  sweet 
To  feel  the  sea  beneath  my  feet, 

And  hear  the  breeze  sing  in  the  shrouds 
Betwixt  aie  and  the  white-winged  clouds, 

To  feel  and  know  my  heart  would  soon 
Have  its  desire,  its  one  sweet  boon, 

To  look  out  on  the  foam-sprent  waste 
Through  which  my  vessel's  keel  would 
haste. 

Till  on  the  far  horizon  dim 

A  low  white  line  would  shine  and  swim  ! 

O  God,  the  very  thought  is  bliss  ! 
The  burden  of  my  life  it  is, 

Till  over  sea  song-blown  shall  come 
The  news  that  England  calls  me  home  ! 


Ah,  call  me,  England,  some  sweet  day 
When  these  brown  locks  are  silver  gray, 

And   these  brown  arms   are   shrunken 

small. 
Unfit  for  deeds  of  strength  at  all ; 

When  the  swift  deer  shall  pass  me  by 
Whilst  all  unstrung  my  bow  shall  lie. 

And  birds  shall  taunt  me  with  the  time 
I  wasted  blowing  foolish  rhyme, 


And  of  the  friends  who  would  not  come 
To  tell  me  England  called  me  home. 


Such  words  are  sad — blow  them  away 
And  lose  them  in  the  leaves  of  May, 

O  wind  !  and  leave  them  there  to  rot 
Like  random  arrows  lost  when  shot ; 

And  here,  these  better  thoughts,  take 

these 
And  blow  them  far  across  the  seas, 

To  that  old  land  and  that  old  wood 
Which  hold  the  dust  of  Robin  Hood  ! 

Say  this,  low- speaking  in  my  place  : 
'  The  last  of  all  the  archer-race 

Sends  this,  his  sheaf  of  rhymes,  to  those 
Whose  fathers  bent  the  self-yew  bows, 

And  made  the  cloth-yard  arrow  ring 
For  merry  England  and  her  king, 

Wherever  Lion  Richard  set 
His  fortune's  stormy  banneret  ! ' 

Say  this,  and  then,  oh  haste  to  come 
And  tell  me  England  calls  me  home  ! 
— Maurice  Thompson, 
In  'The  Century'  for  February. 


TO   MAURICE   THOMPSON. 


BY  '  SERANUS,'  OTTAWA. 


WAGE  a  war  with  you  who  sang  I  Through  England,  doubt  not,  for  the 
Your  Bong  of  England.     That  it  song 

rang  |  So  tender  was,  so  tadly  strong, 

7 


)38 


TO  MAURICE  THOMPSON. 


I  surely  think  that  long  ere  this, 
The  looked-for,  long-expected  bliss 

Is  yours,  and   that   they  must  have 

come 
To  tell  you  England  called  you  home. 


For  you  on  England  have  a  claim, 
'Tis  meet  that  she  should  know  your 
name, 

The  last  of  all  her  archer-race. 
For  you  must  be  a  trysting-place. 

j 
Surely  for  you  a  welcome  waits,  | 

Surely  for  you  are  opened  gates, 

And  Christmas  cheer,  and  hearth-side 

kiss, 
And  what  you  value  more  than  this, 

The  merry  horns  that  roam  the  wood, 
And  rouse  the  merry  hunting  mood. 

0  !  even  as  I  write,  perchance. 
Maid  Marian  leads  you  forth  to  dance  ; 

A  modern  Marian,  well  I  know. 
But  sweet  as  she  who  bent  the  bow 

In  Sherwood  once  with  Eobin  Hood. 
Perchance  already  you  have  stood 

Knee-deep  in  English  grass  and  fern. 
And  felt  your  arrow  in  its  turn 

Leap  like  a  prisoner  to  the  air, 
Who  had  forgotten  earth  was  iair. 

Was  this  your  dream  1  And  have  they 

come 
To  tell  you  England  calls  you  home  ? 


And  this  is  why  I  wage  my  war 
And  this  is  why  I  sing  afar 

From  land  of  pines  and  snowy  land 
— All,  all  is  snow  on  every  hand, 

And  gray  and  white  are  all  I  see 
Or  white  or  gray  alike  to  me — 

To  you  who  in  a  warmer  clime 
Blow  the  bright  bubble  of  your  rhyme, 


And  ply  your  task  with  half  a  hearty 
Standing  from  other  men  apart 

That  you  may  sooner  catch  the  words^ 
More  welcome  far  than  mating  birds 

In  this  drear  North — the  words  that 

burn 
With  exile  past  and  sweet  return 

Of  English  joys  and  games  and  glade,. 
And  merry  men  and  modest  maids — ■ 

Because  your  wish  was  also  mine. 
And  is  and  always  will  be  mine. 

The  wish,  the  hope  —to  end  my  days- 
In  England  and  with  English  ways, 

Once  more  to  feel  a  calm  content, 
Once  more  to  thrill  with  sentiment. 

Born  of  her  myths  and  mystery. 
Born  of  her  wondrous  histor}^ 

And  of  her  beauty — ah  !  I  swear 
I  know  not  anything  as  fair 

In  this  new  land  of  clearer  skies,. 
As  English  mists  that  shyly  rise 

From  off  shy  streams  or  ivied  walls. 
Or  cling  about  fair  ruined  halls. 

Too  fondly  true  to  keep  away, 
Too  truly  fond  to  long  to  stay, 

And  O  for  glimpse  of  English  green, 
I  well  could  give  my  soul,  I  ween. 

I  never  pulled  a  primrose,  I, 

But  could  I  know  that  there  may  lie 

E'en  now  some  small  and  hidden  seed 
Within,  below,  some  English  mead. 

Waiting  for  sun  and  rain  to  make 
A  flower  of  it  for  my  poor  sake, 

I  then  could  wait  till  winds  should  tell , 
For  me  there  swayed  or  swung  a  bell. 

Or  reared  a  banner,  peered  a  star, 
Or  curved  a  cup  in  woods  afar. 


TO  MAURICE  THOMPSON. 


539 


A  grave  in  England  !     Surely  there  I 

In  churchyard  ancient,  quiet,  fair,  ! 

i 

My  rest  will  some  sweet  day  be  found,  j 

And  I  shall  sleep  in  tranquil  ground,  i 

Not  far,    perchance,   from    where    a  i 

green  I 

And  older  grave  I  have  not  seen,  ! 

Holds  what  I  held  on  earth  most  dear, 
— But  who  am  I  ?     And    who  may 

hear  1 

My  prayer,  and  where  the  friends  to 

come  , 
And  tell  me  England  calls  me  home  1 


I  am  no  merry  archer  bold, 

In  sooth,  I  know  not  how  to  hold 

A  bow  and  arrow  !    This  your  claim, 

0  friend  in  Florida,  to  fame, 

1  ne'er  will  question.     Singer  too 
Of  noble  songs  !     I  have  'tis  true 

A  little  written,  some  things  done, 
But  cannot  hope  that  any  one 

Of  my  poor  ventures  e'er  shall  gain 
The  listening  ear  of  England,  fain 

To  know  the  deeds  her  children  do 
And  merge  her  old  life  in  our  new. 

And  shall  I  quarrel  with  you,  then, 
Because  I  envy  you  the  pen. 

The  bow  and  arrow  ?     Nay,  not  so, 
For  that  would  ill  accord  with  flow 

Of  yearning   tears   and   brow,  tight- 
clasped, 
And   words    '0   God,    0   England' 


Because  I  read  your  verses.  Friend, 
Nay,  why  a  quarrel  1    I  but  send 

These  lines  to  you  that  you  may  know 
Your  lines  to  one  soul  straight  did  go,. 

And  dare  to  hope  that  when  the  boon 
You  long  for  comes  (and  that  full  soon. 

I  know  must  be,  and  they  will  com'e 
To  tell  you  England  calls  you  home) 

You  will  remember  when  you  see 
A  faint  new  primrose  deck  the  lea^ 

How  one  who  lives  in  northern  lands^ 
Would  pluck  the  same  with  trembling 
hands. 

And  meanwhile  wonder  how  she  dare. 
If  she  were  there — If  she  were  there. 

And  now  I  charge  you,  when  the  call 
Rings  in  your  ears  and  down  you  fall 

Only  to  rise  with  hastening  feet 
And  press  towards  the  ocean  sweet, 

No  more  a  barrier  but  a  bridge. 
And  later,  when  you  see  the  ridge 

Of  English  land  low-lying  white. 
Or  Welsh  hills  topped  with  quivering 
light,— 

See  that  you  faint  not,  let  your  heart 
Full  thankful  be  that  yet  a  part 

In  England's  history  you  can  play, 
That  England  needs  her  son  to-day. 


My  words  are  vain,  I  know  ere  this 
The  looked-for,  long-expected  bliss 

Is  yours  and  that  they  must  have  come 
To  tell  you  England  calls  you  home. 


540 


DARWIN  AND  HIS  WORK. 


DARWIN  AND  HIS  WOEK. 


A  FEW  days  have  passed  since 
Charles  Darwin  has  been  con- 
signed to  his  last  resting-place  in  '  The 
Oreat  Abbey,'  made  sacred  by  the 
graves  of  so  many  illustrious  thinkers 
and  teachers  of  mankind.  Of  all  these, 
it  may  well  be  said,  that  few  have  exer- 
cised so  powerful  an  influence  on  the 
thought  of  their  age  as  the  author 
of  the  'Descent  of  Man.'  The  later 
Victorian  era,  rich  in  philosophy, 
poetry,  history,  and  criticism,  is  above 
all  characterized  by  another  and  a 
later  type  of  literature,  the  scientific. 
This  has  coloured  and  permeated  all 
else  ;  it  has  supplied  a  new  method, 
and  treats  eveiything  from  a  new 
point  of  view,  that  of  the  Evolution 
Philosophy.  Darwin's  x'elation  to 
this  Philosophy  is  a  very  central  one  ; 
he  has  called  it  down  from  the  clouds 
of  speculation  to  something  very  like 
a  basis  of  fact,  by  an  induction 
drawn  from  a  large  range  of  research 
all  round  the  world  ;  he  has  been  able 
to  supply  exactly  what  was  wanting 
to  a  theory  more  or  less  plausible,  and 
this  with  such  ampleness  of  evi- 
dence in  its  favour,  that  although  it 
is  but  ten  years  since  the  publication 
of  the  first  result  of  his  reasoning, 
educated  men  in  all  parts  of  the 
world  accept,  as  the  nearest  approach 
to  the  truth  yet  propounded,  the  doc- 
trine of  the  origin  of  species  called 
Darwinism. 

The  vulgar  idea  of  Darwin's  teach- 
ing is  simply  the  stale  caricature 
drawn  by  so  many  mountebanks  of 
the  press  and  the  pulpit — that  man 
is  a  developed  monkey,  as  Lord  Mon- 
boddo  taught,  to  the  great  amusement 
of  the  wits  and  dilettanti  a  century  ago. 
To  see  Darwin's  true  position,  we 
should  remember  that  a  theory  similar 
to  Evolution  was  put  forward  by  Em- 


manuel Kant,  with  regard  to  the  for- 
mation of  the  Universe  of  Stars ; 
it  was  further  formulated  by  the 
French  naturalist  Lamarck,  who 
taught  that  all  organized  beings,  from 
man  downwards,  are  derived,  or  as  he 
called  it,  '  developed'  from  those  below 
them.  He  accounted  for  this  by  sup- 
posing that  organs  were  applied  by 
the  animal  possessing  them  to  new 
conditions  with  such  perseverance, 
that  the  organs  at  last  assumed  new 
forms  and  new  functions.  This  was 
an  ingenious,  but  utterly  unscientific, 
guess,  which,  of  course,  was  met  with 
abundance  of  ridicule  from  the  ortho- 
dox reviews  such  as  the  Quarterly 
on  the  appearance  of  the  '  Vestiges  of 
Creation,'  which  about  1847,  pre- 
sented Lamarck's  viewsin  anattractive 
English  dress  !  '  We  have  been  fishes, 
and  we  shall  be  crows  ! '  was  the  com- 
ment of  fashionable  society  in  one  of 
Disraeli's  early  novels.  And  to  the 
brilliant  reasoning  in  which  Herbert 
Spencer  soon  afterwards  embodied  the 
speculative  aspects  of  this  theory,  to 
which  he  gave  the  happier  name  of 
Evolution,  there  was  the  serious  scien- 
tific objection  that  it  gave  no  account 
of  the  means  of  transition  from  a 
lower  species  to  a  higher.  This  Dar- 
win met  by  his  ojnis  magnum  on  the 
'  Origin  of  Species.'  In  the  preface 
to  this  book  he  tells  us,  that  when  in 
his  voyage  as  a  Naturalist,  employed 
by  Government  on  board  the  Beagle 
(1825-31),  he  was  much  struck  with 
certain  facts  in  the  distribution  of  the 
organic  beings  inhabiting  South  Ame- 
rica, and  in  the  geological  relation  of 
the  pi-esent  to  the  past  inhabitants  of 
the  continent,  which  seemed  to  him 
to  throw  light  upon  the  great  mystery 
of  mysteries,  the  origin  of  species. 
After  his    return  home,  he   devoted 


DARWIN  AND  HIS  WORK. 


541 


many  years  tx)  an  elaborate  investi- 
gation of  the  fertilization  of  plants, 
and  the  variation  of  breeds  in  domes- 
ticated animals.  In  the  '  Origin  of 
Species'  (1859),  he  reasons  that,  in  the 
breeding  of  domesticated  animals,  a 
vast  amount  of  variation  may  be  pro- 
duced artificially,  by  preferring  per- 
sistently for  breeding  purposes  those 
that  present  a  particular  type.  He 
argued  that  in  the  struggle  for  exists 
ence  of  all  organic  nature,  it  follows 
fi'om  the  high  geometi'ical  ratio  of 
their  increase,  that  any  being,  if  it 
vary  from  others  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree in  a  manner  profitable  to  itself, 
will  have  the  best  chance  of  survival, 
and  thvis  be  naturalli/  selected.  The 
type  thus  naturally  selected,  from  the 
strong  natural  law  of  heredity,  will 
tend  to  propagate  itself  in  the  new 
and  modified  form.  He  then  showed 
a  process  by  which  on  purely  natural 
and  scientific  grounds  it  is  intelligible 
that  these  great  variations  of  type 
which  we  call  species,  or  genera,  may 
have  come  into  existence.  In  his 
second  great  book,  the  '  Descent  of 
Man,'  he  argued  that  man  is  no  ex- 
ception to  the  law  of  progress  which 
everywhere  else  obtains,  and  '  is  de- 
rived by  natural  descent  from  a  hairy 
quadruped,  furnished  with  a  tail  and 
pointed  ears,  and  probably  arboreal  in 
its  habits.'  Darwin's  docti-ine  of  de- 
scent of  the  higher  types  from  the 
lower,  by  natural  selection,  was  re- 
ceived with  acclamation  by  the  scien- 
tific world.  It  at  once  fui-nished  to 
the  Evolution  system  such  a  scientific 
basis  as  Newton's  doctrine  of  Gravi- 
tation supplied  to  the  Copernican  As- 
tronomy. In  putting  it  forward,  Mr. 
Darwin  was  eminently  cautious,  mo- 
dest, candid  in  admitting  such  objec- 
tions to  his  system  as  the  absence,  as 
yet,  of  fact  to  confirm  it  in  the  geo- 
logic record.s.  He  was  also  a  reverent 
believer  in  the  Unknown  Power, 
from  whom  all  Life  proceeds,  of 
whose  will  Evolution  is  the  mani- 
festation visible  to  us. 

But,  of  course,  English  ecclesiasti- 


cism,  true  to  its  mission  of  mildly 
imitating  the  Church  of  Rome,  was 
mightily  incensed  against  this  auda- 
cious impugner  of  the  six  days  of  Crea- 
tion, and  the  origin  of  the  universe 
out  of  nothing  in  the  year  4004  B.C 
Loud  and  shrill  arose  the  anath- 
ema from  platform,  pulpit,  and  cleri- 
cal press.  Darwin  was  an  infidel,  an 
atheist,  in  the  face  of  his  solemn  as- 
sertion of  faith  in  a  Creatoi-.  Thirty 
years  ago,  before  modern  thought  had 
won  its  place  in  Europe,  and  when  in. 
England  theology  was  still '  Queen  of  the 
Sciences/  all  this  clerical  abuse  might 
possibly  have  done  some  small  injury 
to  England's  greatest  naturalist.  It 
might  have  cost  him  a  Professorship, 
or  caused  some  im pleasant  social  os- 
tracism, some  of  the  petty  desagre- 
mens  with  which  Anglo-Catholicism 
mimics  the  mightier  weapons  of  a 
an  august  superstition.  But  in  the 
last  decade  of  our  century,  society  as 
well  as  thought,  have  completely  out- 
grown clerical  influence.  Now-a-days 
if  the  Church  disagrees  with  Science, 
so  much  the  worse  for  the  Church, 

So  completely  is  this  the  case,  that 
Canon  Liddon,  who  is  a  sox-t  of  Bos- 
suet  among  the  High  Churchmen,  and 
who  a  few  years  ago  wrote  the  most 
terrible  pulpit  thunderings  against 
Darwinism,  was  content  the  other 
day,  in  a  funeral  sermon  over  Darwin 
himself,  to  take  back  his  woi'ds,  and 
declare  that  belief  in  Evolution  is 
quite  reconcilable  with  belief  in  or- 
thodoxy. Of  course,  in  countries 
where  the  clergy  are  not  brought  into 
connection  with  education  and  ad- 
vanced thought  as  they  are  in  Eng- 
land, Canon  Liddon's  admission  would 
be  regarded  as  rank  heresy,  if  not 
atheism,  and  the  gi'eat  thinker's 
memory  be  pelted  with  the  old  worn- 
out  fallacies  and  jests. 

It  is  by  this  time  perfectly  plain, 
that  Darwin's  system  is  not  atheistical, 
and  that  such  was  his  own  distinct 
opinion.  Like  most  of  the  leaders  in 
modern  scientific  thought,  Darwin 
must  be  admitted  to  oppose  the  literal 


o42 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


rendering  of  the  six  days  of  Creation, 
but  that  is  an  '  extinct  Satan  '  with 
all  but  the  most  ignorant  adherents 
of  the  old  verbal  inspiration  theory. 
In  all   that    is    the   truest  essence  of 


the  religious  spirit,  in  reverence,  can- 
dour, and  love  of  truth,  not  the  least 
valuable  lesson  has  been  given  to  our 
age  by  the  life  and  labours  of  Charles 
Dai-win. 


YOUE'G    PEOPLE. 


'FOR  MOTHER'S  SAKE.' 

BY    EMMA   CARSON   JONES. 

■*  ~r'M  done  with  him.  I've  said  so,  and 
I  I'll  stand  to  it.  He's  disgraced 
himself  and  uiy  good  name,  and  1  wash 
4ny  hands  of  him  henceforth  and  for- 
ever. ' 

Mrs.  Arnold  stood  in  the  cottage  door- 
way, the  sweet  bloom  and  verdure  of 
the  early  springtime  all  about  her,  and 
listened  to  her  husband's  angry  words. 
'  Oh,  James,'  she  entreated,  '  remem- 
ber, he  is  our  son.' 

*  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  forget 
it  from  this  hour  ;  he  is  no  son  of  mine.' 

*  But,  James,  James,  think  what  the 
«nd  may  be.  What  if  they  send  him  to 
the  State  prison  I  ' 

'  Let  him  go — he  deserves  it.' 

The  angry  father  strode  away,  a  hard, 
relentless  look  upon  his  face. 

The  mother  stood  there  in  the  early 
sunshine,  her  poor  face  white  with  agony, 
lier  hands  clutched  hard  togethei*. 

She  could  see  the  village  spires  from 
the  cottage  porch,  and  in  the  village 
prison  her  only  son  lay. 

The  trouble  had  come  about  after  this 
wise.  Dick  Arnold  was  confidential 
clerk  in  the  hardware  house  of  Robinson 
&  Co, ,  at  a  very  fair  salary.  A  promis- 
ing young  fellow  was  Dick,  bright,  intel- 
ligent, and  as  shrewd  and  clever  in  busi- 
aiess  matters  as  he  was  genial  and 
winning  in  his  social  relations.  But  his 
•character  had  its  weak  points.  In  the 
first  place,  he  was  fond  of  strong  drink  ; 
in  the  second,  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
say  '  No '  when  temptation  assailed 
Jliim. 


Many  a  scrape  poor  Dick  was  lured 
into,  many  a  heart-ache  he  caused  his 
fond  mother,  many  a  setting  down  he 
got  from  his  over-severe  father  ;  but  he 
did  not  mend  his  ways.  Nevertheless 
his  eniployers  were  fond  of  him,  and 
trusted  him,  and  winked  at  his  short- 
comings. 

'  He's  a  fine  fellow  ;  he'll  get  all  his 
wild  oats  in,  and  do  better  after  awhile,' 
they  said. 

One  afternoon  Dick  was  summoned 
into  Mr.  Robinson's  private  office. 

'  Here,  Dick,'  said  that  gentleman, 
putting  a  sealed  envelope  into  the  young 
man's  hands,  '  I  want  you  to  take  this, 
and  deliver  it  to  Mr.  Selbo,  in  Coving- 
ton. You  know  the  place  ? ' 
'  Oh,  yes,  sir.' 

*  Very  well,  mind  you  keep  steady  on 
your  legs,  my  boy,  and  deliver  it  safely.' 
Dick  put  the  envelope  into  his  breast 
pocket,  bowed  himself  out,  and  was 
steaming  on  his  way  to  Covington  in  the 
next  train. 

He  reached  there  a  little  before  night- 
fall, and  feeling  somewhat  tired  and 
thirsty,  he  dropped  in  at  a  restaurant 
for  a  drink.  Ah  me  !  if  there  were  no 
such  places,  how  much  misery,  and  sin, 
and  shame  would  be  banished  from  the 
world  !  But  they  meet  us  at  every  turn, 
these  devil's  dens,  wherein  men  are  de- 
spoiled of  their  earnings  and  their  honour. 
Dick  went  in,  and  stumbled  right  into 
the  midst  of  some  three  or  four  old 
cronies.  They  leaped  up  and  welcomed 
him  with  nproarioiis  delight. 

'  Why,  Dick,  old  fellow,  haven't  seen 
you  for  an  age  !  Well  met,  'pon  my 
soul  !  Here,  landlord,  brandy  and 
seltzer  for  four,  and  be  spry  at  it. ' 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


543 


The  brandy  and  seltzer  appeared  and 
vanished.  A  broiled  steak,  and  oysters 
and  crackers  followed,  and  then  came 
rum  to  wash  it  all  down.  By  sunset 
poor  Dick's  weak  head  was  in  a  whirl. 
When  darkness  fell,  his  errand  was  still 
neglected,  and  he  sat  in  the  little  bar- 
parlour,  looking  on  while  his  boon-com- 
panions played  cards,  a  hot  bloom  on  his 
■cheeks,  an  insane  glitter  in  his  hand- 
some eyes. 

'  Come  up,  Dick,  and  try  j'our  luck  ?  ' 

'  Don't  care  if  I  do,'  said  Dick,  and  at 
it  he  went. 

His  own  purse  was  soon  emptied,  and 
then,  he  never  could  clearly  recall  how 
it  all  happened,  but,  insane  from  drink 
and  determined  to  retrieve  his  losses,  he 
ventured  to  open  the  sealed  envelope 
and  to  borrow  a  stake  from  the  funds 
entrusted  to  him  by  his  employer. 

'  I'll  soon  double  it,'  he  thought, 
■'  and  then  I'll  replace  the  amovint.' 

But  he  lost  instead  of  doubling,  and 
then  swallowed  more  brandy  in  his  ex- 
citement, at  the  invitation  of  his  good 
friends.  The  end  was,  that  he  made  a 
night  of  it,  and  when  the  morning 
dawned,  poor  Dick  found  himself  alone, 
forsaken  by  his  friends,  and  the  sealed 
■envelope  and  its  contents  both  gone. 
The  shock  sobered  him.  He  got  up, 
and  with  his  head  beating  like  a  trip- 
hammer, walked  back  to  his  native  vil- 
lage, and  seeking  his  employer,  confessed 
all  that  had  happened.  Mr.  Robinson 
was  greatly  provoked,  and  at  once  put 
the  matter  into  the  hands  of  the  law, 
and  Dick  Arnold  was  arrested  and  sent 
to  prison. 

When  the  news  came  to  his  father's 
ears  he  refused  to  give  his  son  either  aid 
or  countenance. 

'  I'm  done  with  him.  Let  them  send 
him  to  the  State  prison  ;  he  deserves  it.' 

But  the  mother,  her  faithful  heart 
going  out  in  yearning  pity  for  her  erring 
boy,  stood  and  pondered  how  she  might 
save  him. 

In  a  little  while  she  turned,  and  enter- 
ing the  pieasant  cottage,  w^ent  slowly 
upstairs,  and  into  the  chamber  where 
her  dautditer  Rose  sat  sewing  on  her 
bridal-robes. 

Sitting  down  beside  her,  she  told  her 
the  story  of  her  brother's  trouble.  Rose 
understood  her  mother's  meaning  even 
before  she  could  put  it  into  words. 
There  was  a  little  box  on  the  table, 
which  contained  her  marriage  dowry. 
Little   by  little  the  father  and  mother 


had  hoarded  it  in  their  only  daughter's 
name,  that  she  might  not  be  dowerless 
on  her  wedding-day. 

Pretty  Rose  took  the  box  and  put  it 
in  her  mother's  hands. 

'  Take  it,  mother,'  she  said,  '  and  do 
with  it  as  you  think  best,' 

'  Heaven  bless  you,  my  daughter  ; 
but  it  is  hard  to  deprive  you  of  your 
marriage  dowry,  and  your  wedding  day 
so  near.' 

Rose's  cheeks  bloomed  like  her  name- 
sakes in  the  little  garden  below,  and  her 
blue  eyes  lit. 

'  Never  mind  that,  mother,'  she  said. 
'  Charlie  will  be  willing  to  take  me  with- 
out the  dowry  ;  I'm  sure  of  it.' 

So  Mrs.  Arnold  took  the  box  and 
went  away.  Before  the  day  ended  she 
had  refunded  the  money  to  Mr.  Robin- 
son, the  charge  was  withdrawn,  and  her 
boy  was  out  of  prison. 

'  I  can't  go  home,  mother.  Father 
doesn't  want  me  ;  he  told  me  so,'  said 
Dick,  as  they  stood  under  the  gi-een 
locust  trees  beyond  the  cottage  lawn. 
'  Let  me  go  out  into  the  world  and  work 
my  way  up,  and  then  I'll  come  back.' 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  looked  up  at  him  with  streaming 
eyes. 

'  Oh,  Dick,  my  boy,  my  darling,  you 
will  do  better — you  will,  Dick,  for 
mother's  sake.' 

*  Yes,  mother,  God  being  my  helper, 
I  will,  I've  caused  you  so  much  trouble, 
and  you've  always  been  good  and  gentle 
to  me,  mother.  Forgive  me  now  ;  I'll 
come  back  and  be  a  comfort  to  you  yet,' 

'  My  boy,  I  forscive  you,  and  I  believe 
in  you.  Here,  Dick,'  and  she  drew  a 
purse  and  a  worn  little  Bible  from  her 
bosom,  'take  these.  You  may  need  the 
money ;  the  Bible  is  mine,  Dick- 
mother's  Bible,  don't  forget  that. 
Mother  has  read  it  every  day  and  night 
for  the  last  thirty  years.  You'll  think 
of  that,  Dick,  and  you'll  read  itjor 
mothers  sake. ' 

'  Yes,  mother. ' 

'  Every  night,  no  matter  where  you 
may  be,  you'll  read  a  chapter,  and  get 
down  on  your  knees  and  pray  the  little 
prayer  mother  taught  you,  if  nothing 
else  ?  Promise  me,  Dick.  Every  night 
at  ten  o'clock,  at  that  hour  I  shall  be  on 
my  knees  praying  for  you,  my  boy.  I 
shall  never  miss  a  night,  Dick,  while  I 
live  ;  promise  me  you'll  do  it,  for 
mother's  sake.'' 

Dick  tried  to  promise,  but  he  let  his 


544 


yotjNG  people. 


handsome  head  drop  down  on  his 
mother's  bosom  instead,  and  wept  there 
like  a  child.      A  s  the  sun  set  they  parted. 

'  Good-by,  my  boy,  and  God  bless 
you.  You'll  keep  your  promise,  for 
mother's  sake.' 

'  Yes,  mother,  with  God's  help.  Good- 
by  !  ' 

Across  the  fields,  with  the  little  Bible 
in  his  bosom,  and  his  bundle  on  his  arm, 
went  poor  erring  Dick,  and  down  the 
pathway  Mrs.  Arnold  returned  to  the 
cottage. 

'  I'll  never  give  up  my  boy,'  she  said. 
'  My  prayers  shall  prevail  with  God  for 
him.  He  will  return  to  us  yet,  and  be 
the  comfort  of  onr  old  age.' 

But  her  husband,  bitter  and  remorse- 
less of  heart,  laughed  her  to  scorn. 

Month  followed  month  ;  summers 
came  and  went  ;  harvests  were  sown  and 
gathered  in  ;  winters  heaped  their  white 
snows,  and  spring  sunshine  came  and 
melted  them.  Pretty,  dowerless  Rose 
had  married  and  gone  to  live  in  a  happy 
home  of  her  own,  while  Mrs.  Arnold, bvisy 
with  her  daily  tasks,   did  not  lose  hope. 

Just  about  that  time  the  whole  coun- 
try was  ringing  with  the  renown  of  a 
young  reformer — a  man  of  talents  and 
genius,  who  was  spending  the  best  days 
of  his  manhood  for  the  good  of  his  fel- 
low-men. 

News  came  at  last  that  this  wonderful 
man  would  deliver  a  lecture  in  the  vil- 
lage. Preparation  was  made,  and  expec- 
tation was  on  tiptoe.  On  the  appointed 
night  Mrs.  Arnold  went  with  the  rest. 
The  speaker  took  the  stand,  and  an- 
nounced the  subject  of  his  discourse.  It 
was 

'  FOR  M0THER'.S  sake.' 

The  poor  mother,  her  heart  yearning 
for  her  absent  son,  looked  on  and  lis- 
tened, blinded  by  swift-flowing  tears. 
She  could  scarcely  see  the  tall  form  of 
the  handsome  speaker  ;  but  his  words 
thrUled  her  through  and  through. 

The  audience  sat  spell-bound,  breath- 
less, until  the  lecturer  drew  near  the 
close  of  his  remarks. 

'  For  mother's  sake,'  he  said.  '  That 
one  little  sentence  has  made  me  what  I 
am.  Who,  in  this  crowded  room,  recog- 
nizes me  ?  Five  years  ago,  on  just  such 
a  night  as  this,  I  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
old  jail  over  yonder.  My  mother's  love 
saved  me  from  the  consequences  of  in- 
temperance and  youthful  folly,  and 
when  I  parted   from  her  under  the  old 


locust  trees  out  there  in  the  lane,  I 
promised  to  be  a  better  man — for 
mother^ s  sake  !  Neighbours  and  friends, 
you  know  me  now.  1  am  Dick  Arnold. 
I  kept  my  promise — I  have  been  a  bet- 
ter man  "  for  mother's  sake  !  "  I  wonder 
if  my  mother  is  here  and  hears  my  voice 
to-night '] ' 

'  Oh,  thank  God  !  Oh,  my  boy  I  my 
boy  ! ' 

In  another  minute  he  had  her  in  his 
strong  arms,  her  gray  head  pillowed  on 
his  breast.  She  looked  at  him  with 
yearning,  wondering  eyes. 

'  Yes,  I  do  not  mistake — you  are  my 
son.     Oh,  Dick  ! ' 

He  held  her  closely,  tears  streaming 
like  rain  over  his  bearded  face. 

'  Your  own  boy,  mother.  God  has 
made  him  what  he  is  "  for  mother's 
sake .'  " ' 


FOUR-FOOTED  FRIENDS. 

BY  G.   S.  MERRIAM. 

There  seems  to  be  hardly  a  creature 
that  has  such  a  genius  for  comfort  as  the 
cat.  Yesterday,  on  a  dreary  March  day, 
I  saw  in  the  fields  an  old  tabby  enscon- 
ced on  the  top  rail  of  a  fence,  head  and 
paws  and  tail  deftly  tucked  together, 
and  from  the  half-shut  eyes  came  a  gleam 
of  luxurious  repose.  Cats  are  often  to 
be  seen  with  those  half-shut  eyes.  They 
seem  to  have  the  art  of  prolonging  inde- 
finitely that  blissful  state  between  wak- 
ing and  sleeping— as  it  were,  just  enough 
awake  to  know  one  is  asleep — which  we 
taste  only  in  brief  snatches.  Put  a  cat 
in  a  strange  room,  and  in  the  briefest 
possible  time  she  discovers  and  occupies 
the  softest  and  warmest  place.  Or  let 
her,  in  a  strange  place,  be  suddenly  at- 
tacked by  a  dog,  and  by  the  swiftest  in- 
stinct she  goes  straight  to  the  safest  spot 
within  reach, — up  the  nearest  tree,  or 
behind  some  effective  barricade.  No 
Napoleon  or  Wellington  had  ever  so 
quick  an  eye  for  the  strongest  militaiy 
position.  The  cat  is  a  creature  of  lux- 
ury, of  the  chase  and  of  war  ;  a  true  sa- 
vage with  such  perfect  grace  as  no  human 
savage  ever  possessed,  and  such  an  equip- 
ment of  agile  muscle  as  no  human  fram* 
is  endowed  with.  In  the  midst  of  our 
homes,  the  cat  remains  a  splendid  bar- 
barian ,  recalling  the  fierce  beauty  of  the 
lion  and  tiger,  suggesting  the  jungle  and 
I    the  Himalayas.     1  find  a  cat  all  the  bet- 


THE  ROYAL  SOCIETY  OF  CANADA: 


545 


ter  companion  at  times  for  its  want  of 
conscience  and  human  emotion.  The 
beautiful,  luxurious,  life-enjoying  ani- 
mal brings  a  relief  from  the  stress  and 
strain  of  creatures  with  souls.  A  dog 
comes  near  enough  to  man  to  have  some- 
times a  touch  of  human  pathos.  There 
is  often  an  appealing  look  in  a  dog's 
eyes,  that  is  enough  to  make  one  fancy 
he  is  going  to  develop  into  a  man  some 
day,  and  begins  to  be  conscious  of  some 
higher  destiny  stirring  within  him.  What 
companionship  there  is  in  a  good  dog  ! 
There  is  to  me  something  attractive  in 
almost  any  dog,  except  a  Spitz.  I  draw 
the  line  at  Spitzes.  Dogs,  as  a  class, 
have  a  large  capacity  for  friendship. 
My  own  dog,  if  he  could  count  (perhaps 
he  can),  might  reckon  up,  first  me,  his 
master,  chief  in  his  affections,  then  per- 
haps half  a  dozen  friends, — human 
friends,  I  mean,— and  two  or  three 
times  as  many  with  whom  he  is  on  terms 
of  good-natured  acquaintance.  About 
his  relations  with  his  own  kind  I  cannot 
speak  so  confidently,  but  I  think  he  has 
no  real  intimacies  with  other  dogs.  A 
dog  has  the  fine  quality  of  preferring 
the  company  of  his  superiors  to  that  of 
his  equals  or  inferiors  :  he  consorts  with 
men  in  preference  to  his  own  race. 
With  dogs  and  cats,  and,  indeed,  all  the 
inferior  tribes,  we  can  practise  a  fine 
simplicity  and  friendliness  of  manner, 
quite  beyond  what  exists  among  our- 
selves. I  can  greet  a  perfectly  strange 
dog   with  a  pat,  and  he  accepts  it  gra- 


ciously, or  perhaps  answers  with  a 
friendly  wag  and  a  responsive  glance  out 
of  his  honest  brown  eyes.  Perhaps  he 
even  makes  the  first  advance,  coming  up 
to  me  with  an  inquiring  snifl".  How  much 
a  dog  finds  out  through  his  sense  of  smell, 
I  suppose,  is  known  only  to  his  Creator. 
The  nose  seems  to  be  to  a  dog  almost  as 
hiuch  as  the  eye  is  to  a  man.  Perhaps 
he  judges  character  by  it.  It  may  be 
that  just  as  we  say,  "  I  like  the  look  of 
that  man,"  so  a  dog  says  to  himself  or 
his  fellow,  "I  like  the  smell  of  that 
man."  I  am  sometimes  afraii  I  that  I  am 
more  accessible  to  caninity  than  to  hu- 
manity. I  like  a  man  when  he  proves 
himself  on  acquaintance  a  good  fellow, 
but  I  am  attracted  to  a  dog  as  soon  as  I 
see  him.  There  are  plenty  of  dog-lovers 
who  will  understand  the  feeling.  The 
dog-loving  disposition  is  of  itself  no 
small  bond  between  those  who  share  it, 
bringing  them  at  once  into  a  sort  of  Ma- 
sonic relationship  with  each  other.  So, 
too,  there  is  the  love  of  horses, — one  of 
the  great  passions  of  humanity.  There 
are  plenty  of  men  to  whom  horses  are- 
as full  of  fascination  as  pictures  to  an 
artist  or  stocks  to  a  Wall  Street  broker. 
Almost  every  domestic  animal  has  its 
devotees  and  special  friends.  The 
canary  has  its  lovers.  Even  goldfishes 
find  people  who  treasure  them.  And 
every  such  taste  and  aifection  enlarges 
by  just  so  much  one's  world.  It  is  a 
key  that  opens  to  iis  another  room  in. 
our  Father's  house. — Ex. 


'THE    EOYAL    SOCIETY    OF    CANADA/ 


IT  has  been  generally  announced  in 
the  press  that  His  Excellency  the 
Governor-General  has  been  deeply  in- 
teresting himself,  for  some  months  past, 
in  the  establishment  of  a  Society  for  the 
advancement  of  Literature  and  Science 
in  the  Dominion.  After  much  deliber- 
ation and  consultation  with  eminent 
scientific  and  literary  gentlemen,  His 
Excellency  has  been  pleased  to  approve 
of  the  preliminary  arrangements  for  the 


first  meetings  of  the  Society,  which  are- 
to  be  held  in  the  City  of  Ottawa  during 
the  last  week  of  May.  The  Association 
is  named  after  that  famous  Society  which 
came  into  existence  in  England  during 
the  Restoration,  and  has  ever  since  con- 
tributed so  largely  to  the  scientific  de- 
velopment of  the  world.  The  following 
is  a  list  of  the  officers  appointed  by  the 
Governor-General  for  the  first  meet- 
ing:— 


546 


'  THE  ROYAL  SOCIETY  OF  CANADA. 


PRESIDENT  : 

J.  W.  Dawson,  C.M.G.,  LL.D.,  F.R.S. 

A'lOE-J'RESIDKNT  : 

Hox.  P.  J.  O.  Chauveau,  LL.D. 

PRESIDENTS  OF  SECTIONS  : 

SECT.    I. — French  Literature,    History 
cmd  allied  subjects. 

J.  M.  LeMoine,  Esq., 

Meinbre  de  la  Societe  Aiu6ncaiiie  de  France. 

Faucher  De  St.  Maurice, 

Membre  Honoraire  de  la  Socet6  des  Gens  de  Lettres 
de  France. 

t^ECT.  II. — Enxillsh  Litera,tnre,  History 

and  allied  subjects. 
*  Daniel  Wilson,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.E. 
GoLDWiN  Smith,  M.A. 

SECT.    III.  —  Mathematical,     Physical 

and  Chemical  Sciences. 

T.  Sterry  Hunt,  LL.D.,  F.R.S. 

Charles  Carpmael,  M.A. 

JSECT.    IV. — Geological  a^id   Biological 

Sciences. 

A.  R.  C.  Selwyn,  LL.D.,  F.R.S. 

George  Lawson,  Ph.  D.,  LL.D. 

HONORARY  SECRETARY  : 
J.    G.  BOURINOT,  F.S.S. 

The  above  officers  will  constitute  the 
Council  of  the  Society,  and  their  suc- 
cessors will  be  elected  by  ballot  by  the 
Society,  under  such  regulations  as  it 
may  enact. 

We  understand  that  the  membership 
is,  for  the  present,  limited  to  twenty  in 
•each  section  and  comprises  Canadian 
authors  of  works  or  memoirs  of  merit, 
as  well,  as  jsersons  who  have  rendered 
■eminent  services  to  Literature  or  Science 
in  Canada.  Among  the  names  of  mem- 
bers we  have  heard  mentioned  the  fol- 
lowing :  Abbes  Begin,  Casgrain,  Pro- 
vencher,  Verreau  and  Tanguay  ;  M  M. 
Frechette,  P.  DeCazes,  Oscar  Dunn,  F. 
X.  Marchand,  P.  LeMay,  J.  Marmette, 
B.  Suite,  J.  Tasse,  N.  Bourassa,  H. 
Fabre,  F.  G.  Marchand  ;  Principal 
Grant,  Charles  Lindsey,  A.  Todd,  VV. 
Kirby,  Prof.  Lyall,  J.  L'Esperance,  Col, 
Denison,  Prof.  J.  Clark  Murray,  Dr. 
Bucke,  Rev.  ^'Eneas  Dawson,  Prof. 
Watson,  G.  Murray,  Prof.  Paxton 
Young,  Evan  McColi,  John  Reade,  C. 
Sangster,  Geo.  Stewart,  jr.,  Sandford 
Fleming,  C.  Baillarge',  Prof.  Johnson, 
Prof.  McGregor,  H.  A.  Bayne,  Very 
Rev.  T.  Hamel,  C.  Hofiman,  Prof.  Lou- 
don, Prof.  Chapman,  Prof.  Bailey,  Dr. 


G.  M.  Dawson,  Pi'of.  Honeyman,  Dr.  R. 
Bell,  Prof.  Macoun,  Dr.  Osier,  Prof. 
Ramsay  Wright,  Dr.  J.  Bernard  Gilpin, 
W.  Saunders,  J.  F.  Whiteaves,  Geo. 
Barnston,  Dr.  J.  A.  Grant,  Prof.  La- 
fiamme.  Prof.  Harrington,  J.  Macfar- 
lane,  and  several  others  besides  the  gen- 
tlemen who  form  the  first  list  of  officers 
as  given  above. 

The  members  of  the  Society  will  as- 
semble in  General  Session,  in  the  Par- 
liament Buildings,  on  the  25th  May, 
when  the  first  ujeeting  will  be  opened 
by  the  Governor-General,  and  the  Coun- 
cil will  report  on  the  preliminary  steps 
which  have  been  taken  towards  the 
organization  of  the  Society,  on  the  ar- 
rangements for  the  subsequent  sessions, 
on  the  titles  of  papers,  and  other  busi- 
ness of  a  general  chai-acter.  The  Society 
will  then  adjourn  to  meet  in  Sections, 
when  addresses  will  be  delivered  by  the 
Presidents  of  the  several  Sections,  and 
papers  will  be  read  and  discussed.  In 
order  that  the  proceedings  of  the  Society 
may  be  of  an  interesting  and  useful 
character,  it  is  expected  that  as  many  of 
the  members  as  possible  will  prepare 
papers,  or  other  contributions  on  Liter- 
ary or  Scientific  subjects,  to  be  read  in 
the  Sections.  Papers  prepared  by  others 
than  members  may  be  communicated  by 
any  member  on  the  same  terms  with 
those  produced  by  himself.  All  the 
meetings  for  addresses,  and  the  reading 
and  discussion  of  papers,  will  be  open  to 
the  public,  but  only  members  will  be 
permitted  to  take  part  in  the  proceedings 
of  the  Society.  We  shall  look  forward 
with  much  interest  to  the  proceedings 
of  this  first  meeting  of  an  essentially 
national  Society,  which  will  bring  to- 
gether many  men  of  eminence  in  the 
literary  and  scientific  world,  and  must 
materially  assist,  if  inaugurated  and  pro- 
moted in  a  catholic,  liberal  spirit,  in 
developing  the  intellectual  culture  of 
the  people  of  the  Dominion.  The  re- 
sults of  this  intellectual  movement  will 
be  awaited  naturally  with  much  curios- 
ity by  the  readers  of  this  periodical  which 
has  always  done  its  best  to  stimulate 
intellectual  thought  in  a  country  where 
there  is  too  often  a  tendency  to  undei'- 
value  the  efforts  of  scientific  and  liter- 
ary men. — Communicated. 

NOTE  TO  THE   FOREGOING  BY  THE  EEITOK. 

The  motive  which  prompts  to  a  few 
words    of  criticism   upon  Lord   Lome's 


THE  ROYAL  SOCIETY  OF  CANADA. 


547 


project,  announced  in  the  foregoing  com- 
munication, will  not  be  misunderstood 
by  those,  at  least,   who  remember   the 
Editorial  note  on  the  subject  in  our  issue 
of  July  last.   Since  that  date  His  Excel- 
lency seems  to  have  changed  his  design 
with  regard  to  the  institution  it  was  un-    ( 
derstood  he  was  then   about  to  inaugii- 
rate.     '  The  Canadian  Academy  of  Let- 
ters '  has  broadened  out  into  an  associa- 
tion composed  of  scientists  as    well  as 
litterateurs,  the  former  being  the  more    ' 
numerous,  and  likely  to  be  the  more  effi- 
cient body.     The  necessity  of  this  en- 
largement of  the  scheme  will,  of  course, 
be  apparent  ;   and  it  is  one  that  might    , 
have  suggested  the  limiting  of  the  scope 
of  the  Society  to  the  labours    alone  of    ; 
those  who  represent  Science.     Named, 
as    we   learn   the    Associatioi*  is  to  be, 
after  the    Royal   Society   of    England, 
it  is,  we  think,  a  matter  of  regret  that 
its  intended  Canadian   counterpart  did 
not    imitate     its    English     model    and    | 
modestly    refrain    from    taking    litera- 
ture under  its   patronage.     In   Canada    | 
there    were    special    reasons    why   this    j 
course  should  have  been  followed,  not,  it 
is  true,  because  literature  in  this  coun- 
try has  assumed  any  magnitude,  but  for 
the  contrary  reason,  among  others,  that 
it  is  of  too  slight  a  growth  to  be  placed    ' 
at  a  disadvantage  with  the  stronger  de-    ; 
partment  of  science.    General  objections 
to    an    official  patronage    of  Letters  we 
need  not  h«re  go  into,  nor  need  we  re-    j 
peat  what  was  said  in  the  July  Magazine    | 
as  to  the  doubtful  gain  to  literature  in    I 
the  founding  of  a  Literary  Academy,  an    i 
institution  which  has   never  taken  root 
in  England,  and  is  a  dubious  success  in    • 
France,  except  as  it  slakes  the  thirst  of    j 
the  mortal  '  immortals  '  for  the  ribbons    ' 
and  distinctions  it  confers.     But  what,    I 
we  would  ask,  is  to  be  the  practical  in- 
fluence of  this  society  upon  Canadian  lit-    ; 
erature  ?     We  are  all  serving  but  an  ap-    1 
prenticeship  to  letters  in  Canada,  and  it    i 
would  seem,  at  least,  premature  to  ele-    ' 
vate  any  set  of  men  above  their  fellows,    } 
and  to  confer  upon  them  a   distinction    i 
which  the  public  is  likely  to  be  slow  to    I 
recognize,  and  sure  to  be  jealous  of  its 
own  exclusive  right  to  bestow.     An  Art 
Academj-  is  an  i^  lea  we  can  grasp,  and  the 
motive  of   which,  even  in  a  small  com-    > 
munity,  we  can  readily  comprehend.  An 
Association,   composed  of  specialists  in 
Science,  is  also  intelligible  ;  and  organ- 
ization in  its  interests  is  not  only  com- 
mendable but  in  a  great  measure  a  neces- 


sity. The  former,  happily  now  an  ex- 
isting institution,  has  given  proof  of  its 
raison  d'etre  ;  the  latter,  if  established, 
we  incline  to  think  would  similarly  jus- 
tify itself.  But  not  so,  in  our  opinion, 
a  Canadian  Academy  of  Letters  ; — and 
for  the  following  reasons  : — First,  be- 
cause the  function  of  such  a  body,  we 
take  it,  would  in  the  main  be  criti- 
cal ;  and  this,  while  our  literature  is 
in  its  nonage,  would  not  be  help- 
ful. We  must  have  growth,  as  Comte 
says,  before  we  have  discipline.  The 
spontaneous  activities,  as  one  of  our  own 
writers  expresses  it,  must  work  and  pro- 
duce some  solid  results  before  the  organ- 
izing facultj'^  can  find  profitable  employ- 
ment. Secondly,  the  Academy  having 
little  to  do,  we  fear  that  its  members 
would  develop  censoriousness  or  ^i^le- 
tanteism,  either  of  which  would  be  nv^al 
to  the  intellectual  life.  Thirdly,  because^ 
the  erecting  of  a  caste  in  Letters — thej 
sure  result  of  admittance  into  a  selects 
body  of  literary  men — would  have  a  pre- 
judicial effect  upon  literature,  tend  to 
nourish  conceit,  and  lead  to  undesir- 
able jealousies  among  our  writers. 
Fourthly,  for  the  reason  that  appoint- 
ment or  election  to  the  Association 
would,  we  fear,  be  degraded  to  market- 
able uses — a  result  which,  in  our  limited 
field  of  literature,  would  not  add  to  its 
honoiirable  pursuit,  or  tend  to  its  healthy 
advancement.  And,  fifthly,  because  the 
Academy,  in  the  invidious  distinction  it 
would  be  likely  to  make  between  litera- 
ture and  journalism,  would  oftend  and 
alienate  a  large  class  of  men  upon  whom 
falls  the  toilsome  yet  important  work  of 
educating  the  community  through  the 
agency  of  the  Press — a  class  to  whom 
the  country  owes  much,  and  which  it 
would  be  an  ungracious  act  to  debar 
from  honour.  The  plea  upon  which 
journalists  would  be  excluded  from  an 
Academy  of  Letters,  it  will  be  admitted, 
is  one  which  even  in  older  communities 
it  would  be  delicate  to  act  ttpon.  In 
Canada,  no  safe  distinction  or  separa- 
tion between  the  difterent  departments 
of  the  pr'^fession  could  well  be  made 
For  here,  the  litterateur,  if  he  is  to  live 
by  his  pen,  is  almost  sure  to  take  to  jour- 
nalism. In  cases  where  this  occurs, 
selection  or  rejection  by  the  Academy 
will  always  entail  a  nice  discrimination, 
and  more  than  likely  lead  to  an  embar- 
rassing result.  For,  looking  to  the  men- 
tal equipment  now-a-days  of  writers  for 
the  press,  and   remembering   how   few 


548 


THE  ROYAL  SOCIETY  OF  CANADA. 


Canadian  books  come  within  the  domain 
of  literary  art,  the  journalist  would  have 
a  strong  case  against  the  literary  man 
were  the  one  (the  latter)  to  be  taken  and 
the  other  (the  former)  tojbe  left. 

Of  course  our  contention  in  this  mat- 
ter is  wholly  influenced  by  the  circum- 
stances of  the  countrj^.  As  yet  Canada 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  a  distinctive 
class  of  literary  men — we  mean  those 
who  pursue  literature  as  an  art,  and 
who  have  done  anything  that,  in  a  cos- 
mopolitan sense,  ranks  them  as  authors. 
It  may  be,  and  we  would  fain  hope,  that 
Lord  Lome's  project  will  help  to  create 
this  class.  In  this  prospect,  if  the  scheme 
is  not  premature.  His  Excellency's  aim 
is  worthy  of  all  encouragement,  and  this 
Magazine  would  be  untrue  to  itself  if  it 
said  a  word  to  discredit  it.  But  we  have 
to  be  on  our  guard  against  literary  am- 
bition,— perhaps  also,  to  speak  with  re- 
spect, against  Court  patronage  of  letters, 
— and  we  should  be  loath  to  see  any 
stimulus  applied  to  our  young  litera- 
ture that  was  unwholesome  in  its  in- 
fluence and  barren  of  good  results.  Hence 
our  unwillingness  hastily  to  commend 
the  scheme,  and  cur  desire  that  if  the 
society  is  to  be  established,  it  shall  be 
on  a  solid  and  enduring  foundation. 
Nothing  will  better  ensure  this  than  the 
conviction  in  the  public  mind,  that  the 
institution  is  to  be  of  practical  service 
to  the  country,  and  a  bond  of  union 
among  all  active,  well-equipped  workers 
for  its  intellectual  advancement.  And 
here  a  word  of  comment  may  be  allowed 
us  as  to  the  selection  of  names  for 
enrolment  among  the  members  of  the 
Society.  The  absence  of  women  from 
the  Literature  Section  will  at  once  be 
noted,  and  is  an  omission  likely  to  create 
prejudice  as  it  is  sure  to  be  con- 
sidered an  injustice.  Literature  is 
of  no  sex  ;  and  in  Canada  its  most 
ardent  friends,  and  not  the  least 
successful  of  its  workers,  are  and  have 
been  women.  The  readers  of  this  Maga- 
zine will  instantly  recall  the  names  of 
three  or  four  of  our  lady  contributors 
who  deserve  place  on  the  roll  of  the 
Society,  and  whose  nomination  would 
have  done  it  honour.  Again,  from 
the  Tnglish  literature  branch,  we  miss 
the  ames  of  not  a  few  of  '  the 
other  sex,'  whose  non-appointment  to 
the  Society  will  lead  many  in  wonder- 
ment to  aak  on  what  principle  its  mem- 
bers have  been  chosen.  The  query, by  its 
naturalness,  will  illustrate  what  we  have 


said  as  to  the  probabilities  of  the  scheme 
awakening  jealousy.  Unless  founded 
on  the  broadest  lines,  and  to  include 
writers  who  are  sensibly  aiding  to  mould 
the  thouuht  and  give  impulse  to  the 
literary  life  of  the  country,  whether  in 
books  or  through  the  press,  the  Society 
will  be  likely  to  fail  in  securing  public 
commendation  and  find  its  successes  in 
a  harvest  of  jealousy  and  disfavour.  We 
are  aware  that  the  appointments  to 
membership  in  the  Society  have, been 
made  at  tlie  instance  of  those  whom  His 
Excellency  has  been  pleased  to  take  into 
counsel.  Lord  Lome  is  therefore  not 
personally  responsible  for  the  omissions 
from  the  list.  It  would  be  ungracious 
to  speak  of  any  who  are  of  "  the  elect  " 
as  having,  in  one  or  two  instances,  slen- 
der claim  to  the  honour.  On  the  whole, 
in  all  the  departments,  the  selection  has 
been  a  fitting  one  ;  though,  as  we  have 
said,  there  are  notable  omissions  from 
the  English  Literature  Section.  Mr. 
Le  Sueur's  name,  for  instance,  does  not 
appear  on  the  list ;  and  if  there  is  a  man 
in  Canada  entitled  to  the  honour,  and 
who  by  achievement  and  reputation,, 
both  as  a  thinker  and  a  writer,  deserves 
to  sit  in  the  highest  seat  in  a  native 
Academy  of  Letters,  it  is  the  able  and 
learned  gentleman  we  have  named .  Of 
Mr.  Rattray,  whose  name  we  also  miss 
from  the  list,  we  might  speak  with  equal 
warmth  and  justice.  There  is  no  native 
WTiter  who  has  higher  claims  to  appoint- 
ment on  the  Society  than  the  scholarly 
and  accomplished  author  of  The  IScot  in 
British  America,  or  one  whose  life  has 
been  more  actively  and  usefully  spent 
in  the  literary  service  of  his  country. 
In  connection  with  Mr.  Rattray,  we 
would  naturally  look  to  find  on  the  roll 
of  the  Society  the  name  of  the  author- 
of  The  Irishman  in  Canada,  a  work 
which  so  high  an  authority  as  The  By- 
stander remeiTked  "has  received  praise 
and  deserved  it. "  Mr.  Davin,  both  by 
his  intellectual  gifts  and  by  his  contri- 
butions to  the  English  quarterlies  and 
the  Canadian  periodical  press,  surely 
merits  a  place  in  a  Canadian  Academy. 
Mr.  Dent,  we  should  also  fully  expect 
to  see  honoured  in  any  gathering  of 
Canadian  litterateurs.  The  omission  of 
the  names  of  other  Canadian  writers, 
who  have  substantial  claims  to  enrol- 
ment in  the  Society,  will  also  occasion 
surprise.  Where,  it  may  be  asked,  are 
the  names  of  Dr.  Scadding,  Fennings 
Taylor,  Martin  Griffin,  Dr.  Cannitt",  Dr. 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


549 


Daniel  Clarke,  W.  A.  Fosler,  Rev.  W. 
H.  Withrow,  Blake  Crnfton,  S.  E.  Daw- 
son, F.  T.  Jones,  H.  J.  Morgan,  Francis 
Rye,  R.  W.  Boodle,  Miss  Louisa  Mur- 
ray and  other  writers  in  general  litera- 
ture?— of  Mulvany,  Roberts,  Dixon, 
Fidelis,  Esperance,  Gowan  Lea,  Ser- 
anus,  and  Mrs.  INIaclean  among  our 
]>oets  ;  of  Hunter,  Seath,  Miles, 
Hodgins,  Wells,  and  Nelles  among 
our  educational  writers  and  book-mak- 
ers ;  and  of  the  notable  names  among 
our  legal  and  medical  authors  and  con- 
tributors to  the  professional  press  ?  It 
may  be  said,  in  reply,  that  to  be  strong 
and  influential,  as  well  as  to  hold  out 
the  incentive  to  aspire  to  membership, 
the  numbers  must  be  limited.  But  is 
there  not  a  risk  in  being  too  exclusive, 
and  is  it  wise  to  follow  models  and  pre- 
cedents unsuited  to  our  social  ideas  ? 
If  old-time  notions  are  to  do  service, 
w^hy  not  revive  the  historic  appellation, 
if  not  too  unsavoury,  of  '  The  One  Hun- 
dred Associates'  of  Louis  XIII.,  and 
extend  the  membership  to  that  number 
— substituting  in  its  aims  Science  and 


Literature  for  Commerce,  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge  for  the  spoils  of  the  chase  ? 
But  what  the  country  most  of  all  at  the 
present  time  wants  is  a  union  of  all  com- 
petent and  hearty  workers  in  the  service 
of  the  intellectual  life — men  and  women 
who  will  actively  promote  culture,  infect 
the  people  with  a  taste  for  higher  read- 
ing, encourage  them  to  appreciate  native 
enterprises,  and  generally  open  wide 
the  doors  to  literary  ambition.  The 
'  Royal  Society  of  Canada  '  may  do 
something  to  accomplish  this  end,  but 
in  so  far  as  literature  is  concerned,  we 
fear  that  it  has  tied  its  hands.  At  its 
first  meeting,  however,  it  may  rectify 
this  mistake,  and  wisely  enlarge  its 
basis.  In  any  case,  we  shall  be  prepared 
candidly  to  judge  it  by  its'  works. 
Should  the  project  succeed,  His  Excel- 
lency will  have  done  a  signal  service  to 
literature  and  science  in  Canada,  for 
which  this  Magazine,  although,  unlike 
his  predecessor,  he  is  among  neither  its 
subscribers  nor  its  contributors,  will  not 
be  slow  to  make  acknowledgment. 


BOOK   EEYIEWS. 


Chambers'  Etymological  Dictionary  of  the 
.English  Language  ;  edited  by  Andrew 
Flndlater,  M.A.,  LL.D.  London 
and  Edinburgh  :  W.  &  R,  Chambers. 
Toronto  :  Rose-Belford  Publishing 
Co.,  1882. 

The  work,  of  which  the  above  is  a 
new  and  thoroughly  revised  edition,  is 
too  well-known  and  appreciated  to  need 
any  particular  commendation  at  our 
hands.  Considering  its  low  price,  there 
is  no  lexicon  of  the  language  that  can 
compete  with  it,  as  a  generally  accurate 
and  useful  aid  to  the  English  student. 
The  new  edition  is,  in  many  respects,  a 
great  improvement  on  the  previous  one 
particularly  in  the  advantage  taken  by 
the  new  editor  of  the  researches  of  re- 
cent scholars,  French  and  German,  and 
of  the  '  new  English  School  of  Philolo- 


gists, who,'  as  the  editor  saj-s,  'have 
done  so  much  during  the  last  twenty 
years  to  promote  the  historic  and  scien- 
tific study  of  our  own  language.'  The 
work,  moreover,  is  much  enhanced  in 
value  by  the  increased  size  of  the  type 
in  which  the  new  edition  has  been  set, 
and  by  the  large  addition  to  the  book  of 
a  multitude  of  new  words,  scientific 
terms,  &c.  Another  improvement  will  be 
found  in  the  words  following  a  strictly 
alphabetical  order,  instead  of  being 
grouped  under  the  stem  or  root-word, 
as  was  the  case  in  previous  editions. 
Considerable  useful  matter,  in  the  shape 
of  appendices,  appears  in  the  new  edi- 
tion, and  adds  bulk  and  value  to  the 
book. 

A  notable  feature  of  this  work,  and 
one  that  is  more  characteristic  of  the 
admirable  dictionary  of  the   late  Rev. 


550 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


Jas.  Stormoiith;  the  lexicon,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  writer,  2)ar  excellence, 
of  the  hmguage,  is  the  compilation  of 
the  compound  and  other  derived  words 
and  phrases,  grouped  under  the  parent 
wi>rd,  throughout  the  lexicon.  This 
feature  is  happily  enlarged  in  the  pre- 
sent edition,  tJiough  it  falls  far  short  of 
Stormonth's  work  in  the  characteristic 
we  have  pointed  out.  To  make  our 
meaning  intelligible,  we  will  cite  a  few 
words  from  the  present  and  earlier  edi- 
tions of  Chambers'  book  and  also  from 
the  new  one  of  Stormonth's.  To  take 
the  inflected  and  compound  words  un- 
der the  word  'break,'  for  example,  we 
have  in  both  editions  of  Chambers'  the 
following  :  breakage,  breaker,  break- 
fast, and  breakwater.  The  additions  to 
these  in  the  new  issue  are  the  following  : 
break  cover,  break  down,  break  ground, 
break  the  ice,  break  a  lance,  break  upon 
the  wheel,  break  with,  breaking  in,  and 
breakneck.  The  additional  fulness  of 
Stormonth's  book  will  be  seen  at  a 
glance,  by  our  adding  the  derivatives 
supplied  in  the  latter,  in  excess  of  those 
already  quoted.  These  ai'e  some  of 
of  them  :  breaking,  broke,  broken,  to 
break  up,  to  break  forth,  to  break  in,  to 
break  from,  to  break  upon,  to  break 
through,  to  break  off,  to  break  loose,  to 
break  out,  a  break-up,  to  break  the 
heart,  break  of  day,  and  breakfasting — 
all  of  which  are  fully  defined  and  the 
hyphen,  where  necessary,  properly  sup- 
plied. The  matter  of  supplying  the  hy- 
phen is,  we  notice,  carelessly  attended  to 
in  the  new  '  Chambers' ' ;  and  to  proof- 
readers, and  accurate  writers  for  the 
press,  this  grave  omission  will  greatly 
detract  from  the  value  which  they  would 
otherwise  place  upon  the  work.  The 
following  which  we  alight  upon  at  ran- 
dom, will  illustrate  this  :  by-law,  by- 
name, and  by-word,  though  appearing 
in  former  editions  as  we  here  give  them, 
are  all  in  the  new  book  shorn  of  the  hy- 
phen. In  the  case  of  other  words,  the 
present  edition  is  an  improvement ; 
gunboat,  for  instance,  which  in  previous 
issues  appears  with  the  hyphen,  is  now 
correctly  given  without  it.  Under  the 
word  '  sea,'  however,  there  is  evidence 
of  the  same  carelessness  we  have  referred 
to,  the  following  being  written  incor- 
rectly without  the  hyphen, — a  depar- 
ture from  the  mode  adopted  in  the  older 
editions  :  sea-mark,  sea-piece,  sea-horse, 
sea-room,  sea-salt,  sea-shore,  and  sea- 
sick.     That  it  is  not    intended   to   do 


away  with  the  hyphen  entirely,  its  pro- 
per introduction  into  the  words  sea-ane- 
mone, sea-going,  sea-level,  and  sea-ser- 
pent, attests.  With  like  carelessness 
we  have  watercourse,  watermark,  water- 
mill,  watershed,  waterwheel  and  water- 
work — all  without  the  hyphen,  though, 
with  it,  we  have  water-carriage,  water- 
colour,  water-level,  water-logged,  water- 
parting,  and  water-power.  We  have  al- 
so the  introduction  of  the  hyphen  in  the 
word  '  wellbeing '  where  iisage  now 
leaves  it  out.  Notwithstanding  these 
errors  the  new  edition  of  Chambers'  is  a 
most  serviceable  and  in  many  respects 
admirable  handbook  of  reference,  which 
we  have  much  pleasure  in  heartily  re- 
commending. 


The  Burgomaster  s  Wife.  By  Georg 
Ebers.  From  the  German  by  Mary 
J.  Safford.  New  York  :  William  S. 
Gottsberger.  Toronto  :  N.  Ure  &  Co,;, 
1882. 

Georg  Ebers  is  one  of  the  best  of  the 
more  recent  German  writers  of  fiction. 
Both   in   style,    plot,  and   dialogue  his 
novels   are  a  decided   improvement  on 
any  we  have  seen  by  his  countrymen. 
Herr  Ebers  resides  at  Leipzic,  the  oldest 
centre  of   the  German  book-trade,  but 
I    his   mother   was   a    Hollandaise,  which 
j    partly  accounts  for  his  choice  of  the  most 
glorious  episode  in  the  History  of  Hol- 
;    IsLi}^,  in  this   very  charming   historical 
I    tale,  as  also  for  a  certain  Dutch  minute- 
ness of  description  in  which  Herr  Ebers 
j    reminds  us  of  Charles  Dickens.     '  The 
I    Burgomaster's  Wife  '  tells  the  story  of 
I    the  Siege  of  Leyden,  which  was  to  the 
Dutch  War  of   Independence  what  the 
Siege  of  Derry  was  to  the  English  Revo- 
lution of  1688.     We  are  introduced  to  a 
series  of  interesting  and  vividly  describ- 
ed pictiu-es   of    family  life  in  Leyden, 
in  the   early  times   befcire  it    was   cir- 
cled by  the  Spanish  armies  ;  and  to  the 
efforts  of  the  heroic  defenders  of  relig- 
ious and  civil  liberty  against  the  time- 
serving among  their   own  countrymen. 
Then  the  siege  with  its  many  stirring 
episodes,  the  famine  and  the  apparent 
hopelessness  of  aid  from  the  pati'iots, 
the  famous  '  Beggars  '  of  Holland.     In 
the  darkest  hour  succour  comes,  and  the 
tale  ends  happily.     It  is  carefully  worked 
up  in  the  historic  and  social  details,  and 
may  be  relied  upon  as  a  pleasant  means 
of  acquiring  knowledge  of  one  of  the  in- 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


551 


teresting  chapters  of  European  History. 
It  gives  us  pleasure  to  add  that  the  tone 
of  the  book  is  essentially  pure.  The 
translator  has  done  her  work  in  a  clear, 
readable  English  style.     The  volume  is 


of  a  convenient  and  attractive  get  up, 
and  we  wish  success  to  the  series  of 
translations  from  Georg  Ebers  of  which. 
it  forms  a  part. 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


BEAUTIFUL   THINGS. 

Beautiful  faces  are  those  that  wear — 
It  matters  little  if  dark  or  fair, 
Whole-souled  honesty  printed  there. 

Beautiful  eyes  are  those  that  show 

Like  crystal  panes  where  hearth-tires  glow, 

Beautiful  thoughts  that  burn  below. 

Beautiful  Ups  are  those  whose  words 
Leap  from  the  heart  like  songs  of   birds. 
Yet  whose  utterance  prudence  girds. 

Beautiful  hands  are  those  that  do 
Work  that  is  earnest  and  brave  and  true, 
Moment  by  moment,  the  long  day  through. 

Beautiful  feet  are  those  that  go 
On  kindly  ministry  to  and  fro, 
Down  lowliest  ways  if  God  wills  so. 

Beautiful  shoulders  are  those  that  bear 
Ceaseless  burdens  of  homely  care 
AVith  patient  grace  and  daily  prayer. 

Beautiful  lives  are  those  that  bless — 

Silent  rivers  of  happiness, 

Whose  hidden  fountains  but  few  may  guess. 

Beautiful  twilight  at  set  of  sun. 
Beautiful  goal  with  race  well  run, 
Beautiful  rest  with  work  well  done. 

Beautiful  grave  where  grasses  creep,    ' 
AVhere  brown  leaves  fall,  where  di'ifts  lie 

deep 
Over  worn-out  hands — 0  beautiful  sleep. 

The  difterence  between  a  cat  and  a 
comma  is  that  one  has  the  claws  at  the 
end  of  paws,  while  the  other  has  the 
pause  at  the  end  of  clause. 

We  are  told  "  the  evening  wore  on," 
but  we  are  not  told  what  the  evenii)g 
wore  on  that  particular  occasion.  Was 
it  at  the  close  of  a  summer's  day  ? 


The  best  men  know  they  are  very  far 
from  what  they  ought  to  be,  and  the 
very  worst  think  that,  if  they  were  a 
little  better,  they  would  be  as  good  as 
they  need  be. 

Every  one  who  is  worth  his  salt  has 
his  enemies,  who  must  be  beaten,  be 
they  evil  thoughts  and  habits  in  himself^ 
or  spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places  or 
Russians,    or  border  ruffians. 

A  French  writer  remai'ks  :  —  "  If  a 
lady  says  to  you,  '  I  can  never  love  you,' 
wait  a  little  longer  ;  all  hope  is  not  lost. 
But  if  she  says,  '  No  one  has  more  sin- 
cere wishes  for  your  happiness  than  I,' 
take  your  hat. 

At  a  church  in  Scotland,  where  there 
was  a  popular  call  for  a  minister,  as  it  is 
termed,  two  candidates  oft'ered  to  preach, 
whose  names  were  Adam  and  Low.  The 
latter  preached  in  the  morning  and  took 
for  his  text,  "  Adam,  where  art  thou  ?" 
He  made  a  very  excellent  discourse,  and 
the  congregation  were  much  edified.  In 
the  afternoon  Mr.  Adam  preached  upon 
these  words  :"  io,  here  am  I."  The 
impromptu  and  the  sermon  gained  him 
the  appointment. 

A  Sunday-school  teacher  read  to  his 
class  that  the  Ethiopian  eunuch  went  on 
his  way  rejoicing  after  Philip  had  talked 
with  him,  and  then  asked,  "  Why  did  he 
rejoice  ?  "  A  boy  answered,  "  Because 
Phillip  was  done  a-teachlu'  him."  It  is 
too  often  that  there  is  great  rejoicing 
when  the  lesson  is  finished.  Attending 
a  lecture  lately,  the  speaker  was  long, 
learned,  but  dreadfully  tiresome.  When 
he  finished,  there  was  loud  applause. 
"  Why, we  asked,  "  this  loud  applause?  "" 
"  Because  he  stopped  there  ;  he  might 
have  gone  on  lons;er." 


BRIC-A-BRAC, 


A  young  composer  lias  just  written 
for  a  sopi'ano  voice  a  bea\itiful  song  en- 
titled '  Would  that  I  were  young  again !' 
It  has  been  so  much  time  wasted.  A 
woman  can't  be  found  who'll  sing  it. 

A  brother  rose  in  a  weekly  prayer 
meeting  in  New  Jersey  and  said, 
"  Brethren,  when  I  consider  the  short- 
ness of  life,  I  feel  as  if  I  might  be  taken 
away  suddenly,  like  a  thief  in  the 
night. " 

Pat  (to  Sandy).  '  Shure,  now,  Sandy, 
yer  a  good  looking  fellow,  but  your  face 
spoils  yez  greatly.  You've  the  foine 
open  countenance,  though.'  Sandy:  'Ou 
aye,  man,  and  ye  hae  the  fine  open 
coutenance  yersel',  but  it's  below  the 
nose.' 

Laird  :  '  Donald  I  took  particular 
notice  of  the  road  from  Traig  to  Morar, 
and  found  it  up-hill  all  the  way  ;  and  I 
am  now  taking  particular  notice  of  the 
road  from  Morar  to  Traig,  and  I  find  it 
more  uphill  than  from  Traig  to  Morar.' 
Donald  :  '  Aye,  Laird,  that's  joost  it.' 

An  old  lady  who  does  not  believe  in 
the  co-education  of  the  sexes  was  rejoiced 
the  other  day,  to  find  that,  although  the 
boys  and  girls  in  a  large  seminary 
seemed  to  be  playing  some  sort  of  a  game 
together,  the  school  authorities  had 
wisely  hung  a  long   net  between  them. 

Scene — Drill  ground  of  volunteers, 
Campbelltown.  Celtic  sergeant  (calling 
the  roll)  :  '  Dugald  M'Alpine  ? '  Du- 
gald  (very  loudly)  :  '  Here  ! '  Celtic 
sergeant  :  '  Yes,  you  said  that  last 
week,  but  who  saw't  you  —you're  always 
here  if  I  tak  your  own  word  for  it,  but 
you  cry  "  here"  whether  ye  pe  here  or 
no — fery  bad  habit,  sir.' 

David  Crockett  used  to  say  of  the  late 
Philip  Home,  with  whom  he  was  in 
Congress,  that  he  was  the  'perlitest' 
man  he  ever  knew — '  'Cause  why  ? ' 
said  the  colonel  '  he  alius  puts  his  bot- 
tle on  the  sideboard  before  he  asks  you 
to  drink,  and  then  turns  his  back  so  as 
not  to  see  how  much  you  take  !  This,' 
adds  the  colonel,  '  is  what  I  call  "  real 
perliteness." 

Apropos  of  the  '  Scotch  Sermon ' 
heresy  case,  a  friend  reminds  us  of  the 
following  lines  of  our  national  poet  : — 

'  This  day  the  Kirk  kicks  up  a  stoure, 
Nae  mail-  the  knaves  shall  wrang  her, 
For  heresy  is  in  her  power, 
And  gloriously  she'll  whang  her 
Wi'  pith  this  day.' 


A  clergyman  dwelt  in  a  quiet,  rural 
district,  where  laziness  is  apt  to  grow 
upon  a  man.  One  day  his  excellent 
spouse  remarked  to  him  at  breakfast, 
'  Minister,  there's  a  bit  of  butter  on 
your  neckcloth.'  '  Weel,  weel,  Janet, 
my  dear,'  slowly  responded  the  worthy 
pastor,  '  when  I  get  up,  it'll  fa'  aflf.' 

An  old  lad}',  who  had  no  relish  for 
modern  church  music,  was  expressing 
her  dislike  of  the  singing  of  an  anthem 
in   a  certain  church  not  very  far  from 

,  when  a  neighbour  said  :    '  Why, 

that  is  a  very  old  anthem.  David  sang 
it  to  Saul.'  To  this,  the  old  lady  re- 
plied, '  Weel,  weel,  1  noo  for  the  first 
time  understan'  why  Saul  threw  his 
javelin  at  David  when  the  lad  sang  for 
him. ' 

Gabe  'Snodgrass  recently  applied  to 
the  Rev.  Aminidab  Bledso,  of  the  Blue 
Light  Austin  Tabernacle,  for  some  pe- 
cuniary assistance.  "  I  jess  can't  do  it," 
replied  Parson  Bledso.  ' '  I  has  to  s'port 
my  pore  ole  mudder."  "  But  yer  pore 
ole  mudder  say  you  don't  do  nufiin'  for 
her."  "  Well,  den,  ef  I  don't  do  nuffin' 
for  my  pore  ole  mudder,  what's  de  use 
ob  an  outsider  like  you  tryin'  ter  make 
me  shell  out  ?  " 

A  Many-Ton(e)ous  Precentor. — 
Young  Deacon  :  '  Now,  Elder,  as  our 
precentor  is  getting  so  frail,  I  think  we 
had  better  have  a  choir.  You  can't 
imagine  the  grand  and  solemn  effect  of 
hearing  the  four  parts  sung  together.' 
Auld  Elder  :  '  Deacon  !  ye'll  never  pro- 
fane the  kirk  wi'  a  band  !  An'  gin  we 
go  to  the  tune  o'  £30  a  year,  surely  we 
can  hae  a  man  frae  the  Sooth  wha  can 
sing  a'  the  four  parts  himseV  !  ' 

Superintendent  Burns,  of  Chillicothe, 
thus  disposes  of  the  word  '  boy '  in  a 
grammatical  way  :  Boy  is  a  noun,  and 
singular  ;  and  it  is  very  singular  if  a  boy 
cannot  find  other  boys.  The  word  boy 
is  said  to  be  monosyllabic,  the  boy  him- 
self is  polysyllabic, — very.  The  word 
boy  is  a  primary  word,  the  boy  is  a 
derivative.  The  word  boy  is  found  in 
the  original,  Emerson  says  a  boy  is  "a 
quotation  fi'om  all  his  ancestors.'  The 
boy's  big  sister  about  8  o'clock  in  the 
evening  finds  him  the  objective  case,  and 
thinks  he  should  be  sent  to  bed.  Speak- 
ing of  the  relations  it  might  sustain  and 
the  ways  it  could  be  governed,  he  re- 
marked that  the  boy  himself  was  gener- 
ally sustained  by  his  relations,  and 
seldom  governed  at  all. 


EOSE-BELFORD'S 

CAN^ADIA]^  M0]^THLT 

AND    I^ATIONAL    EEYIEW. 


JUNE,    1882. 


THE   CONFUSED   DAWN. 


YOUNG  MAN. 

^TTHAT  are  the  Vision  and  the  Cry 

VV      That  haunt  the  young  Canadian  soul  1 
Dim  grandeur  spreads,  we  know  not  why, 

O'er  mountain,  forest,  tree,  and  knoll, 
And  murmurs  indistinctly  fly. 
Some  magic  moment  sure  is  nigh  ! 

O  Seer,  the  curtain  roll  I 

SEER. 

The  Vision,  mortal,  it  is  this — 

Dead  mountain,  forest,  knoll,  and  tree 

Awaken  all  endued  with  bliss, 

A  native  land — 0  think  ! — to  be — 

Thy  native  land  ! — and,  ne'er  amiss, 

Its  smile  a  sympathising  kiss 
Shall  henceforth  seem  to  thee. 

The  Cry  thou  couldst  not  understand, 

Which  runs  through  that  new  realm  of  light, 

To  Breton's  and  Vancouver's  strand. 
From  many  a  lovely  landscape  bright, 

It  is  their  waking  utterance  grand, 

The  one  refrain  '  A  native  land  ! ' 
Thine  be  the  ear,  the  sight. 

MONTIIEAT..  — W.    DOUW   LIGHTIIALL. 


554 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 
THE  NORTHMEN  IN  AMERICA. 

BY    PIERCE    STEVENS    HAMILTON,    HALIFAX,    N.  S. 


IL 


"TXrHILE  Thorball,  the  hunter,  as 
>  V  we  related  in  the  last  number 
of  The  Monthly,  had  gone  off  north- 
ward on  an  expedition  which  cost  him 
his  life  or  his  liberty,  Karlsefne,  with 
Snoi'ri  Thorbrandson,  Bjarni  Grimolf- 
son,  and  the  rest  of  the  company,  went 
away,  with  the  other  ships,  exploring 
southwards,  or  south-westwards,  along 
the  coast.  They  sailed  along  upon  that 
course  *  until  they  came  to  a  river 
which  ran  out  from  the  land,  through 
a  lake,  out  into  the  sea' — obviously 
the  place  which  had  been  previously 
visited  by  both  Lief  and  Thorvald. 
They  found  the  river  so  shallow  that 
it  could  only  be  entered  at  high  water, 
Karlsefne,  with  all  his  people,  sailed 
up  into  it ;  and  they  called  the  place 
Hop.  This  name  is  derived  from  the 
Icelandic  word  '  h6pa,'  to  recede,  to 
fall  back,  and  must  be  taken  to  mean 
a  marine  recess,  an  estuary,  a  'joggin,' 
to  use  a  local  word  believed  to  be  pe- 
culiar to  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  It  is 
very  curious  that  the  Indians,  who 
dwelt  thereabouts,  at  the  time  the  ear- 
liest post-Columbian  European  set- 
tlements were  made,  applied  the  name 
Mont-haup  to  a  fine  elevation  rising 
from  the  shore  of  this  bay  ;  and  that 
the  expanded  inlet  is,  to  this  day, 
called  Mount  Hope  Bay.  It  was  here 
that,  as  already  mentioned,  the  Euro- 
pean settlers  of  the  early  part  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  heard  from  the 
oldest  Indians  the  tradition  of  some 
strange  men,  in  time  far  past,  having 
floated  a  house  up  the  Pocasset  river, 


and  having  fought  with  the  Indians  of 
that  period.  It  seems  quite  credible — 
even  quite  probable — that  the  name 
Hop,  or  Hope,  as  applied  to  the  place 
in  question,  has  been  in  continuous 
vise  by  the  inhabitants  of  that  vicinity, 
ever  since  it  was  first  bestowed  by  the 
Northmen  in  1008. 

They  found  there,  where  the  land 
was  low,  what  they  called  '  self-sown 
fields  of  wheat,'  but  vines  upon  the 
higher  ground.  Either  this  so-called 
wheat  must  have  been  maize  planted 
by  the  savages,  or  it  was  the  offspring 
of  some  grain  sown  by  Leif,  or  Thor- 
vald, in  a  former  year.  Karlsefne 
and  his  companions  had  taken  their 
cattle  with  them  to  this  place.  They 
found  that  all  the  streams  in  the  vi- 
cinity, as  well  as  the  tidal  waters, 
abounded  in  fish ;  and  there  were  num- 
bers of  various  kinds  of  wild  beasts  in 
the  woods.  They  had  remained  there 
for  half-a  month  without  anything  no- 
table having  occurred,  when,  early 
one  morning,  they  saw  a  host  of  can- 
oes approaching.  Not  knowing  what 
this  might  denote,  the  Northmen  held 
out  a  white  shield  towards  the  ap- 
proaching force,  as  a  sign  of  peace. 
Whether  the  significance  of  the  sign 
was  understood,  or  not,  the  Skroelings 
— for  such  they  were — landed,  and 
remained  with  the  Northmen  for  some 
time,  curiously  examining  and  gazing 
at  them  and  at  everything  about  them. 
Then  they  re-entered  their  canoes 
and  pulled  *  away  to  the  northward, 
round  the  ness.' 

Karlsefne  and  his  people  had  set  up 
their  dwellings  above  the  lake  ;  some 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


of  the  houses  were  near  the  water- 
side, and  others  at  some  distance  from 
it.  There  they  remained  for  the  win- 
ter ;  but  notwithstanding  that  there 
was  snow,  their  cattle  were  able  to  feed 
themselves  upon  the  grass.  With  the 
approach  of  spring,  again,  one  morn- 
ing early,  they  saw  a  great  number  of 
canoes,  'coming  from  the  south,  round 
the  ness ;  so  many  as  if  the  sea  was 
sown  with  coal.'  They  also — as  was 
the  case  on  the  former  occasion — had 
poles  swung  over  every  canoe.  Again 
the  white  shield  was  exhibited  by 
Karlsefne's  people,  when  the  occupants 
of  the  canoes  joined  them ;  and  the 
two  commenced  to  barter.  These  peo- 
ple preferred  red  cloth  to  anything 
«lse  that  the  Northmen  had  to  offer 
them ;  and  for  this  they  gave  in  re- 
turn skins  and  furs.  They  also  wished 
to  purchase  swords  and  spears  ;  but 
this  was  wisely  forbidden  by  Karlsefne 
and  Snorri  Thorbrandson.  We  are 
told  that  the  Skroelings  gave  an  entire 
fur  skin  for  a  piece  of  red  cloth  a  span 
long,  which  cloth  they  bound  around 
their  heads,  doubtless  as  an  ornament. 
When  the  cloth  began  to  fall  short, 
Karlsefne's  people  used  to  cut  it  into 
smaller  strips,  not  wider  than  a  finger's 
breadth  ;  but  still  the  Skrcelings  gave 
as  much  for  each  of  these  bits  as  they 
did  for  the  larger  pieces.  When  the 
cloth  became  quite  exhausted,  Karls- 
efne hit  upon  the  expedient  of  making 
the  women  take  out  milk  porridge  to 
the  Skroelings,  who,  as  soon  as  they 
had  tested  the  excellence  of  this  new 
article  of  commerce,  would  buy  no- 
thing but  porridge.  '  Thus,'  says  the 
Saga  of  Erik  the  Red,  which  particu- 
larly mentions  this  circumstance,  '  the 
traffic  of  the  Skioelings  was  woundup 
by  their  bearing  away  their  purchases 
in  their  stomachs  ;  but  Karlsefne  and 
his  companions  retained  their  goods 
and  skins.' 

It  happened,  at  length,  that  a  bull 
which  Karlsefne  had,  ran  out  from  the 
woods,  about  this  time,  and  roared 
aloud.  At  this  the  terrified  Skrcel- 
ings rushed  to   their  canoes,   pushed 


hastily  oflf,  and  paddled  away  south- 
ward, along  the  coast,  in  the  direction 
from  which  they  had  first  come.  No- 
thing further  was  seen  of  them  for 
three  weeks.  It  would  seem  that  the 
Skrcelings  must  have  considered  the 
roaring  of  Karlsefne's  bull  as,  if  not 
an  open  declaration  of  war,  at  least  a 
casu^  belli.  At  the  termination  of 
the  three  weeks,  they  reappeared  in 
great  force — '  were  seen  coming  from 
the  south  like  a  rushing  torrent !  ' 
The  poles,  too,  which  were  swung  over 
their  canoes,  *  were  turned  from  the 
sun,  and  they  all  howled  very  loud,' 
— -both  of  which  incidents  were  con- 
sidered as  demonstrative  of  hostile  in- 
tentions. So,  this  time,  Karlsefne's 
people  hung  out,  not  a  white,  but  a 
red  shield,  which  was  equivalent  to 
telling  the  Skroelings  to  '  come  on  ! ' 
They  did  come  on — with  a  vengeance, 
it  may  be  said.  They  hurled  a  shower 
of  missiles  upon  the  Northmen,  hav- 
ing, it  is  said,  slings,  among  their 
other  weapons.  A  sharp  conflict  en- 
sued. Karlfsefne's  men  at  length  gave 
way  to  the  overwhelming  numbers  of 
their  foes,  and  '  fell  back  along  the 
river  for  it  appeared  to  them  that  the 
Skroelings  pressed  upon  them  from 
all  sides  ;  and  they  did  not  stop  until 
they  came  to  some  rocks,  where  they 
made  a  stout  resistance.'  It  seems 
that,  when  this  retreat  took  place, 
Freydis — who,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
the  daughter  of  Erik  the  Ked,  and 
wife  of  one  Thorvard — was  unable  to 
run  so  nimbly  as  the  rest,  because  of 
feminine  reasons.  Seeing  the  others 
fall  back,  she  scornfully  cried  out  : 
'  Why  do  ye  run,  stout  men  as  ye  are, 
before  these  miserable  wretches,  whom 
I  thought  ye  would  knock  down  like 
cattle  1  and  if  I  had  weapons  methinks 
I  could  fight  better  than  any  of  ye.' 
Yet  she  followed  them  slowly  as  best 
she  could,  the  Skroelings  still  pursuing 
her.  At  length  she  came  across  a 
man  —  Thorbrand  Snorrason  —  lying 
dead,  with  a  flat  stone  stuck  in  his 
head  and  a  naked  sword  lying  by  his 
side.   Freydis  seized  the  sword,  turned 


556 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


upon  the  pursuing  Skrcelings,  and, 
like  a  genuine  she-Berserker,  she  drew 
out  her  breasts  from  under  her  clothes, 
dashed  them  against  the  naked  sword, 
and  fiercely  met  the  advancing  foe. 
The  Skrcelings  became  seized  with  a 
)>anic,  turned  instantly,  ran  off  to  their 
canoes,  and  rapidly  rowed  away.  A 
goodly  number  of  the  Skicelings  fell 
in  this  affair,  but  only  two  of  Karl- 
sefne's  people. 

An  incident  is  mentioned,  which 
must  have  occurred  about  this  time, 
and  which  would  indicate  that  these 
Skrcelings  knew  nothing  of  the  use  of 
metals.  Tliey  found  a  dead  man,  and 
an  axe  lay  by  him.  One  of  them  took 
up  the  axe  and  cut  wood  with  it;  and 
then  one  after  another  did  the  same, 
seeming  to  think  that  it  was  an  excel- 
lent thing  and  bit  well.  Afterwards 
one  of  them  took  it  up  and  made  a 
cut  at  a  stone,  so  that  the  axe  broke. 
Then  regarding  it  as  useless,  they 
threw  it  away. 

Karlsefne  and  his  people  now  began 
to  feel  discouraged  at  their  prospects. 
The  land,  it  was  admitted,  had  many 
excellent  qualities.  Still,  they  feared 
that  they  should  always  find  them- 
selves exposed  there  to  the  hostilities 
of  the  aboriginal  inhabitants.  They 
determined,  therefore,  to  take  their 
departure  for  their  own  old  country. 
But  first  they  made  an  exploratory 
trip,  northward  and  westward,  along 
the  shore  of  Nai-raganset  Bay.  At 
one  place,  they  found  five  Skrcelings, 
clothed  in  skins,  and  lying  asleep  near 
the  water  side  ;  and  with  them  there 
were  vessels  containing  what  was  sup- 
posed to  be  animal  marrow  mixed  with 
blood.  Karlsefne's  peoi)le  conjectured 
that  these  five  men  had  been  banished 
by  their  fellow-countrymen.  They 
killed  them — of  course.  They  make 
note  of  a  certain  ness — perhaps  Chip- 
pinoxet  Point — where  they  found  evi- 
dences of  the  place  having  been  the 
resort  of  great  numbers  of  wild  ani- 
mals. They  then  returned,  probably 
south  of  the  island,  to  Straumfjord  ; 
and  there,  as  usual,  they  found  abun- 


dance of    everything  which    they  re- 
quired. 

Karlsefne  himself  then  took  one  of 
his  vessels  and  made  an  excursion 
northwards  and  eastwards,  in  search 
of  Thorhall,  the  Hunter,  who,  it  will 
be  remembered,  had,  in  the  preceding 
year,  obstinately  sailed  away  in  that 
direction.  In  the  meantime,  he  left 
the  remainder  of  his  company  either 
at  Straumfjord  or  Hop.  Karlsefne 
sailed  north,  past  Kjalarness  (Cape 
Cod),  and  thence  westward,  with  the 
land  upon  his  larboard  hand,  and 
found  woods  evei-y  where,  as  far  as- 
they  could  see,  with  scarcely  any  open 
places.  They  found  a  river  which  fell 
out  of  the  land  from  the  east  to  the 
west,  and  they  entered  its  mouth  and 
lay  by  its  southern  bank.  This  was, 
no  doubt,  some  inconsiderable  stream, 
falling  into  Boston  Bay  ;  for  it  is  sta- 
ted that  '  they  looked  upon  the  moun- 
tain range  that  was  seen  at  Hop,  and 
that  which  they  now  found,  as  all 
one.'  There  can  be  no  reasonable 
doubt  that  the  'mountain  range  '  re- 
ferred to,  is  that  of  the  Blue  Hill.'--^ 
which  stretch  through  Norfolk  Coun- 
ty, from  near  Milton  to  the  direction 
of  Taunton  Biver. 

Of  course  Karlsefne  returned  with- 
out having  seen,  or  heard,  anything  of 
the  stiflT-necked  old  Thorhall.  Then 
he  and  his  company  spent  their  third 
winter  in  Vinland.  '  There  was  born 
the  first  autumn,  Snorri,  Karlsefne's 
son,  and  he  was  three  years  old  when 
they  went  away.'  Troubles  and  dis- 
satisfaction were  already  growing  up 
in  tiie  little  colony.  To  explain  the 
causes  of  this,  we  cannot  do  better 
than  to  quote  the  Saga's  own  curt, 
but  most  intelligible,  account  of  the 
real  state  of  affairs — as  thus  :  '  They 
now  became  much  divided  by  party 
feeling,  and  the  women  were  the  cause 
of  it ;  for  those  who  were  unmarried 
would  injure  those  that  wei'e  married, 
and  hence  arose  great  disturbance.' 

At  length  (A.  D.  101  Oj,  Karlsefne 
and  his  companions  set  sail  from  Yin- 
land  for  their  old  home,  with  a  fair 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


south  wind.  They  touched  at  Mark- 
land,  where  they  found  five  Skroelings 
— '  one  was  bearded,  two  were  females, 
and  two  boys.'  They  seized  the  two 
boys,  and  the  others  escaped.  The 
boys  they  took  with  them,  and  taught 
them  the  language,  and  had  them  bap- 
tized. Our  adventurers  did  not  all 
succeed  in  reaching  their  far  northern 
home,  however.  Bjarni  Grimolfson's 
ship  came  to  grief — near  the  southei*n 
ooast  of  Ireland,  as  is  supposed.  He 
had  but  one  available  boat,  which 
would  only  hold  a  part  of  the  crew. 
They  cast  lots  for  their  chances ;  and 
Bjarni  was  one  who  was  assigned  by 
lot  to  the  boat.  As  commander  of 
the  ship,  he  might  have  selfishly  taken 
such  a  place  in  the  first  instance.  But 
now  he,  at  the  last  moment,  gave  up 
his  place  to  one  who  appealed  to  his 
pity  and  who,  he  thought,  had  some 
moral  claims  upon  him.  So  Bjarni 
returned  to  the  sinking  ship,  and  died 
as  a  true  hero.  The  boat,  with  a  por- 
tion of  the  crew  on  board,  at  length 
reached  Dublin  in  safety.  Meanwhile 
Thorfinn  Karlsefne,  with  his  ship,  ar- 
rived in  due  season  at  Eriksfjord, 
Greenland.  There  he  passed  the  win- 
ter. In  the  following  summer — that 
of  the  year  1011 — he,  with  his  wife 
Gudrid,  went  to  his  home  at  Reynis- 
ness,  in  Iceland.  We  often  afterwards 
hear,  in  the  old  Iceland  chronicles,  of 
Karlsefne  and  his  immediate  descend- 
ants :  but,  so  far  as  is  known,  here 
«nd  his  explorations  in  Vinland.  He 
himself  made  a  prosperous  voyage  to 
Norway,  where  he  and  his  wife  re- 
mained for  a  winter  and  were  held  in 
great  honour  by  the  first  people  in 
that  kingdom.  In  the  spring  he  re- 
turned to  Iceland  ;  but  on  the  eve  of 
his  departure,  there  occurred  this  in- 
cident : — Karlsefne  was  on  board  his 
ship  waiting  for  a  wind  when  there  came 
to  him  a  man  from  Bremen,  and  want- 
ed to  huy  his  house  broom  (a  vane,  or 
weather  cock,  in  the  form  of  a  broom), 
Karlsefne  would  not  sell.  The  Ger- 
man offered  half  a  mark  in  gold. 
Karlsefne   tempted  by  such  an  offer, 


closed  with  it.  *  The  Southern  went 
off  with  the  house-broom,  but  Karls- 
efne knew  not  what  wood  it  was  ;  but 
that  it  was  mausur  Vu'ought  from  Vin- 
land.' This  mausur  (speckled  wood), 
undoubtedly  means  curled,  or  bird-eye 
maple.  On  his  final  reti;rn  to  Iceland, 
Karlsefne  bought  new  lands  at  Glaum- 
bee,  and  set  up  for  himself  a  new 
dwelling,  and  there  spent  the  remain- 
der of  his  days  as  a  highly  respected 
and  distinguished  man.  '  When  Karl- 
sefne was  dead,  took  Gudrid  the  man- 
agement of  the  house  with  Snorri, 
who  was  born  in  Vinland.  But  when 
Snorri  was  married,  then  went  Gu- 
drid abroad,  and  travelled  southwards, 
and  came  back  again  to  the  house  of 
Snorii  her  son,  and  then  had  he  caused 
a  church  to  be  built  at  Glaumbee.  Af- 
ter this  became  Gudrid  a  nun  and 
recluse,  and  ren^ained  so  while  she 
lived.  Snorri  had  a  son  who  Thor- 
geir  hight,  he  was  father  to  Ing- 
veld,  mother  of  Bishop  Brand.  The 
daughter  of  Snorri  Karlsefnesson 
hight  Hallfrid  ;  she  was  mother  to 
Runolf,  father  to  Bishop  Thorlak' — 
who  drew  up  the  earliest  ecclesiastical 
code  of  Iceland,  published  in  the  year 
1123,  and  who  probably  compiled  the 
accounts  of  Karlsefne' s  voyages. 
'Bjron  hight,  a  son  of  Karlsefne  and 
Gudrid  ;  he  was  father  to  Thorunn, 
mother  of  Bishop  Bjarn.  A  numer- 
ous race  are  descended  from  Karls- 
efne and  distinguished  men  ;  and 
Karlsefne  has  accurately  related  to  all 
men  the  occurrences  on  all  these  voy- 
ages, of  which  somewhat  is  now  re- 
cited here.' 

There  was  yet  another  voyage  made 
from  Greenland  to  Vinland,  and  re- 
corded in  the  *  Saga  of  Erik  the  Red,' 
of  which  we  may  give  some  brief  ac- 
count. We  have  seen  that  Freydis 
was  a  woman  of  the  '  strong-minded  ' 
class.  We  have  st^en  how  she  alone 
appalled  and  put  to  flight,  a  host  of 
infuriated  Skroelings.  We  have  now 
to  see  how  she  further  distinguished 
herself  by  the  performance  of  deeds 
which  may  have  made  her  the  pattern. 


558 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


and  example  to  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  a 
later  age.  Of  Freydis  aud  her  hus- 
band, the  old  Saga  tersely  says  :  *  She 
was  married  to  a  man  who  Thorvard 
hight ;  they  lived  in  Garde,  where 
is  now  the  Bishop's  seat ;  she  was 
very  haughty,  but  Thorvard  was  nar- 
row-minded ;  she  was  married  to  him 
chiefly  on  account  of  his  money.' 

After  the  return  of  the  Karlsefne 
])arty  from  Vinland,  there  was  much 
talk  about  expeditions  to  that  coun- 
try ;  as  they  appeared  both  profitable 
and  honourable.  That  same  summer, 
there  came  from  Norway  to  Greenland 
a  ship  under  the  command  of  two 
brothers,  'Helgi  and  Finnbogi,  who 
ramained  in  Greenland  for  the  fol- 
lowing winter.  Freydis  then  went 
from  her  home  at  Garde,  and  set 
herself  persistently  to  the  task  of 
talking  these  two  brothers  into  the 
project  of  making  the  voyage  to  Vin- 
land and  going  halves  with  her  in  all 
the  profits  which  should  there  be 
made.  They  agreed  to  her  proposal. 
Then  she  went  to  her  brother  Leif, 
and  begged  him  to  give  her  the  houses 
he  had  built  in  Vinland.  But  Leif 
answered,  as  he  had  on  other  occas- 
ions, that  he  would  lend  the  use  of 
the  houses,  but  would  not  give  them. 
Then  it  was  agreed  between  Freydis 
and  the  brothers,  that  each  party 
should  take  thirty  fighting  men  in 
their  ship,  besides  women.  But  here 
Freydis  proved  treacherous  at  the 
outset  ;  for  she  hid  five  additional 
men  in  her  ship,  which  fact  was  not 
known  to  the  brothers  until  after  they 
had  arrived  in  Vinland.  They  sailed 
(A.  D.  1011),  having  engaged  to  keep 
as  close  together  as  possible  ;  yet  still 
the  brothers  arrivediat  their  place  of 
destination  a  little  before  Freydis,  and 
had  taken  up  their  eflfects  to  Leif's 
houses.  When  Freydis  arrived,  she 
had  her  ships  unloaded  and  the  effects 
taken,  in  like  manner,  up  to  the 
houses.  She  made  the  brothers  tumble 
out  their  effects  forthwith.  '  To  me,' 
quoth  she,  '  lent  Leif  the  houses,  and 
not  to  you.'     Then  said  Helgi : — *  In 


malice  are  we  brothers  easily  excelled 
by  thee.'  So  they  put  up  a  separate 
building  further  from  the  strand,  on 
the  edge  of  a  lake,  and  put  their  goods 
into  that.  Then  all  hands  began  to  . 
fell  trees  for  the  ship's  return  cai'goes, 
By-and-bye  winter  came  on.  Then  the 
brothers  proi)Osed  to  get  up  sports 
and  have  some  amusements,  according 
to  the  time-honoured  custom  of  the 
Northmen.  This  was  kept  up  for  a 
time,  until  reports  were  circulated ^ 
and  discord  sprang  up,  and  at  length 
all  visiting  ceased  between  the  houses 
of  Freydis  and  the  two  brothers.  '  One 
morning  early,  Freydis  got  up  from 
her  bed  and  dressed  herself,  but  took 
no  shoes,  or  stockings.  She  took  her 
husband's  cloak  and  put  it  on,  and 
then  went  to  the  brothers'  house, 
and  to  the  door  ;  but  a  man  had  gone 
out  a  little  before  and  left  the  door 
half  open.  She  opened  the  door,  and 
stood  a  little  time  in  the  opening,  and 
was  silent ;  but  Finnbogi  lay  inside 
the  house,  and  was  awake.  He  said  : 
"What  wilt  thou  here,  Freydis  1 "  She 
said  :  "  I  wish  that  thou  wouldst  get 
up,  and  go  out  with  me,  for  I  will 
speak  with  thee."  He  did  so.  They 
went  to  a  tree  that  lay  near  the  dwell- 
ings, and  sat  down  there.  "  How  art 
thou  satisfied  here  ■?  "  said  she.  He 
answered  :  *'  Well  think  I  of  the  land's 
fruitfulness,  but  ill  do  I  think  of  the 
discord  that  has  sprung  up  betwixt 
us  ;  for  it  appears  to  me  that  no  cause 
has  been  given."  "  Thou  sayest  as  it 
is,"  said  she,  "  and  so  think  I ;  but  my 
business  here  with  thee  is,  that  I  wish 
to  change  ships  with  thy  brother ;  for 
ye  have  a  larger  ship  than  I,  and  it 
is  my  wish  to  go  hence."  "  That  must 
I  agree  to,"  said  he,  "  if  such  is  thy 
wish."  Now  with  that  they  separated  : 
she  went  home,  and  Finnbogi  to  his 
bed.  She  got  into  the  bed  with  cold 
feet,  and  thereby  woke  Thorvard,  and 
he  asked  why  she  was  so  cold  and 
wet.  She  answered  with  much  vehe- 
mence :  "  I  was  gone,"  said  she,  "to  the 
brothers,  to  make  a  bargain  with  theni 
about  their  ship,  for  1  wished  to  buy 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


559 


the  large  ship  ;  but  they  took  it  so  ill, 
that  they  beat  me,  and  used  me  shame- 
fully ;  but  thou  !  miserable  rnan !  wilt 
surely  neither  avenge  my  disgrace  nor 
thine  own  ;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
I  am  no  longer  in  Greenland  ;  and  I 
will  separate  from  thee  if  thou  aveng- 
est  not  this."  And  now  could  he  no 
longer  withstand  her  reproaches,  and 
bade  his  men  to  get  up,  with  all  speed, 
and  to  take  their  arms.  80  did  they, 
and  went  straightway  to  the  brothers' 
house,  and  went  in,  and  fell  upon 
tbem  sleeping,  and  then  took  and 
l^ound  them,  and  thus  led  out  one  af- 
ter the  other  j  but  Freydis  had  each  of 
them  killed  as  he  came  out.  Now 
were  all  the  men  there  killed,  and 
only  women  remained,  and  them 
would  no  one  kill.  Then,  said  Freydis : 
"  Give  me  an  axe  !  "  So  was  done  ; 
upon  which  she  killed  the  five  women 
that  were  there,  and  did  not  stop  un- 
til they  were  all  dead.  Now  they 
went  back  to  their  house  after  this 
evil  work  ;  and  Freydis  did  not  ap- 
pear otherwise  than  if  she  had  done 
well,  and  spoke  thus  to  her  people  : 
"If  it  be  permitted  us  to  come  again 
to  Greenland, "  said  she,  "  I  will  take 
the  life  of  that  man  who  tells  this 
business  :  now  should  we  say  this — 
that  they  remained  behind  when  we 
went  away."  Now  early  in  the  spring, 
made  they  ready  the  ship  that  had  be- 
longed to  the  brothers,  and  loaded  it 
with  all  the  best  things  they  could  get, 
and  the  ship  could  carry.  After  that 
they  put  to  sea,  and  had  a  quick  voy- 
age, and  came  to  Eriksfjord  early  in 
the  summer.  Freydis  repaired  now  to 
her  dwelling,  which,  in  the  meantime, 
had  stood  uninjured.  She  gave  great 
gifts  to  all  her  companions,  that  they 
should  conceal  her  misdeeds,  and  sat 
down  now  in  her  house.  All  were  not, 
however,  so  mindful  of  their  promises 
to  conceal  their  crimes  and  wicked- 
ness, but  that  it  came  out  at  last. 
Now,  finally,  it  reached  the  ears  of 
Leif,  her  brother,  and  he  thought 
very  ill  of  the  business.  Then  took 
Leif  three  men  of  Freydis's  band  and 


tortured  them,  to  confess  the  whole 
occurrence ;  and  all  their  statements 
agreed.  "  I  like  not,"  said  Leif,  "  to 
do  that  to  Freydis,  my  sister,  which 
she  has  deserved ;  but  this  will  I  pre- 
dict, that  thy  posterity  will  never 
thrive."  Now  the  consequence  was, 
that  no  one,  from  that  time  forth, 
thought  otherwise  than  ill  of  them.' 

The  time  is  long  past  when  any  one 
can  presume  to  express  a  doubt,  much 
less  dispute,  that  the  Northmen  from 
Greenland  and  Iceland,  discovered 
and  visited  the  continent  of  America 
— as  now  called—  about  the  close  of 
the  tenth  century,  and  continued  to 
visit  its  coast  for  centui-ies  afterwai-ds. 
There  is  no  incident,  the  record  of 
which  has  been  handed  down  to  us, 
pertaining  to  the  history  of  past  time, 
of  which  we  have  more  indubitable 
proofs  than  we  have  of  these  facts. 
Yet  comj)ilers  of  what  is  complimen- 
tarily  called  History,  slavishly  follow- 
ing each  other  in  the  same  beaten 
track,  as  is  too  much  their  wont,  have, 
hitherto  and  for  the  most  part,  shyly 
avoided  engrossing  upon  their  pages, 
the  teachings  of  the  Norse  Sagas  as 
veritable  history.  These  Sagas  and 
Norse  chronicles  require  no  apologies 
to  be  put  forth  on  their  behalf.  Both 
in  matter  and  in  manner,  they  are  far 
superior  to  any  contemporary  histori- 
cal records.  In  fact,  it  will  be  found 
by  those  who  give  particular  attention 
to  such  studies,  that  the  historic  truth 
"of  statements  made  by  other  contem- 
porary, or  nearly  contemporary,  Euro- 
pean writers,  has  to  be  tested  by  the 
authority  of  these  Norsemen.  They, 
on  such  matters  as  they  touch  upon, 
are  the  standard,  fi'om  and  by  which 
others  are  to  be  judged. 

The  physical  and  moral  courage, 
the  enterprise,  and  the  comparatively 
high  intellectual  culture,  of  these 
Northmen,  have  already  been  indi- 
cated in  this  paper.  Let  us  say  a  few 
words  as  to  their  capacities  as  seafar- 
ing men.  It  is  not  pretended  that 
the  Northmen,  at  the  time  of  their 
discoveries  west  of  the  Atlantic,  were 


560 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


•A  bai-barous  people,  and  that  they  went 
to  sea  in  skin  coracles,  or  long  log 
canoes,  or  other  craft  only  a  little 
more  ponderous  and  a  little  less  un- 
uianagable.  To  suppose  that  such 
was  the  case  would  be  a  great  mistake. 
It  is  unquestionable  that,  in  all  which 
pertains  to  sea  craft,  the  Northmen 
were,  not  only  the  first  people  in  Eu- 
rope, but  the  first  in  the  world,  of 
their  period.  They  had  not  the  com- 
pass, it  is  true  ;  but  it  is  equally  true 
that  they  had  cultivated  the  art  of 
navigation  to  a  very  high  degree  ;  and 
when,  instead  of  crawling  about  the 
shores,  like  navigators  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean and  Indian  seas,  they  boldly 
dashed  out  into  the  wide  ocean,  it  is 
proof  positive  that  they  must  have 
been  conversant  with  the  modes  of 
steering,  and  even  determining  their 
position  with  something  approaching 
accuracy,  by  observation  of  the  hea- 
venly bodies.  Again,  in  size  and  sea- 
worthiness, their  ships  were  far  supe- 
rior to  what  is  supposed  in  the  popular 
opinions  of  to-day.  We  have  the  best 
reasons  for  believing  that  the  langskips 
(long  ships)  in  which  Leif  and  his 
followers  fearlessly  came  tearing  and 
foaming  down  the  North  Atlantic,  to 
Markland  and  Vinland,  were  of  hea- 
vier tonnage,  better  modelled,  better 
built,  and  better  equipped,  than  the 
wretched  caravels  with  which  Colum- 
bus first  crossed  the  ocean,  nearly  five 
hundi'ed  years  afterwards ;  as  we  are 
perfectly  sure  that  the  Norsemen  who 
manned  them,  and  were  almost  as  much 
used  to  being  on  the  brine  as  Mother 
Carey's  chickens,  were  immensely  su- 
perior, in  all  that  belongs  to  seaman- 
ship, to  the  poor,  land-lubberly  Spani- 
ards who  composed  the  crews  of  Col- 
umbus. As  we  have  already  intim- 
ated, when  people  of  such  an  adventu- 
rous and  enterprising  nature,  had  once 
made  their  way  from  Norway  to  Ice- 
land, it  had  to  follow,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  that  their  next  step  must  be 
to  Greenland,  and  their  next  again  to 
the  great  western  continent  beyond 
it.     Those  voyages  and  their  conse- 


quent discoveries  having  been  made, 
it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  the 
Icelandic  Norsemen,  being  the  most 
learned  and  literary  people  then  in 
Europe,  and  the  most  scrupulously 
particular  in  keeping  their  genealog- 
ical and  local  records  of  any  in  the 
world,  would  fail  to  inscribe  the  tale 
of  such  events  in  their  chronicles. 
They  did  unboastingly  and  succinctly, 
but  carefully,  record  those  events  ; 
and  the  information  thus  perpetuated 
was  afterwards  acquired  and  more 
widely  published  by  Adam  of  Bremen 
(<em/).  William  the  Conqueror,  of  Eng 
land),  Torfojus  (himself  an  Icelander), 
Wormieus,  and  other  revivalists  of 
letters,  in  Europe.  These  last-named 
writers  have  been  often  quoted  as  au- 
thorities on  other  matters  wherein 
they  must  also  have  derived  their  in- 
formation from  the  Norsemen  ;  but 
where  they  have  mentioned  the  Norse 
discovery  of  Vinland,  some  modern 
readers  have  seemingly  affected  not  to 
see,  or  have  not  comprehended  such 


Although  the  veracity  of  these  Ice- 
landic accounts  of  the  early  discovery 
of  the  '  New  World  '  by  Norsemen,  is 
unimpeachable,  many  readers  may, 
not  um-easonably,  feel  a  curiosity  to 
know  why  those  Norsemen  left  upon 
this  western  land  so  few,  if  any,  re- 
cords of  their  sojourn  here  ;  why  their 
visits  to  this  country  wei^e  discontin- 
ued ;  and  why  all  information  upon 
the  subject  was,  for  centuries,  kept 
hidden  from  the  whole  world  at  large, 
as  seems  to  have  been  the  case. 

It  must  be  observed  that  these 
Norsemen,  in  discovering  *  the  New 
Land,'  never  supposed  that  they  had 
done  anything  wonderful,  anything 
the  news  of  which  should  be  loudly 
and  widely  trumpeted  through  the 
civilized  world,  or  which  was  to  mate- 
rially influence  the  whole  after  history 
of  the  human  race.  They  probably 
had  doubts  even  as  to  the  fact  of  their 
having  been  the  first  Europeans  to 
make  such  discovery ;  for  in  that  tenth 
century  there  was   a   rumour   afloat 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


5G1 


amongst  them,  of  a  land  in  the  far 
west,  called  Hvitramannaland  ("White 
Man's  Land),  or  liiand  it  Mikla  (the 
Great  Ireland),  which  had  been  fre- 
quently resorted  to  by  the  Irish — ru- 
mours which  we,  of  the  present  day, 
must  admit  to  be  not  without  some 
apparent  foundation.  It  was  not  a 
time  when  the  minds  of  all  the  men, 
in  the  '  Old  World,'  were  at  all  excited 
by,  or  turned  in  the  direction  of,  geo- 
graphical research.  If,  in  the  tenth 
century,  the  attention  of  the  '  Old 
Woi-ld  '  had  been  keenly  alive  to  the 
consideration  of  geographical  discove- 
ries, as  it  was  in  the  early  part  of  the 
fifteenth,  when  the  eyes  of  all  Europe 
were  watching  the  progress  of  the 
Portuguese  down  the  western  coast  of 
Africa,  we  may  rely  upon  it  that, 
through  the  discoveries  of  Leif  tlie 
Lucky  and  his  followers,  this  so-called 
America  would,  by  the  time  in  which 
Columbus  lived,  have  been  as  well 
known  to  the  people  of  the  Eastern 
Hemisphere  as  it  actually  is  at  the 
present  day. 

The  Northmen  have,  however,  left 
behind  them  memorials  of  their  for- 
mer sojourn  upon  the  western  side  of 
the  Atlantic — monuments  which  com- 
niemorate  indeed  some  of  the  most 
notable  of  the  events  mentioned  above. 
The  most  remarkable  of  these  is  the 
so-called  '  Assonet  Rock,'  found  on  the 
bank  of  Taunton  River,  in  the  County 
of  Bristol,  Massachusetts.  Thus  it  is 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  Vinland  of 
the  early  Norse  adventurers ;  and  is 
near  by,  if  not  in  the  very  spot,  where 
Leif,  and,  after  him,  Thorvald,  Karl- 
sefne,  and  Freydis,  temporarily  dwelt. 
However  that  may  be,  such  celebrated 
Runic  scholars  and  antiquarians  as 
Finn  Magnussen  and  Charles  Chris- 
tian Rafn  have  emphatically  declared 
that  the  carving  upon  this  stone  is 
Scandinavian  workmanship;  and  that, 
among  other  things,  it  commemorates 
the  temporary  settlement  of  Thorfinn 
Karlsefne,  with  the  151  companions 
he  had  with  him  after  the  desei-tion  of 
Thorhall  and  the  other  nine  ;  also  the 


battle  of  Karlsefne  and  his  men  with 
the  Skroelings.  There  are  other  Runic 
monuments  in  America,  dating  from 
the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries, 
where  one  would  less  expect  to  find 
them  than  on  the  Taunton  River. 
They  are  to  be  found  on  the  shores  of 
Baffin's  Bay,  far  up  within  the  Arctic 
circle  ;  and  proofs  are  extant  of  the 
Northmen  having  had  a  station  on 
the  North  side  of  Lancaster  Sound, 
and  even  of  having  extended  their 
explorations  as  far  as  the  North  Geor- 
gian Islands — the  most  extreme  point 
reached,  of  late  years,  by  the  most 
successful  of  our  Arctic  Explorers. 

The  ground  for  wonder,  as  to  this 
matter,  is,  not  that  we  do  not  find 
moi^e,  but  that  we  find  any  monuments 
at  all,  formally  and  purposely  set  up 
by  these  people  in  the  Western  Hem- 
isphere. The  whole  poptilation  of 
Iceland,  and  the  American  colony  of 
Greenland,  even  in  the  days  of  their 
greatest  prosperity,  amounted  to  only 
a  handful  of  people.  They  never  were 
in  a  position  to  plant  any  vigorous 
colony  in  Vinland,  Markland,  or  else- 
where on  the  American  main.  On 
the  other  hand,  any  feeble  attempt  in 
that  direction  was  almost  certain  to 
be  at  once  crushed,  or  harassed  into  a 
state  of  chronic  misery,  by  the  savage 
aborigines,  between  whom  and  the 
Northmen,  as  we  have  seen,  hostili- 
ties had  commenced  at  the  vei-y  out- 
set of  their  intercourse.  As  another 
deterring  cause,  the  Icelanders  them- 
selves soon  became  involved  in  intes- 
tine conflicts.  As  for  any  other  Eu- 
ropean peoples  taking  part  in  such 
colonization — at  the  time  they  would 
have  probably  come  to  be  pretty  gen- 
erally informed  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
Icelanders'  discoveries,  away  to  the 
west,  late  in  the  eleventh,  or  eai'ly  in 
the  twelfth,  century — news  was  dis- 
seminated slowly  in  those  days — that 
information  would  naturally  pass  them 
by  as  the  idle  wind.  The  thoughts 
of  Europe  and  Christendom,  in  those 
times,  did  not  dwell  upon  the  west; 
they  could  not  easily  be  directed  tow- 


562 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


ards  the  west,  or  interested  in  any  tiling 
which  had  happened,  or  which  might, 
could,  would,  or  should  happen,  in 
that  far  west.  On  the  contrary,  all 
eyes  were  being  turned  towards  the 
east — to  Paynim  land  ;  for  then  it 
was  that  the  Crusades  were  preached 
up  and  were  hurling  upon  Asia  more 
than  all  the  spare  energy,  and  brav- 
ery, and  blood,  and  treasure,  of  Chris- 
tian Europe.  It  is,  therefore,  ex- 
tremely doubtful  if  the  Northmen,  or 
others  acting  under  their  instructions, 
ever  made  any  very  energetic  attempt 
to  establish  a  permanent  colony,  or  if 
they  ever  actually  made  any  notably 
large  temporary  settlements,  in  any 
part  of  America  south  of  Greenland. 
Of  all  the  natural  products  which  they 
found  in  the  new  lands,  that  which 
they  would  most  covet — that  which 
they  most  needed,  as  it  scarcely  exis- 
ted in  Iceland  and  Greenland,  was 
timber — to  build  their  ships,  their 
houses,  and  to  form  into  household 
furniture.  Doubtless,  the  next  most 
important  products,  in  their  estima- 
tion, was  the  rich  ;je^^?-?/  with  which 
the  '  New  Land  '  abounded.  They 
cared  but  little  for  agriculture  ;  and 
their  desires,  fed  from  that  source, 
wei-e  easily  satisfied.  They  were  skil- 
ful and  successful  fishermen,  of  course, 
and  had  been  for  ages ;  and  that  is 
why  they  really  did  maintain  continu- 
ous and  flourishing  settlements  in 
Greenland,  for  centuries  after  Erik 
the  Red  first  arrived  there ;  and  why, 
too,  they  planted  stations  away  up  at 
the  head  of  Bafiin's  Bay.  As  for 
wealth,  beyond  the  demands  of  neces- 
sity, they  sought  that  in  a  widely  ex- 
tended foreign  trade,  now  that  they 
bad  ceased  cruising  as  Vikings. 

We  infer  then,  that  to  supply  them- 
selves with  timber  and  furs,  would  be 
the  principal  oViject  of  the  Icelanders 
aruLl  Greenlanders,  in  their  voyages  to 
the  American  main,  during  the  most 
of  their  time  in  which  they  had  in- 
tercourse with  that  country.  That 
some  attempts  at  settlement  were 
made   is  probable ;  but  it  is  not  pro- 


bable that  they  were  lasting.  But  as 
timber  and  furs  came  to  be  regarded 
as  the  principal,  if  not  the  sole,  object 
of  those  voyages,  it  is  obvious  that 
they  would  eventually  cease  to  extend 
them  beyond  Markland,  a  country 
which,  as  it  presents  itself  upon  the 
Atlantic  seaboard,  seems  less  eligible, 
peihaps,  as  a  place  of  permanent  set- 
tlement, than  Vinland — especially  as 
it  was  peopled  by  a  race  of  aborigines 
at  least  equally  fierce  with  those  whom 
they  had  encountered  in  the  latter,  if 
not  even  more  so.  We  soon  find  a 
new  cause  tending  to  counteract  any 
primary  persistency  of  the  Icelanders 
in  colonization  views,  if  such  really 
had  existed.  From  a  time  commenc- 
ing early  in  the  twelfth  century, 
we  may  observe  a  deterioration  in 
the  character  of  these  people.  The 
better  class  of  them — the  highly  culti- 
vated and  the  wealthy — the  merchant 
hero  who  sailed  his  own  ship,  or  his 
own  squadron,  gradually  fell  off"  from 
such  adventurous  pursuits  ;  and  the 
shipping  and  the  trade  of  the  country 
— what  then  remained  of  it — drifted 
into  the  hands  of  a  comparatively  ig- 
norant and  unenterprising  class.  Then 
the  magnates  of  that  whilome  happy 
and  most  intellectual  of  republics,  got 
into  conflicts  with  each  other,  as  al- 
ready noted.  First,  there  were  jea- 
lousies and  factions,  then  disputes, 
single  combats,  open  battles,  and  un- 
restricted fighting  generally  ;  until,  at 
length,  Iceland  obtained  peace  and  in- 
significance— by  falling  bdck  into  alle- 
giance to  Norway.  This  was  in  1261  ; 
and  this  people  were  never  afterwards 
the  highly  cultured,  independent, 
brave  Icelanders  of  old. 

To  return — we  know  that  Gardar, 
or  Garde,  in  Greenland,  became  the 
see  of  a  bishop,  whose  episcopate,  as 
we  understand,  embraced  all  Green- 
land, east  and  west  ;  and  that  there 
were  built  there  numerous  churches 
and  a  stone  cathedral  of  respectable 
dimensions,  the  ruins  of  which  may 
still  be  seen.  We  know  that,  in  1121, 
Bishop  Erik  made  a  visit  to  Vinland, 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


5G.S 


which  may  be  supposed  to  have  been 
included  within  his  diocese.  This 
would  indicate  the  existence  of  some 
Norse  settlements  in  Vinland,  and 
probably  also  in  INIarkland.  We  find 
in  both  countries — now  New  England 
and  Nova  Scotia — what  are  at  least 
presumable,  if  not  positive,  evidences 
of  sites  of  many  of  these — perhaps 
temporary — places  of  abode,  in  the 
kitchen  middens,  which  are  still  found 
at  many  points  along  the  Atlantic 
coast  of  both  countries.  That  these 
accumulations,  mainly  of  fish-bones 
and  the  remains  of  shell-fish,  did  not 
gi'ow  up  about  the  abodes  of  the 
smoky-coloured  aborigines  is  certain 
from  the  facts  that  such  mounds  con- 
tain also  the  broken  remains  of  pot- 
tery ;  and  that  was  an  article  of 
manufacture  of  which  the  latter  knew 
nothing.  We  further  know  that  voy- 
ages continued  to  be  made — but  how 
often  we  know  not — betweeu  Vinland 
and  Markland,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
Greenland  and  Iceland,  on  the  other, 
down  to  the  autumn  of  the  year  1347, 
when  Edward  III,  was  King  of  Eng- 
land, and  the  year  after  he  and  the 
Black  Prince  won  the  battle  of  Crecy. 
Then  we  come  to  a  great  blank. 

There  is  nothing  that  looks  incred- 
ible, or  unreasonable,  er  even  mys- 
terious, in  any  part  of  this  story  of 
the  discovery  of  America  by  the 
Northmen,  in  the  tenth  century,  and 
of  their  continued  intercourse  with 
that  vast  country,  and  of  their  infi- 
nitesimally  partial  occupation  of  it 
during  the  four  succeeding  centu- 
•ries  —  nothing  except  the  sudden 
ending  of  it.  That  looks  mysterious 
in  the  extreme.  The  last  allusion  we 
find,  in  the  Iceland  annalistic  records, 
to  any  part  of  'the  new  land,'  by  name 
is  in  the  mention  of  the  fact  that,  in 
the  year  1347 — as  already  intimated — 
a  ship,  having  a  crew  of  eighteen  men, 
just  from  Markland,  belonging  to  and 
bound  for  Greenland,  was,  by  stress  of 
weather,  driven  out  of  her  course  and 
into  the  outer  Streamfjord,  Iceland,  in 
which  ^vicinity  the  said   ship,    with  a 


number  of  others,   remained  for   the 
winter. 

Judging  from  what  little  we  know 
with  certainty  about  it,  the  final  col- 
lapse and  extinction  of  Icelandic  colo- 
nization in  the  New  World  was  owing, 
not  to  any  one  sole  cause,  but  to  seve- 
ral causes.    I,n  the  first  place,  Iceland 
having  now  long  ceased  to  be  an  inde- 
pendent nation,   its   once  gi-eat   and 
energetic',  and  enterprising  men  had 
become  spiritless  and,  to  a  gi-eat  ex- 
tent, indiflferent  to  the  public    weal. 
They  had  neglected  the  aflfairs  of  the 
colonies,   and  allowed  them  to  drift 
into  the  hands  of  a  low,  ignorant,  and 
incompetent  class  of   men.      Hence, 
from  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, those  colonies  were  in  a  languish- 
ing state.    We  learn  that,  whilst  thus 
weak  and  defenceless,  during  the  epis- 
copate of  Alf  Bishop  of  Gardar — the 
i   time  varies  between  diflferent  inform- 
j   ants,  from   1349  to   1379 — the  jycst- 
j   em  Settlement  of  Greenland  (by  which 
I   we  would  now  understand  the  North- 
ern, orJVorth-  Western)  was,  no  doubt  un- 
I    expectedly  and  without  preparation, 
j   attacked  in  force  by  the  Skroelingp» 
j    Here  this  name  is,  of  course,  applied 
I   to  the  Eskimos  ;    for  the  Northmen 
!   applied  the  name  of  Skrodings  to  all 
1    the   dark-coloured   aborigines  of    the 
1/  '  new  lands  '  discovered  by  them,  just 
j   as  we,   of  this  later  age,  with  much 
I    less  propriety,  call   them   all  Indiar.s. 
j    In    this   afiair  the    Skrcelings    killed 
I    eighteen  Greenlanders,  took  two  boys 
prisoners,   sacked  the  place,  and  en- 
;    tirely  broke  up  the  AVestern  (Nortli- 
j   ern)  settlements   (Vestribygd).     Eis- 
tribygd,    or    the    Eastern    (properly 
j    Southern)   settlement,  held  a  precari- 
j   ous  existence  for  a  time  longer.  When 
I    Bishop  Hendrich  went  to  the  colony, 
j    in  1388,  he  was  informed  that  no  ship 
had  arrived   there   from  the   Mother- 
Country    during   the  previous    year. 
I    The  last  bishop,  so  far  as  known,  who 
I    ever   lesided   in   Greenland  was  An- 
I    dreas,  or  Endride,   Andreasson.     He 
I    was  appointed  in  1406,  and  is  known 
i   to  have  been  resident  at  his  episcopal 


564 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


seat,  at  Gardar,  in  U09.  About  this 
time,  or  very  soon  after,  the  settle- 
ment appears  to  have  received  its  final 
deathblow.  The  three  Scandinavian 
kingdoms  had  now  become  united  un- 
der the  Calmar  Union  ;  and  Queen 
Margaret,  and  afterwards  King  Erik, 
in  the  plenitude  of  their  new  wis- 
dom, had  forbidden  their  subjects  to 
trade  to  Greenland.  Of  course,  the 
injunction  applied  as  well  to  the  '  new 
lands  '  farther  west.  The  wars  which, 
about  the  same  time,  were  raging  in 
Northern  Europe,  prevented  foreign 
^  vessels  from  visiting  the  now  outcast 
colony.  Little  was  now  wanting  to 
complete  its  ruin  ;  and  that  further 
disaster  soon  arrived. 

We  hear  of  Europe  having  been,  at 
different  periods,  swept  over  by  a  ter- 
rible pestilence,  known  as  the  '  blact 
death.'  This  plague  committed  tre- 
mendous havoc,  in  the  reign  of  the 
English  Edward  III.  Again  it  stalked 
over  Europe  in  1405,  and  subsequently 
in  the  reign  of  the  English  Henry  IV. 
It  is  possible  that  this  plague  may 
have  crossed  over  into  the  Norse  set- 
tlements beyond  the  Atlantic ;  but 
we  have  no  proof  of  the  fact.  We 
do  know  that  it  caused  so  great  a 
mortality  in  England  that,  after  its 
last  visitation,  great  difficulty  was  ex- 
perienced in  procuring  people  to  carry 
on  the  industrial  pursuits  of  the  coun- 
try. To  make  up  for  this  deficiency 
of  workmen,  certain  enterprising  Eng- 
lishmen hit  upon  the  cool  expedient 
of  sending  out  ships,  and  even  fleets 
of  ships,  to  the  outlying  regions  of  the 
realm  of  Denmark — which  now  in- 
cluded Sweden,  Norway,  Iceland,  and 
their  dependencies — and  there  forcibly 
seizing  the  inhabitants  and  carrying 
them  away  to  England,  where  they 
were  at  once  reduced  to  a  state  of  vir- 
tual slavery.  We  find  that  this  singu- 
lar species  of  piracy  and  slave  trade 
was  forbidden,  under  heavy  penalties, 
in  1429,  by  the  Statute  8th  Henry 
VI.,  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  put  an 
end  to  the  outrage.  We  infer  that 
Greenland    was  the   scene  of  one  of 


these  raids  ;  because  there  is  extant  a 
brief  from  Pope  Nicholas  V.,  ad- 
dressed to  the  Bishops  of  Skalholt  and 
Dolum,  in  Iceland,  and  dated  in  the 
year  1448,  in  which  the  writer  de- 
scribes and  dwells  upon  the  fact  that, 
thirfy  years  before— thut  would  be  AD. 
1418 — the  Greenland  colony  was  raid- 
ed by  a  fleet  of  ships  and  laid  waste 
by  tire  and  sword,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  both  sexes  carried  away  into  slavery. 
The  Pope  does  not,  indeed,  name  the 
English  as  the  perpetrators  of  these 
acts  ;  but  the  fact  of  their  occurrence, 
taken  in  connection  with  the  bitter 
complaints  known  to  have  been  made 
by  the  Danish  Sovereign  to  the  Eng- 
lish King,  and  the  already-mentioned 
English  Statute  of  1429,  leaves  little 
room  for  doubt  upon  that  point. 

It  is  said,  in  the  brief  of  Pope 
Nicholas,  just  referred  to,  that  some 
few  Greenlanders  escaped  the  hands 
of  these  invaders,  and  that  some  of 
those  carried  away  prisonei'S  were 
afterwards  allowed  to  return — 
probably  through  the  remonstrances 
of  the  Danish  king — or  in  some  way 
managed  to  effect  a  return.  We  even 
find  that,  in  1433,  the  Pope  (then 
Eugenius  IV.)  had  appointed  a  Bishop 
to  preside  over  this  remnant  of  a  flock, 
in  the  person  of  one  Bartholomoeus. 
We  do  not  find  that  he  ever  visited 
his  diocese.  But  what  became  of  the 
very  last  of  that  remnant  1  In  all 
probability,  finding  themselves  cut  ofl 
from  all  trade  and  intercourse  with 
their  fellow  subjects  elsewhere,  and 
unvisited  by,  and  almost  unknown  to 
the  rest  of  the  world,  they  voluntarily 
abandoned  their  country ;  or  they 
perished  through  hardship  and  want, 
aided  by  harrassing  assaults  of  their 
savage  foes.  The  Eskimos  themselves 
have  a  tradition,  that  the  very  last  of 
the  Northmen  who  remained  there  were 
an  old  patriarch  named  Igaliko,  who, 
with  his  descendants,  dwelt  at  Iga- 
likofjord.  The  Eskimos,  having  de- 
termined upon  the  utter  extermina-' 
tion  of  the  Northmen,  had  made  re- 
peated assaults  upon  old  Igaliko,  but 


OLD  NEW  WORLD  TALES. 


were  always  signally  repulsed.  At 
length  they  hit  upon  an  expedient 
which  enabled  them  to  advance  unde- 
tected, at  midnight,  to  the  very  dwell- 
ings of  the  Northmen,  and  where,  at 
the  time,  they  slept.  They  then  set 
fire  to  the  dwellings,  and  the  inmates, 
as  they  rushed  forth,  were  instantly 
killed  by  their  Eskimo  foes.  All  thus 
fell  except  Iga  iko  himself  and  his 
youngest  son,  whom  the  old  man 
caught  \\\)  in  his  arms,  whilst  he  made 
his  escape  to  the  mountains.  They 
pursued  him,  but  in  vain.  He  was 
never  seen  afterwards. 

Thus  ends  the  story  of  the  North- 
men in  America. 

But  the  result  of  these  discoveries 
by  the  Northmen  has  not  been  told. 
Nothing  is  ever  utterly  lost,  in  the 
Universe.  When  the  last  settlement 
— the  last  appearances  even  of  a  set- 
tlement— of  the  Northmen  had  disap- 
peared from  Vinland,  Markland,  Hel- 
luland,  and  Greenland  ;  when  the  last 
face  of  anyone  belonging  to  what  we 
call  the  Caucasian  race  had  vanished 
from  the  Western  Hemisphere  ;  that 
is  to  say,  in  the  year  1477,  and  in  the 
month  of  February,  there  landed  at 
Hvalfjord,  on  the  southern  coast  of 
Iceland,  a  strange  man,  named  Chris- 
topher Colon — but  whose  surname  has 
been  latinized  and  popularized  into 
Columbus.  This  curious  man  had,  for 
years  past,  been  haunted  and  goaded 
by  a  certain  idea  of  the  globular  for- 
mation of  the  earth,  and  by  a  restless 
curiosity  to  know  what  corollaries 
might  follow  the  proof  of  that  fact. 
So  he  had  come  up  to  see  these  Ice- 
landers— once,  if  not  now,  the  boldest, 
best,  and  most  experienced,  and  most 
enterprising  seamen  in  the  world — 
and  to  hear  if  they  could  give  him  any 
information  in  the  matter.  In  a  few 
weeks  after  his  arrival  at  Hvalfjord, 
the  Bishop  of  Skalholt  would  also  be 
there,  in  the  course  of  his  annual  visi- 
tation to  that  portion  of  the  diocese. 
This  particular  year  his  visitation 
would  probably  be  earlier  than  usual, 
for  the  winter  of  1477  was  one  of  un- 


565 

precedented  mildness,  ice  and  snow 
having  been  almost  unknown  through- 
out the  island.  In  Iceland,  the  most 
hospitable  of  countries,  a  stranger  like 
Colon,  intelligent,  dignified,  eagerly 
enquiring  for  information,  was  sure  to 
be  introduced  to  the  Bishop  immedi- 
ately on  his  arrival.  Magnus  Eiolfson, 
who  was  Bishop  of  Skalholt,  in  1477, 
was  also,  and  had  been  ever  since 
1470 — Abbot  of  the  Monastery  of 
Helgafell.  That  place  was  the  centr  e 
of  the  district  from  which  most  of  the 
Icelandic  adventurers  had,  during  the 
previous  five  hundred  years,  sailed 
away  to  the  west ;  and  there  were 
written,  and  there  were  still  carefullv 
preserved,  the  oldest  documents  rela- 
ting to  Greenland,  Markland,  Vinland, 
and  all  the  west.  This  visit  of  Colon's 
to  Iceland  was  made  only  twenty-nine 
years  after  the  date  of  the  brief  of 
Pope  Nicholas  V.,  addressed  to  the 
same  Bishop  of  Skalholt,  or  his  imme- 
diate predecessor,  calling  his  attention 
to  the  spiritual  wants  of  the  Chris- 
tians still  remaining  in  Greenland, 
and  urging  him  to  recommend  some 
one  as  a  Bishop  to  the  then  destitute 
settlement.  It  is,  in  the  highest  de- 
gree, probable  that  in  this  northern 
voyage  of  his,  Colon  had  personal  in- 
tercourse with  seamen  who  had  been 
in  the  Greenland  trade,  and  some  of 
whom  had  even  made  tlie  more  distant 
voyage  to  Vinland.  In  fifteen  years 
after  this  trip  to  Iceland,  Christopher 
Colon — or  Columbus — set  out  from 
Spain,  on  that  eventful  voyage  which 
has  won  for  him  the  repute  of  Dis- 
coverer of  a  New  World. 

About  the  same  time  that  Colon 
was  thus  pursuing  his  researches,  there 
was  another  eccentric  family,  living 
down  in  Bristol  in  the  west  of  Eng- 
land, and  called  Cabot.  They — and 
especially  one  of  them — a  youth  named 
Sebastian,  were  also  curious  on  the 
subject  of  geodesy,  geography,  and 
maritime  discovery.  They  were  en- 
gaged in  mercantile  pursuits,  and  the 
town  of  Bristol  had,  at  that  time, 
large   dealings  with    Iceland — larger 


)GQ 


THE  LOVE-LETTER. 


probably  than  all  the  rest  of  the  three 
kingdoms  taken  together.  Indeed  its 
jn-incipal  trade  was  with  Iceland,  and 
off  the  coasts  of  that  island  was  the 
tield  of  England's  principal  deep  sea 
tisheries.  These  young  Cabots  had, 
from  their  very  childhood,  opportuni- 
ties of  talking  with  Icelandic  '  old 
salts,'  who  had  been  knocking  about 
through  all  the  Northern  Seas,  and 
some — perhaps  many — of  whom  had 
made  voyages  to  far-away  Markland, or 
Yinland.  So  it  happened  eventually 
iliat  those  Cabots  got  leave  from  King 
Henry  VII.  to  spend  their  money  in 
•an  exploratory  expedition — for  that  is 
about  what  the  arrangement  with  that 
king  amounts  to.  And  so,  young  Se- 
bastian Cabot — some  say  the  father, 
John,  also,  but  certainly  young  Sebas- 
tian—sailed away  in  the  year  1497, 
almost  due  west,  until  he  discovered, 
upon  St.  John's  day  of  that  year,  and 
landed  upon  the  coast  of  Labi-ador,  and 
therefore  on  the  Continent  of  Ame- 
rica. Columbus  did  not  have  the  for- 
tune to  see  any  part  of  that  continent 
until  1498.  Cabot  afterwards  cruised 
up  to  about  the  63  parallel  of  latitude, 
and  then  down  to  the  coast  of  Caro- 


lina ;  and  he,  or  others  for  him,  called 
the  whole  of  this  extent  of  country 
simply  'the  new  fotind  land,'  just  as 
the  Northmen  had  formerly  been  in 
the  habit  of  calling  these  western 
countries  collectively  by  the  same 
name  (^Nyja  fundu  Icmd).  Names 
became  strangely  applied  and  misap- 
plied. This  expression  has  become  a 
proper  name,  and  has  become  localized 
and  limited  to  the  British  Island  Pro- 
vince of  Newfoundland^  the  '  Hellu- 
land '  of  the  Norsemen.  Conversely, 
we  find  the  name  of  America  origin- 
ally applied  to  a  part  of  the  coast  of 
Brazil,  in  compliment  to  one  Ameri- 
cas Vespuccius,  its  supposed  disco- 
verer, now  extended  to  the  whole  col- 
lective continents  and  islands  of  the 
Western  Hemisphere. 

Note. — To  those  having  any  acquaintance 
with  the  celebrated  work  of  Prof.  Rafn,  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  say,  that  all  the  histori- 
cal part  of  the  foregoing  pajjer  which  treats 
of  the  early  voyages  of  the  Norsemen  in 
America,  is  taken  from  '  Antiqnitates  Ameri- 
cana;, sire  Scriptores  Septentrionales  rerum 
Ante-Columhianarum  in  America,''  compiled 
by  the  late  Prof.  Charles  Christian  Rafn,  the 
eminent  Secretary  of  the  Royal  Danish  So- 
ciety of  Northern  Antiquaries.' 


THE  LOVE-LETTER. 


"TTT ARMED  by  her  hands  and  shadowed  by  her  hair, 
VV       As  close  she  leaned  and  poured  her  heart  through  thee, 

Whereof  the  articulate  throbs  accompany 
The  smooth  black  stream  that  makes  thy  whiteness  fair, — 
Sweet  fluttering  sheet,  even  of  her  breath  aware, — 

Oh  let  thy  silent  song  disclose  to  me 

That  soul  wherewith  her  lips  and  eyes  agree 
Like  married  music  in  Love's  answering  air. 

Fain  had  I  watched  her  when,  at  some  fond  thought, 
Her  bosom  to  the  writing  closelier  press'd, 
And  her  breast's  secrets  peered  into  her  breast ; 
When,  through  eyes  raised  an  instant,  her  soul  sought 
My  soul,  and  from  the  sudden  confluence  caught 
The  words  that  made  her  love  the  loveliest. 

— D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


567 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


BY    •  FIDELIS,'    KINGSTOX.' 


OF  the  half-dozen  or  so  of  great 
world-poets,  whose  works,  to  use 
an  expression  of  George  Eliot's — the 
'  centuries  have  sifted  for  us  ' — pro- 
bably Sophocles  is  the  least  known 
and  read.  This  is  not  sui-prising  when 
we  remember  how  few,  comparatively, 
can  enjoy  a  Greek  poet  in  the  original, 
while  adequate  translations  are  com- 
paratively recent,  and  not  yet  very 
widely  diffused.  Sophocles  need  not, 
however,  be  an  i;nknown  author  to 
.  any  who  have  access  to  the  transla- 
tions of  Professor  Piumptre.  Foi', 
while  it  is  impossible  really  to  repro- 
duce any  poem,  and  especially  a  Greek 
one,  in  another  language,  with  so  great 
a  difference  between  ancient  and  mo- 
dern turns  of  thought,  this  translation 
conveys,  perhaps,  as  faithful  a  render- 
ing of  the  spirit  and  poetry  of  Sopho- 
cles, as  it  would  be  possible  to  put  into 
English.  In  the  meantime,  those  who 
have  been  interested  in  the  story  of 
Antigone,  may  be  interested  in  hear- 
ing something  of  the  poet  who  has  told 
it,  and  whom  we  may  justly  call  the 
noblest  poet  of  Greece. 

Every  country  seems  to  have  had 
its  *  Augustan  Age,'  when  political 
power,  national  status,  philosophy, 
literature  and  art  seem  to  blossom  out 
at  once  into  their  fullest  efflorescence. 
Such  an  age  was  the  time  when  Sopho- 
cles lived  and  wrote  at  Athens.  Peri- 
cles, Nikias,  Alcibiades,  Herodotus, 
Thucydides,  Socrates,  Phidias,  ^schy- 
lus,  Euripides,  Aristophanes,  were 
among  his  contemporaries.  Leonidas 
came  just  before,  and  Plato  just  after. 
It  would  seem  as  if  nearly  all  the  great 
names,  except  the  blind  old  man  of 
Chios    himself,    grouped    themselves 


about  this  wonderful  period — a  galaxy 
dazzling  enough  to  any  student  of  clas- 
sical history  and  literature.  .  Great 
events,  too,  crowded  as  closely  as  great 
names.  Sophocles  could  remember  Ma- 
rathon, and  was  leader  of  the  Athenian 
chorus  that  celebrated  the  victory  of 
Salamis.  It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say 
that  his  lifetime  witnessed  the  rise, 
decline,  and  fall  of  Athens,  as  a  Hel- 
lenic power.  We  can  scarcely  wonder 
that  so  stirring  a  time  should  have 
produced  the  great  poets  whose  names 
still  overshadow  so  many  of  their  suc- 
cessors, and  who  have  immortalized  the 
floating  legends  of  Heroic  Greece. 
Lovers  of  Mrs.  Browning's  poetry  will 
scarcely  require  to  be  reminded  of  the 
allusion,  in  her  '  Wine  of  Cyprus,',  to 
Sophocles,  and  his  three  great  rivals — 

Oh,  our  ^schylus,  the  thunderous 
How  he  drove  the  bolted  breath 

Through  the  cloud,  to  wedge  it  ponderous 
In  the  gnarled  oak  beneath. 

Oh,  our  Sophocles,  the  royal, 
Who  was  born  to  monarch's  place 

And  who  made  the  whole  world  loyal, 
Less  by  kingly  power  than  grace. 

Our  Euripides,  the  human, 

With  his  dropiDings  of  warm  tears 

And  his  touches  of  things  common, 
Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres  ! 

Sophocles  grew  up  among  just  the 
influences  best  adapted  to  develop  his 
genius — a  time  of  great  and  stirring 
crisis,  followed  by  an  age  of  brilliancy 
for  Athens,  which  might  well  kindle 
patriotism  even  in  the  dullest  heart. 
Colonus,  his  birthplace  —  a  village 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant  from 
Athens — was  not  more  remarkable  for 
the  natural  beauty  which  he  has  im- 
mortalized   in  '  Qildipus   at  Colonus,' 


5G8 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


than  for  the  revered  associations  of 
tlie  yenius  loci.  From  the  sacred  grove 
oi  the  Eumenides,  '  whei-e  man's  foot 
never  treads,'  there  was  the  fabled  de- 
scent to  Hades  itself.  The  shrines  of 
Posciden  and  Prometheus  were  close 
at  hand.  As  a  boy  he  was  trained  in 
the  exercises  of  mind  and  body,  which 
developed  the  jihysical  and  intellectual 
superiority  of  the  Greeks,  and  twice 
gained  the  prize  of  a  garland  in  com- 
j)etition  with  his  comrades.  His  Hel- 
lenic perfection  of  form,  along  with 
his  other  qualitications,  secured  for 
him,  at  fourteen,  the  distinction  of 
being  ajipointed  leader  of  the  Chorus 
at  the  celebration  of  the  victory  of 
Salamis.  Poetry,  art,  and  military 
glory  combined  their  influence  with 
religion  and  patriotism,  to  develop  his 
youthful  genius.  He  must  have  lis 
tened  with  quickening  pulses  and  a 
poet's  delight  in  true  poetry,  to  the 
dramas  of  his  master,  ^^schylus,  which 
drew  fascinated  multitudes  to  the  thea- 
tre on  the  great  Dionysiac  festivals, 
and  were  one  of  the  main  educating 
influences  of  the  day.  These  sublime 
tragedies  must  have  had  no  little  in- 
fluence on  his  own  latent  dramatic 
powers,  which  grew  in  silence,  till  at 
length  the  young  poet,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-seven,  produced  his  first  drama 
—  Triptolemus — and  eclipsed  his  mas- 
ter. As  years  passed,  he  must  have 
watched  with  keen  esthetic  delight  the 
growing  glories  of  the  Parthenon 
crowning  the  Acropolis,  under  the 
magic  touch  of  Phidias — possibly  even 
occasionally  suggesting  the  subject  or 
the  treatment  of  a  bas  relief.  And  as 
he  grew  older,  he  may  often  have  lin- 
gered under  the  olives  of  the  Academ- 
eia  to  listen  to  the  strange  question- 
ings of  the  great  teacher,  Socrates,  on 
some  of  the  same  dark  problems  that 
had  ever  haunted  his  own  mind,  and 
with  whom,  despite  great  difference  of 
temperament,  he  must  have  had  so 
much  in  common. 

In  those  early  days  of  the  drama, 
the  tragedian  had  a  great  deal  more  to 
do  than  to  write   his  tragedies.      He 


was,  besides,  not  only  stage  manager 
and  orchestra  leader,  but  chief  actor 
also.  He  must  train  the  Chorus,  pro- 
vide the  masks,  decorations,  and 
dresses,  and  arrange  everything  for 
its  presentation  in  a  manner  fitted  to 
please  a  most  critical  audience.  So- 
phocles, however,  did  not  act  his  own 
plays,  partly  because  his  voice  was  not 
strong  enough  for  the  great  strain  re- 
quired in  open-air  acting — partly,  as 
Professor  Plumptre  suggests,  because 
he  felt  the  functions  of  actor  and 
author  to  be  distinct.  He  introduced 
considerable  changes  into  the  form  of 
the  drama — discarded  the  trilogical 
form,  by  making  each  tragedy  com- 
plete in  itself,  enlarged  the  number  of 
speakers  permissible  on  the  stage  at 
once,  to  three  instead  of  two,  and  cur- 
tailed the  inordinate  length  of  the 
choral  odes,  making  them  at  the  same 
time  more  appropriate  to  the  subject 
of  the  action,  and  more  carefully 
elaborated.  The  drama,  therefore, 
reached  a  perfection  of  form  in  the 
hands  of  Sophocles,  which  the  Titanic 
but  rather  chaotic  genius  of  ^^schylus 
could  not  have  given  it.  The  two  were 
indeed  very  different  in  their  charac- 
teristics, ^schylus  was  an  uncon- 
scious and  sponstaneous  genius.  As 
Sophocles  himself  said,  u^^schylus  did 
what  was  right  without  knowing  why 
he  did  it,  whereas  Sophocles  patiently 
worked  out  his  conception  with  refer- 
ence to  the  underlying  principles  of 
dramatic  art,  accomplishing  a  result 
which  is  considered  the  ideal  perfec- 
tion of  the  tragic  muse. 

It  is  remarkable  that,  with  Sopho- 
cles, the  period  of  greatest  produc- 
tiveness and  perfection  should  have 
been  the  latter  half  of  his  life,  to  which 
all  his  extant  tragedies  belong.  Had 
he  died  as  young  as  did  Byron,  Keats 
or  Shelley,  we  should  have  had  little 
left  to  testify  to  his  commanding  gen- 
ius. But  he  was  only  twenty-seven 
when  he  gained  his  great  victory  over 
^^schylus,  who  had  reigned  supreme 
as  poet-laureate  for  a  generation.  The 
occasion  of  the  contest  was  one  of  in- 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


tense  interest,  for  it  was  much  more 
than  a  competition  between  a  junior 
and  a  senior  poet.  As  has  been  well 
said,  '  it  was  a  contest  between  the 
new  and  the  old  styles  of  tragic  poetry, 
in  which  the  competitors  were  the 
greatest  dramatists,  with  one  excep- 
tion, who  ever  lived,  and  the  umpires 
were  the  first  men,  in  position  and 
education,  of  a  state  in  which  almost 
every  citizen  had  a  nice  perception  of 
the  beauties  of  poetry  and  art.'  The 
time  was  a  politically  exciting  one. 
Cimon  had  just  returned  from  the 
expedition  to  Skyros,  bringing  with 
liim  the  bones  of  Thesues,  and  en- 
tered the  theatre  at  the  great  Diony- 
siac  festival  at  the  moment  when  the 
Archon  Eponymus  was  about  to  elect, 
by  lot,  the  judges  who  were  to  decide 
the  contest  in  which  party  feeling  ran 
high.  As  the  Athenian  general  with 
liis  nine  colleagues  entered,  to  perform 
the  customary  libations  to  Dionysus, 
the  Archon,  by  a  happy  inspiration, 
fixed  on  the  new  comers,  and  admin- 
istered to  them  the  oath  appointed  for 
the  judges  in  dramatic  contests.  They 
decided  in  favour  of  the  young  debut- 
ant, and  ^schylus,  mortified  by  the 
defeat,  left  Athens  and  retired  to 
Sicily,  where  he  died  six  years  later, 
leaving  his  rival  to  reign  unchallenged 
for  twenty  eight  years,  till  he,  in  his 
turn,  had  to  yield  to  his  junior  and 
inferior,  Euripides. 

It  was  in  the  very  year  before  this 
defeat,  that  he  brought  out  the  finest 
(if  his  extant  dramas,  the  Antiyone, 
which,  as  has  been  already  said,  gained 
him  the  crowning  distinction  of  his 
life,  his  appointment  as  one  of  the  ten 
of  whom  Pericles  was  leader,  on  the 
expedition  against  Samos,  where  he  is 
believed  to  have  come  in  contact  with 
Herodotus.  The  exciting  period  of 
tlie  Peloponnesian  war,  seems  to  have 
stimulated  his  poetic  activity,  and  at 
its  close  we  find  him,  like  the  other 
patriotic  literary  men  of  his  time,  en- 
deavouring to  resist  the  approach  of 
anarchy,  and  stay  the  impending  ruin 
by  taking  refuge  in  an  oligarchy  ;  not 
2 


5G9 

from  "aristocratic  predilections,  but 
simply  as  a  last  resort.  He  seems  to 
have  assented  to  the  Council  of  the 
Four  Hundred,  while,  acknowledging 
the  measure  to  be  an  evil  one,  simply 
because  he  saw  no  better  course. 
(Edijjus  at  Colonus  was  his  last  tra- 
gedy— the  subject  having  a  special  fit- 
ness for  a  poet  who  seems  himself  to 
have  learned  wisdom  with  advancino' 
age — and,  it  would  seem,  contains  the 
ripest  fruit  of  his  mellowing  exper- 
iences. It  is  pathetically  associated 
with  the  history  of  a  family  quarrel 
which  must  have  very  much  clouded 
the  happiness  of  his  later  life — caused 
by  the  jealousy  his  son  and  heir  en- 
tertained of  the  regard  of  Sophocles  for 
his  grandson,  Sophocles  the  younger. 
The  living  poet  was  even  summoned 
before  a  court  having  jurisdiction  over 
family  affairs,  on  the  ground  that  his 
mind  was  affected  by  advancing  age. 
His  answer  was  : — '  If  I  am  Sophocles 
I  am  not  beside  myself,  and  if  I  am 
beside  myself,  I  am  not  Sophocles ; ' 
and  then  to  recite  the  magnificent 
Choral  Ode  in  which  he  praises  the 
beauty  of  his  native  Colonus — which 
so  impressed  the  judges  that  they 
dismissed  the  case  and  rebuked  the 
unfilial  plaintiff.  As  the  drama  in 
question  was  not  then  finished,  it  is 
probable  that  the  scene  between  (Edip- 
sus  and  his  son  Polynikes  contains 
traces  of  this  bitter  experience  of  his 
own  of  *  a  thankless  child.'  Probably, 
too,  the  touching  pleadings  of  Anti- 
gone for  her  brother  may  have  been 
an  echo  of  the  pleadings  of  his  own 
heart  for  the  forgiveness  of  his  undu- 
tiful  son  : — 

He  is  thy  child, 
And  therefore,  0  my  father,   'tis  not  right 
Though  he  should  prove  the  basest  of  the 

base, 
To  render  ill  for  ill. 

We  may  be  sure  that  So[)hocles  for- 
gave his  son,  though  it  would  seem 
that  his  grandson  and  namesake,  the 
younger  Sophocles,  was  much  more 
congenial  to  him  in  every  way  than 
any  of  his  own  four  sons.     The  drama 


570 

of  (Edipus  at  Colomis,  was  brought 
out  by  bis  grandson  only  after  the 
poet's  death,  and  it  has  been  thought 
with  much  apparent  probability,  that 
the  beautiful  lines  which  describe  the 
death  of  CEdipus,  were  either  written 
by  .Sophocles  in  a  sort  of  prophetic 
anticipation  of  his  own  decease,  or 
were  adopted  by  his  grandson  to  de- 
scribe the  '  passing'  of  Sophocles  in  his 
ninetieth  year.  They,  at  all  events, 
give  what  we  may  well  believe  to 
have  been  the  appropriate  close  of  the 
])oet's  life  : 

So  was  it.     And  'tis  great  and  wonderful 
For  neither  was  it  thunderbolt  from    Zeus 
With  Hashing  fire  that  slew  him,  nor  the 

blast 
\     Of  whirlwind  sweeping  o'er  the  sea's  dark 

waves, 
But   either  some  one  whom  the  Gods  had 

sent 
To  guide  his  steps,  or  gentleness   of  mood 
Had  moved  the  powers  beneath  to  ope  the 

way 
To   earth's  deep  regions   painlessly.       He 

died 
Ko  death  to  mourn  for — did  not  leave  the 

world. 
Worn  out  with  pain  and  sickness  ;  but  his 

end, 
If  any  ever  was,  was  wonderful. 

We  can  still  imagine  the  deep  emo- 
tion which  this  passage  must  have 
called  forth  when  the  last  work  of 
Sophocles  was  represented  before  an 
Athenian  audience,  after  the  death  of 
the  aged  poet ;  an  event  which  must 
have  caused  such  a  sensation  as  the 
death  of  no  modern  poet  could  cause, 
since  Sophocles  stood  out  before  the 
most  cultivated  public  of  his  day  as 
no  poet  or  teacher  can  possibly  stand 
out  before  any  public  in  an  age  when 
teachers,  through  living  voice  and 
printed  page,  are  almost  as  numerous 
as  the  taught  To  the  more  earnest 
and  religious  minds,  his  loss  would  find 
the  best  parallel  in  the  blank  which 
will  be  left  when  Whittier  shall  follow 
his  illustrious  contemporary,  Long- 
fellow, To  all,  his  death  would  be 
felt  to  mark  the  close  of  a  distinct  era 
of  literature,    of  national    existence, 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


even  of  religion.    Greece  never  owned 
a  second  Sophocles. 

In  looking  at  Sophocles  as  a  poet, 
we  are  not  more  struck  by  his  com- 
manding genius  than  by  his  purity, 
his  reverence,  his  uniform  elevation 
of  tone.  Few  poets,  ancient  or  modern, 
have  left  so  little  that  the  most  fas- 
tidious reader  could  wish  altered,  and 
in  the  absence  of  evidence  to  the  con- 
ti'ary,  we  may  fairly  presume  that  the 
blamelessness  of  his  verse  only  re- 
flected the  blamelessness  of  his  life. 
The  fact  that  Aristophanes  leaves  him 
untouched  by  his  satire  seems  to  show 
that  he  was  held  in  quite  an  ex- 
ceptional respect  as  sans  ^_>(??<r  et 
sans  reproche ;  and  though  one  or 
two  not  very  well  authenticated  anec- 
dotes seem  to  indicate  thatin  his  youth 
his  nature  had  a  sensuous  tendency — 
the  besetting  weakness  of  the  Greek — 
he  seems  to  have  completely  overcome 
it  in  later  life,  and  his  extant  poems 
show  no  trace  whatever  of  any  such 
element.  And,  as  Milton  said,  that 
the  man  who  would  write  a  heroic 
poem  must  live  a  heroic  life,  we  may 
fairly  add,  that  to  write  pure  and  noble 
poetry,  he  must  live  a  pure  and  noble 
life — a  truth  borne  out  by  our  know- 
ledge of  the  lives  of  poets  generally. 
He  is  said  to  have  developed  some 
fondness  for  money, — not  unnatural 
for  a  successful  poet,  keenly  suscepti- 
ble to  its  manifold  uses  and  powers, 
as  more  than  one  passage  shows. 
Amonc;  his  '  fragments,'  we  find  the 
following,  which  is,  probably,  as  true 
to-day  as  when  first  written  : 

Riches  gain  friends,  gain    honours,  further 

still. 
Gain  highest  sovereignty  for  those  who  sit 
In  low  estate.     The  rich  have  no  men  foes  ; 
And  if  there  be,  they  still  conceal  their  hate. 
A   wondrous  power    has   wealth  to  wind  its 

way 
Or  on  plain   ground,  or  heights    that  none 

may  tread, 
Where  one  that's  poor,  although  'twere  close 

at  hand, 
Would  fail  to  gain  the  things  his  heart  desires. 

He  seems  to  have  found  out,  however, 
also,  that   '  the  love   of   money  is  the 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AlfD  TEACH  Ell 


571 


root  of  all  evil,'  for  in  Antigone  vve 
find  Ki'eon  saying  : 

Nothing  in  use  by  man,  for  power  of  ill, 
Can  equal  money.  This  lays  citie.-!  low, 
This   drives   men    forth   from    (juiet    hiding 

place. 
This  warps  and  changes  minds  uf  worthiest 

stamp 
To  turn  to  deeds  of  baseness,  teaching  men 
All  shifts  of  cunninsr,  and  to  know  the  guilt 
Of  every  impious  deed. 

As  a  publicist,  Sophocles  stands 
equally  opposed  to  despotism  and  the 
s))irit  which  would  rashly  disi-egard 
the  claims  of  law  and  order  in  the 
name  of  liberty.  The  existing  laws 
and  rulers  must  be  respected,  even 
when  they  do  wroncr,  and  violent  re- 
sistance to  them  must  at  least  be  de- 
ferred till  all  other  means  of  redress 
have  failed.  Athens  was  a  republic, 
and  hated  the  very  name  of  king,  call- 
ing him  Tyrannu!^.  Yet  the  burden 
of  the  teaching  of  Sophocles  is  con- 
tinually, '  Fear  God  and  honour  the 
king,'  because  his  majesty  represents 
the  majesty  of  law.  Theseus,  the  ideal 
ruler,  thus  reproaches  Kreon  : 

Thou  dost  grievous  wrong 
To  me  and  thine  own  nature  and  thy  co;mtry. 
Who  coming  to  a  state  that  loves  the  right 
And    without   law    does    nothing,  sett'st    at 

naught 
The  things  it  most  reveres,  and  at  thy  will 
By  deeds  of  violence,  wilt  gain  thine  end. 

In  the  Antigone  he  brings  out  most 
distinctly  the  two  extremes  to  be 
avoided — that  of  the  harsh  despot  who 
overstrains  his  authority,  and  that  of 
a  rash,  though  noble,  defiance  of  '  the 
powers  that  be.'  Kreon  says,  truly 
enough  : 

Anarchy 
Is  our  worst  evil,  brings  our  commonwealth 
To  utter  ruin,  lays  whole  houses  low 
In  battle  strife,  hurls  men  in  shameful  fight ; 
But  they  who  walk  uprightly  -these  shall  find 
Obedience  saves  most  men. 

H^emonthus  remonstrates  with  Kreon: 

That  is  no  state 
Wiiich  hangs  on  one  man's  will , 

and,  to  Kreon's  question  : 

The  state,  I  pray, 
Is  it  not  reckoned  his  who  governs  it  ? 

the  reply  is  : 


Brave  rule  !  Alone,  and  «"er  an  empty  state  ! 

Further,  Haj  non,  by  two  striking 
similes,  forcibly  presents  the  evil  con- 
sequences that  flow  from  attempting 
to  overstrain  authority  : 

When  winter  floods  the  streams. 
Thou    see'st  the  trees  that  bend  before  the 

storm 
Save  their  last  twigs,  while   those  that  will 

not  yield 
Perish  with  root  and  branch.     And  when  one 

hauls 
Too  tight  the  mainsail   sheet  and   will  not 

slack. 
He  has    to  end  his  voyage  with   deck  o'er- 

turned. 

Here,  again,  we  have  the  responsi- 
bility of  tlie  ruler  strongly  brought 
out : 

And  yet  I  blame  not  him  so  much  as  those 
Who  reign  supreme,  for  all  a  city  hangs, 
And  all  an  army,  on  the  men  that  rule. 

In  *  Aias,'  the  contention  between 
Kreon  and  Antigone  is  fought  over 
again  between  Agamemnon  and  Mene- 
laus  on  the  one  side,  and  Teukros,  the 
brother  of  Aias,  on  the  other,  who  is 
determined  to  bury  the  dead  Aias 
(Ajax),  in  defiance  of  the  tyrannical 
Atreidie,  who  rage  and  bluster  as  if 
they  were  absolute  despots  over  all 
their  brother  chiefs.  Odysseus,  seeing 
the  folly  of  their  conduct,  comes  to 
the  rescue,  and  |)leads  that  they  are 
transgressing  a  higher  law  : 

Thou  woulds't  not  trample  upon  him  alone, 
But  on  the  laws  of  God.     It  is  not  right, 
To   harm,  though    thou  shoulds't  chance   to 

hate  him  sore 
A  man  of  noble  nature,  lying  dead. 

And  Agamemnon  finally  yields  to  the 
representation,  though  he  says,  naively 
and  apologetically  : 

It  is  no  easy  task  for  sovereign  prince 

To   weigh   the  claims  of  reverence  to  the 
Gods. 

A  poet-critic  lately  said  that  the 
rank  of  a  poet  was  to  be  estimated 
according  to  the  truth  of  his  'criticism 
of  life,'  a  test  seriously  objected  to 
by  another  poet.  The  phrase,  '  criti- 
cism of  life,'  is  not  a  happy  one,  since 
the  spirit  of  criticism  is  decidedly  an- 
tMgonistic  to  the  poetic  spirit,  which  is 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


synthetic  and  creative.  But  if  Mat- 
thew Arnold  meant,  as  he  probably 
did  mean,  that  a  poet's  claim  to  im- 
mortality was  founded,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent, on  the  way  in  which  he  deals  with 
those  great  moral  problems  which  op- 
press the  heart  of  humanity  in  all 
ages,  we  believe  the  test  is  a  true  one. 
True  poetry,  indeed,  cannot  be  merely 
didactic  or  sectarian.  It  deals  not 
with  the  theories  and  dogmas  which 
are  the  mere  outward  crust  of  truth, 
changing  with  the  intellectual  changes 
of  generations.  But  it  speaks  out  of 
the  heart  to  the  heart ;  and  the  poet 
whose  heart  is  pure  and  true,  will  lead 
mankind  to  the  things  that  are  pure 
and  true,  and  so  establish  his  best 
claim  on  their  memory,  that  of  help- 
ing them  to  attain  the  truest  happi- 
ness. Take  a  few  examples.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  Burns  will  be  longest 
and  most  widely  known  by  such  poems 
as  '  Scot's  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled,' 
'A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that,'  '  Auld 
Lang  Syne,'  and  'A  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night,'  and  that  Longfellow's  '  Psalm 
of  Life,'  will  find  an  echo  in  the  me- 
mory of  mankind  long  after  his  more 
ambitious  productions  are  compara- 
tively forgotten.  And  Shakespeare 
himself  is,  by  the  multitudes  who 
have  not  time  to  study  him,  more 
valued  for  such  passages  as  '  The  qua- 
lity of  mercy  is  not  strained,'  crystal- 
lizing a  great  truth,  than  for  all  his 
wonderful  creative  power  and  dramatic 
geniu.s.  But  the  truth  must  be  crys- 
tallized, fused  in  the  fire  of  the  poet's 
genius,  to  find  this  sure  lodgment  in 
the  universal  heart. 

Judged  by  this  test,  Sophocles  may 
well  be  placed  at  the  head  of  the  clas- 
sical poets.  There  are,  indeed,  some 
points  in  which,  judged  by  the  higher 
ethical  standard  that  Christianity 
has  established,  we  find  even  Sopho- 
cles wanting.  Truth  and  sincerity  are 
indeed  everywhere  exalted  in  his 
dramas;  and  the  opposite,  even  when 
combined  with  the  skilful  diplomacy 
of  an  Odysseus — are  made  odious—  a 
marked  improvement  on  the  Homeric 


poems.  In  '  Philoctetes,'  the  ardent 
and  ingenuous  Neoptolemus  revolts 
against,  and  in  the  end  repudiates,  the 
treacherous  stratagem  to  which  he  is 
over-persuaded  by  Odysseus,  and  the 
poet  evidently  speaks  his  own  senti- 
ments in  the  reprobation  of  the  '  crafty 
subtle  words  of  guileful  mind,'  for 
which  that  wily  schemer  was  famous. 
And  Tennyson  might  have  written  the 
line, — 

Be  sure  no  lie  can  ever  reach  old  age. 

Yet  here  and  there  we  see  evidence  of 
the  close  connexion  between  true  mo- 
rality and  true  religion,  while  Sopho- 
cles shows  us  how  firmly  the  idea  of 
right  AS  RIGHT  is  rooted  in  the  human 
heart,  and  how  closely  it  is  associated 
with  the  religious  instinct,  he  shows 
us,  too,  how  the  absence  of  the  hope 
of  a  future  life  does  act  against  its 
fullest  development.  Here  is  a  pas- 
sage that  might  be  suggestive  to  those 
who  hold  that  the  destruction  of 
man's  belief  in  immortality  would  not 
aflfect  injuriously  the  general  tone  of 
morality  : — 

It  is  not  good  to  lie,  but  when  the  truth, 
Brings  to  a  man  destruction  terrible, 
He  may  be  pardoned,  though  his  words  be 
base. 

Of  course,  the  Greeks  did  not  disbe- 
lieve in  future  existence.  The  very 
tenacity  with  which  the  burial  rites 
were  regarded  as  absolutely  indispen- 
sable— the  horror  which  their  non-per- 
formance excited,  testified  to  their 
belief  in  that  future  existence  which 
these  rites  were  believed  seriously  to 
affect.  But  it  was  a  mere  existence, 
passive  and  colourless,  which  they  as- 
sociated with  the  shadowy  realm  of 
Hades.  Antigone  has  no  bright  hope 
of  a  future  life,  no  blessed  reunion 
with  those  she  loves  to  sustain  her  as 
she  goes  to  her  living  tomb  ;  all  that 
she  looks  forward  to  is  some  vague 
existence  beside  them,  which  she  seems 
to  refer  to  the  tomb  itself  quite  as 
much  as  to  an  unknown  'under-world.' 
There  was  no  '  sure  and  certain  hope 
of   a  fdorious  resurrection'  to  offer  to 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


573 


the  desolate  mourners  at  a  Grecian 
tomb.  It  is  hardly  then  to  be  wcm- 
dered  at,  that,  lacking  the  hope  which 
has  nerved  so  many  Christian  martyrs 
to  face  death  rather  than  sacrifice 
truth,  even  a  poet  of  the  high  moral 
tone  of  Sophocles  should  plead  that 
when  the  truth  must  cost  the  only  life 
worth  calling  such,  a  lie  is  at  least 
))ardonable. 

Passing  from  death  to  marriage,  it  is 
curious  that  not  on  e  of  Sophocles'  extant 
tragedies  turns  on  the  passion  of  love, 
so  fruitful  a  theme  in  modern  }joetry. 
The  plotof  the  'MaidensofTraches,' in- 
deed, turns  on  thejealousy  of  Dyancira, 
on  accountof  Hercules'  espousalof  lole, 
but  this  scarcely  constitutes  an  excep- 
tion. But  the  modern  conception  of 
love,  in  its  higher  aspects,  was  entirely 
foreign  to  an  age  when  woman  was 
usually  regarded  as  an  inferior  being, 
a  possession  rather  than  a  companion, 
although  Sophocles  accords  to  her  a 
higher  place  than  did  his  contempo- 
raries. And  as  true  love,  according  to 
our  conception  of  it,  must  be  largely 
blended  with  reverence  for  its  object, 
it  would  have  been  impossible  for  a 
Greek  poet  to  represent  it  as  either  a 
Shakespeare,  a  Dante,  or  a  'I'ennyson 
has  done.  The  iew  references  of  So- 
})hocles  to  the  passion  of  love,  treat  it 
rather  as  a  sinister  influence ;  as  for 
instance  a  fragment  beginning — 

A  sore  disease  is  this  desire  of  love. 

It  may  well  be  doubted  indeed,  whe- 
ther, without  the  purifying  influence 
of  Christianity,  we  could  ever  have 
had  what  we  now  feel  to  be  the  only 
adequate  conception  of  love  between 
man  and  woman.  Certainly  the  wor- 
ship of  Aplu-odite  could  not  give  it. 
As  Helen  Fiiucit  truly  says,  '  the  an- 
cients knew  nothing  of  the  passion  of 
love  in  its  purity,  its  earnestness,  its 
devotedness,  its  self  sacrifice.  It  need- 
ed Christianity  to  teach  us  this,  and  a 
Shakespeai'e  in  the  drama  to  illustrate 
it'. 

As  little  could  Sophocles  rise  to  the 
Christian  doctrine  of  forgiveness.  *  An 


eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,' 
is  still  in  his  tragedies  the  stern  maxim 
that  excludes  the  higher  precept,  'Love 
your  enemies.'  But  he  could  not  rise 
above  the  spirit  of  his  times,  when  so- 
ciety was  only  just  settling  down  into 
organization  and  order.  In  the  ear- 
lier times  in  which  his  tragedies  are 
placed,  the  avenger  of  blood  was  a 
necessity,  and  individual  vengeance 
the  only  sure  mode  of  enforcing  jus- 
tice. Lynch  law  is  a  very  undesii'able 
kind  of  law,  but  it  is  at  least  better 
than  no  law  at  all.  And  the  world 
had  first  to  pass  under  the  yoke  of  law 
before  it  was  prepared  for  the  Gospel. 
So  individual  retribution  is  carried  in 
the  tragedies  of  Sophocles  to  a  point 
which  almost  revolts  us.  Clytemnes- 
tra,  infamous  as  she  is,  almost  excites 
our  compassion  when  we  see  her  son 
and  daughter  utterly  unmoved  by  the 
slightest  feelings  of  I'uth  for  the  mo- 
ther, on  whom  they  must  avenge  their 
father's  murder.  And  Electra,  though 
she  is  set  before  us  as  a  noble  charac- 
ter— loyal  and  faithful  to  the  utter- 
most, second  only  to  Antigone — be- 
comes really  repulsive,  and,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  unwomanly,  when,  un- 
moved by  her  wretched  mother's  pite- 
ous cry  for  mercy,  she  adjures  her 
brother — 

Smite  her  yet  again, 
If  tliou  hast  strength  for  it. 

And  when  she  greets  him,  fresh  from 
the  deed  of  blood,  with  the  unrelent- 
ing inquiry — 

And  is  she  dead— vile  creature  ? 

we  instinctively  feel  that  no  great 
poet  of  the  Christian  era  would  have 
put  such  language  into  the  mouth  of 
a  heroine  for  whom  he  meant  to  enlist 
our  fullest  sympathy.  Here  and  there, 
indeed,  we  catch  a  gleam  of  something 
like  the  teachings  of  forgiveness,  but 
it  is  always  qualified  by  some  pecu- 
liarity of  circumstances.  When  Anti- 
gone [)leads  with  her  father  for  her 
brother,  Polynikes,  she  does  so  on  the 
ground  that  '  he  is  thy  child,'  and 
therefore — 


574 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


'Tis  not  right 
Though  he  shoulrl  prove  the  basest  of  the  base, 
To  render  ill  for  ill. 

When  Odysseus  ])leads  with  Aga- 
memnon and  Menelaus,  to  withdraw 
their  opposition  to  the  burial  of  Aias, 
they  tind  it  almost  impossible  to  com- 
prehend his  motive  or  attitude,  and 
he  takes  pains  to  explain  that  though 
he  'hated,  while  'twas  right  to  hate,' 
he  maintains  that  death  should  end 
hostilities — 

It  is  not  right 
To  liarm,  though  thou  should'st  chance  to  hate 

him  sore, 
A  man  of  noble  nature,  lying  dead. 

Aias,  indeed,  says,  with  some  cynic- 
ism, however — 

I,  indeed. 
Have  learnt  but  now  that  we  should  hate  a  foe 
Only  so  far  as  one  that  yet  may  love, 
And  to  a  friend  just  so  much  help  may  give 
As  unto  one  that  will  not  always  stay. 
For  with  most  men  is  friendship's  haven  found 
Most  treacherous  sailing. 

And  we  are  reminded  elsewhere  that — 

To  err,  indeed. 
Is  common  unto  all,  but  having  erred 
He  is  no  longer  reckless  or  unblest 
Who,  having  fallen  into  evil,  seeks 
Fot-  healing,  nor  continues  still  unmoved. 

But  we  look  in  vain  for  forgiveness, 
pure  and  simjjle,  as  we  find  it  urged 
by  Portia  in  the  '  Merchant  of  Venice.' 
And,  indeed,  we  could  hardly  expect 
the  moral  beauty  of  forgiveness  of  in- 
juries to  be  very  ajjparent  under  a  re- 
ligion which  attributed  to  its  deities 
the  most  bitter  and  persistent  vindic- 
tiveness,  avenging  small  personal  af- 
fronts on  whole  armies  and  peoples, 
not  for  the  sake  of  punisliing  s«i,  or 
leading  to  repentance  by  timely  chas- 
tisement, but  simply  out  of  what  we 
familiarly  term  'personal  spite.'  The 
idea  of  a  God,  just  to  punish  because 
hating  sin,  yet  ready  to  forgive  be- 
cause loving  the  sinner,  was  unknown 
to  the  Greek  mind.  The  sublime  con- 
ception of  '  the  Lord,  the  Lord  God, 
merciful  and  gracious,  long  suffering, 
and  abundant  in  goodness  and  truth, 
keeping  mercy  for  thousands,  forgiv- 
ing   iniquity    and    transgression    and 


sin,  and  that  will  \)y  no  means  clear 
the  guilty,' — whicli  was  proclaimed  in 
Judea  two  thousand  years  before,  had 
not  yet  travelled  beyond  it. 

But  putting  aside  the  details  of  the 
great  question  of  morality,  in  which 
Sophocles  could  not  be  expected  to 
rise  very  far  beyond  the  standard  of 
his  age  and  country,  nothing  is  more 
characteristic  of  his  tragedies  than  the 
earnestness  with  which  the  Chorus — 
representing  the  poet's  own  ideal — al- 
ways seeks  to  ascertain  what  is  right  in 
the  circumstances.  The  distinction  be- 
tween right  as  right  and  wrong  as  urong 
is  as  great  and  awful  a  truth  to  him 
as  to  the  philosopher  Kant.  The  mys- 
terious but  inevitable  connection  be- 
tween sin  and  I'etribution,  even  to  'the 
third  and  fourth  generation,'  is  vividly 
shown  by  him  ;  while,  at  the  same 
time,  the  misfortunes  of  the  sufferers 
can  almost  always  be  traced  to  some 
mistake  or  moral  dereliction  of  the 
present  Actors  in  the  drama,  to  pride 
and  obstinacy  on  the  one  side,  and 
rash  defiance  on  the  other,  or  head- 
long passion,  overweening  arrogance, 
or  irreverence  towards  the  gods.  But 
not  less  vividly  does  he  portray  the 
moral  effect  of  contrition  on  the  peni- 
tent, and  the  wonderful  transformation 
of  the  avenging  furies,  through  repent- 
ance and  atonement,  into  the  '  gentle 
powers  '  of  purification  and  peace.  It 
has  been  said,  and  truly,  of  the  modern 
theatre,  that '  silence,  patience,  moder- 
ation, temperance,  wisdom,  and  contri- 
tion for  guilt  are  no  virtues,  the  ex- 
hibition of  which  will  divert  spectators.' 
But  let  us  not  forget  that,  for  a  brief 
period  in  the  history  of  one  nation  at 
least,  the  drama  was  made  the  means 
of  enforcing  these  very  virtues.  This 
is  simply  a  fact — one  of  the  many 
showing  that  '  the  old  order  changeth, 
giving  place  to  new,'  and  that  '  one 
good  custom  '■  will  never  be  allowed  to 
'  corrupt  the  world.'  So))hocles  was 
emphatically  a  '  preacher  of  righteoits- 
ness  '  to  his  generation,  so  far  as  his 
limited  light  could  go  ;  and  he  made 
the  stage  his  pulpit,  in  days  when  the 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


pulpit  did  not  yet  exist.  On  the  sus- 
ceptible populace  of  Athens,  gathered 
from  time  to  time  in  the  amphitheatre, 
his  powerful  dramatic  teachings  must 
have  had  such  an  effect  as  we  can 
hardly  estimate  in  days  when  the  voice 
of  the  preacher  has  of  necessity  become 
so  familiar  to  accustomed  ears.  In  an 
age  when  impiety,  lawlessness,  and 
sensuality  were  advancing  on  Athens 
like  a  flood,  Sophocles'  strenuous  teach- 
ings of  reverence,  obedience,  moder- 
ation, must  have  done  much  to  stem 
the  tide,  and,  at  least,  postpone  the 
evil  day  which  too  soon  followed  his 
death.  As  nothing  was  so  strongly 
insisted  on  throughout  his  dramas  as 
reverence  towards  the  gods,  we  may 
be  sure  that  such  recklessly  impious 
acts  as  the  mutilation  of  Uerinm  must 
have  met  with  his  strongest  condemna- 
tion, and,  doubtless,  elicited  some  of 
the  homilies  on  this  point  in  v\  hich  his 
works  abound. 

Looking  back  from  the  high  vantage 
ground  of  Cliristian  teaching,  it  is  at 
first  sight  difficult  to  see  how  such  a 
mind  as  that  of  Sophocles  could  accept 
what  we  now  easily  and  scornfully  call 
the  fables  of  Greek  mythology.  Yet  if 
we  try  to  enter  with  a  little  sympathy 
into  the  position  of  Sopliocles,  witii  re- 
gard to  the  rt-ligiou  of  iiis  country  and 
age,  we  shall  see  that  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  he  should  cast  aside  forms 
which  embodied  what  had  been  '  a 
living  faith  to  millions,'  and  was  a 
living  faith  to  the  most  pious  of  his 
countrymen  then.  If  even  Socrates, 
in  his  last  moments,  could  not  resist 
the  influence  of  veneration  for  the  old 
rites  which  impelled  hiiu  to  dedicate  a 
cock  to  Esculapius,  still  less  could 
Sophocles,  who  was  far  more  a  poet 
than  a  philosopher,  throw  aside  the  in- 
fluence of  the  old  poetic  myths  that 
were  so  closely  intertwined  with  his 
religious  life.  The  symbols  and  rites 
of  his  day,  such  as  they  were,  were  the 
only  expression  of  the  deep-seated  re- 
ligious instinct  which  binds  man  to  the 
invisible  '  Heavenly  Powers,'  and  lies 
so  much  deeper  than  any  forms  or  sym- 


bols— giving  the  hallowing  touch  in- 
fluence of  Divine  sanction  to — 

The  old  moralities  which  lent 
To  life  its  sweetness  and  content, 

and  enforcing  with  the  same  sanction 
the  eternal  laws  of  right  on  the  con- 
science of  the  people.  Possibly  his 
poetic  intuition,  while  rejecting  much 
that  was  puerile  and  unworthy  in  the 
Homeric  conception  of  the  gods,  saw 
in  the  religious  beliefs  of  his  time 

The  imperishable  seeds 
Of  harvests  sown  for  larger  needs. 

At  all  events,  Sophocles  possessed  no- 
thing  of  the  destructive  spirit  which 
would    scornfully    throw    away  what 
men  revere  and  live  by,  while  there  is 
nothing  to  put  in  its  place  ;    and,  ac- 
cordingly, lack   of   reverence  for  the 
gods,  profanity  of  action  or  speech,  is 
constantly  set  before  us  as  the  fruit- 
ful source  of  evil  in  human  life.    That 
he  '  who  walketh  haughtily  '  '  deserves 
an    evil    fate '    is   one  of  his  axioms. 
Whether    his    spiritual    insight    may 
have  acted    as    a  converging   lens  to 
blend    into    the   pure   white  light   of 
monotheism  the  broken  rays  of  poly- 
theism,  we  cannot  know.      Probably 
he  himself  did  not   know  exactly  how 
far    he     believed    the    old    myths,  or 
viewed  them  as  poetic  impersonations. 
Zeus,  at  all  events,  he  regards  as  the 
supreme  ruler   of   Olympus,   and  fre- 
quently gives  him   some   of   the  attri- 
butes of  the  one  living  and  true  God. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  following  : 

Thy  power,  O  Zeus,   what  haughtiness  of 
man 

Could  ever  hold  in  check  ? 
Which  neither  sleep  that  maketh  all  things 

old 
Nor    the  long  months    of   gods  that  wax 
not  faint 

(Jan  for  a  moment  seize. 
But  still,  as  Lord  supreme 
Through  time  that  grows  not  old, 
Thou  dwellest  in  thy  sheen  of  radiancy 

On  far  Olympus  height, 
Through   all    the  future  and    the  coming 
years. 

He  frequently,  throughout  his  works, 
refers  to  *  God  '  in  the  singular,  and 


SOPHOCLES  AS  A  POET  AND  TEACHER. 


576 

sometimes  also  to  the  eternal  laws  of 
right,  which  he  seems  to  make  inde- 
pendent of  Zeus  himself,  while  yet  he 
calls  them  '  the  unwritten  laws  of 
God,'  reminding  us  of  the  useless  con- 
troversies which  Christian  philoso- 
phers and  theologians  have  waged  con- 
cerning a  point  which  the  human  in- 
tellect is  not  competent  to  define.  Of 
these,  he  says  : 

Yes,  for  it  was  not  Zeus  who  gave  them 

forth, 
Ivor  justice  dwelling  with  the  gods  below, 
"Who  traced  these  laws  for  all  the  sons  of 

men  ; 
Kor  did  I  deem  thy  edicts  strong  enough — 
Coming  from  mortal  man,  to  set  at  nought 
The  unwritten  laws  of  God  that  know  not 

change. 
They  are  not  of  to-day  nor  yesterday, 

But  live  for  ever. 

And  again  he  says,  in  words  that  seem 
almost  like  an  echo  of  a  Hebrew  psalm, 
wiitten  ages  before  : 

0  that  my  fate  were  fixed 
To  live  in  holy  purity  of  speech, 
Pure  in  all  deeds  whose  laws  stand  firm  and 
high 

In  heaven's  clear  ether  born, 
Of  whom  Olympus  only  is  the  sire 
AVhom  man's  frail  flesh  begat  not, 
"Sot  ever  shall  forgetfulness  o'erwhelm, 
In  them  our  God  is  great  and  grows  not 

old. 

There  is,  indeed,  a  fragment  extant, 
quoted  by  Justin  Martyr  from  Sopho- 
cles, which  unmistakably  proclaims 
the  unity  of  God  ;  but  it  is  considered 
to  be  of  very  doubtful  authenticity  : 

In  very  deed  and  truth  God  is  but  one 
Who  made  the  heaven  and  all  the  seat  of 

earth, 
The   exulting  sea  and  all  the  strength  of 

winds. 
But   we,  poor  mortals,  wandering  in  our 

hearts 
Set  up  poor   cheats  to  soothe    our    soul's 

distress, 
Carved  images  of  God  in  wood  and  stone, 
Or  forms  of  well-wrought  gold  or  ivory, 
And,  offering  sacrifice  to  these  with  rites 
And  solemn  fasts,   we  think  we  worship 
him. 

But  whether  or  not  Sophocles  was 
something  of  a  neo-Platonist  in  ad- 
vance, or  whether  he  simply  accepted 
the  old  rites  as  the  only  available  form 


of  religious  expression,  it  is  plain,  at 
all  events,  that  he  strongly  felt  the 
need  of  the  motive  power  and  the 
strength  and  consolation  which  reli- 
gion can  supply  to  man.  We  hear 
much  about  Hellenic  joyousness,  and 
unconsciousness  of  evil  ;  but  it  is 
clear  enough,  from  the  expression  of 
its  inner  experience  by  its  truest  poets, 
that  Hellenic  life  was  not  all  physical 
enjoyment — that  it  was  not  always 
sunshine  among  its  vines  and  olive 
groves.  On  the  contrary,  Greek 
tragedy  is  proverbially  the  deepest 
tragedy,  and  no  thought  is  more  fre- 
quent in  Sophocles  than  the  uncer- 
tainty of  earthly  bliss.  He  repeatedly 
warns  his  hearers  to  count  no  man 
happy  before  his  death,  and  tells  us 
that 

Tis  an  old  saying  told  of  many  men. 
Thou  cau'st    not  judge   aright  the   life  of 

man, 
Or  whether  it  be  good  or  bad  to  him 
Before  he  die. 

But  the  consoling  truth  that  this  life 
is  a  discipline  and  education  is  not 
only  implied  in  the  structure  of  the 
dramas,  in  which  the  calamities  that 
follow  wrong-doing  induce  humility, 
self-distrust,  submission  and  patience, 
but  is  also  put  definitely  into  striking 
words  : — 

0  children,  noblest  pair, 

Be  not  so  vexed  in  mood. 

With  what  from  God  has  come 

Working  for  God  throughout. 

The  path  ye  tread  ye  need  not  murmur  at. 

So  Q^ldipus  learns  humility  and  con- 
tent through  the  severe  lessons  of 
his  life,  Kreon  casts  aside  his  haughty 
self-will  and  irreverence  towards  the 
Gods,  and  Philoctetes,  leaving  his  na- 
tural grudges  and  bitterness  behind, 
goes  to  find  healing  and  fulfil  his  duty 
in  assisting  to  accomplish  the  capture 
of  Troy,  impossible  without  hiia. 

Some  noble  words  of  Charles  King- 
sley's  seem  to  apply  so  appropriately 
to  Sophocles  as  a  religious  teacher 
that  we  quote  them  here,  as  beauti- 
fully expressing  a  great  truth  as  yet 
too  little  appreciated. 


NON  POSSO. 


'  They  will  find  in  the  Greek,  the 
Persian,  and  the  Hindoo ;  in  the 
Buddhist  and  in  the  Mohammedan 
Sufi  ;  the  same  craving  after  the  ab- 
solute and  the  eternal,  the  same  at- 
tempt to  express  in  words  that  union 
between  man  and  God,  which  trans- 
cends all  words.  On  making  that  dis- 
covery, if  they  have  not  already  made 
it,  two  courses  will  be  open  to  them. 
They  can  either  reject  the  whole  of 
such  thoughts  as  worthless,  assuming 
that  anything  which  Christianity  has 
in  common  with  heathendom  must  be 
an  adulteration  and  an  interpolation; 
or  when  they  see  such  thoughts  bub- 
bling up,  as  it  were  spontaneously, 
among  men  divided  utterly  from  each 
other  by  race,  age  and  creed,  they  can 
conclude  that  those  thoughts  must  be 
a  normal  product  of  the  human  spirit, 
and  that  they  indicate  a  healthy  crav- 
ing after  some  real  object ;  they  can 
rise  to  a  tender  and  deeper  sympathy 
with  the  aspirations  and  mistakes  of 
men  who  sought  in  great  darkness  for 
a  ray  of  light,  and  did  not  seek  in 
vain  ;  and  can  give  fresh  glory  to  the 
doctrines  of  the  Catholic  (Universal) 
Church,  when  they  see  them  fulfilling 
those  aspirations  and  correcting  those 
mistakes ;  and  in  this  case,  as  in 
others,  satisfying  the  desire  of  all 
nations,  by  proclaiming  Him  by  whom 
all  tilings  were  made,  and  in  whom  all 
things  consist ;  who  is  The  Light  and 
The  Life  of  n^en,  shining  for  ever  in 
the  darkness,  uncomprehended,  yet 
unquenched.' 


577 

It  would  be  an  interesting  specula- 
tion to  imagine  how  Sophocles  would 
have  received,  had  he  lived  some  four 
centuries  later,  the  teachings  of  the 
remarkable  foreigner,  who  came  to 
declare  to  the  men  of  Athens,  Him 
whom  they  '  ignorantly  worshipped.' 
Would  not  his  keen-spirited  insight 
have  i-ecognised  the  truth,  paraphrased 
by  Keble  in  the  words  : — 

Immortal  Greece,  dear  land  of  glorious 
lays, 

Lo  here  the  unknown  God  of  thy  uncon- 
scious praise. 

But  however  this  may  be,  those  who 
believe  with  Augustine  that  the  es- 
sence of  the  thing  called  the  Chris- 
tian religion  has  always  been  in  the 
world  : — that  God  has  never  been  'far 
from  any  one  of  us,'  even  those  who 
were  wandering  in  the  midst  of  hea- 
thenism, that  He  has  never  '  left  Him 
self  without  a  witness,'  and  that  '  in 
every  nation,  he  that  feareth  God 
and  worketh  righteousness,'  has  been 
'  accepted  with  Him  ;'  and  who  also 
believe  that  God,  in  His  providential 
guidance  of  the  nations,  has  gradually 
})repared  the  way  for  the  full  develop- 
ment of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness, 
will  readily  place  such  teachers  as 
Sophocles,  with  their  grand  glimpst  s 
of  eternal  truths,  among  the  '  school- 
masters' to  bring  the  world  to — 

Sit  at  the  feet  of  Christ — 
And  feel  the  heavenly  Alchemist 
Transform  its  very  dust  to  gold. 


NON   FOSSO. 


IET  me  go  hence,  for  that  which  once  has  been 
■^  No  more  can  be. 

Let  me  go  hence,  before  the  changing  scene 
Has  saddened  me. 


NON  POSSO. 

Before  the  summer  roses  all  are  dead, 

The  green  grass  slain  : 

Before  the  warmth  of  summer  suns  has  fied, 
And  life  is  pain. 

The  dying  flush  of  happy  summer  days 

Would  break  my  heart ; 

The  glory  of  sweet  sunlit  ways 

Should  see  us  part. 

For  roses  fade  ;  the  greenest  leaves  must  die 
And  surely  fall  : 

The  warmest  suns  grow  cold  ;  and  winter's  sky 
Will  darken  all. 


I  would  not  see  it  die,  this  happy  year, 
So  fair,  so  sweet : 

T  would  not  see  the  leafy  woods  grow  sere 
Where  now  we  meet. 


Let  me  go  hence,  and  see  it  in  long  dreams, 
My  year  of  joy. 

Let  me  go  hence,  nor  wait  until  it  seems 
A  faded  toy. 


Yet,  still,  your  kisses  burn  upon  my  lips, 

(Y^our  breast  to  mine) 

They  thrill  me  to  the  very  finger-tips, 

The  lovers'  wine  : 


Love's  passion  still  is  yearning  in  your  eyes  : — 
What  !  leave  yuu  so  ? 

Nay,  if  I  linger  on  until  it  dies, 

I  cannot  go. 

Although  I  know  the  change  some  day  must  bring 

To  you  and  me  ; 
Although  I  fear  to  feel  its  cruel  sting. 

Its  misery. 

How  can  I  say  farewell  1     Ah  me  !     I  stay, 

Although  I  fear. 
To-morrow, — sweet  heart  !     Let  us  take  to  day 
To-morrow, — dear. 
Ottawa.  Fiied'k  A.  Dtxon. 


MUSICAL  A  AD  THEATRICAL  REMINISCENCES. 


579 


MUSICAL  AND  THEATRICAL  KEMINISCENCES. 


BY   JOHN    HECTOR,    TORONTO. 


MY  father,  before  emigrating  to 
Canada,  lived  during  the  sea- 
son in.  London.  We  were  a  musical 
family.  My  sLsters  were  taught  sing- 
ing and  music  by  the  best  masters  ; 
my  brother  was  a  member  of  the  Phil- 
harmonic Society.  For  myself,  1  was 
taught  to  play  on  the  guitar  and  to 
use  it  as  an  accompaniment  to  my 
small,  thin  voice.  In  a  word,  we  were 
all  encouraged  to  cultivate  our  musi- 
cal tastes.  I  was  a  great  frequenter 
of  the  Italian  Opera  House,  and  my 
recollection  carries  me  back  to  the 
delightful  evenings  I  have  spent 
there. 

The  first  time  I  heard  Madame 
Pasta  was  in  the  opera  of  Medea. 
Apart  from  her  '  divine  '  singing,  she 
was,  without  :i  doubt,  the  finest  tragic 
actress  of  her  day.  From  the  scene 
where  she  places  a  hand  on  the  head 
of  each  of  her  sons  and  breaks  forth 
with  the  words,  '  Miseri  Pai'gholetti,' 
until  the  end  of  the  tragedy,  her  sing- 
ing and  acting  were  truly  most  thiill- 
ing  and  magnificent.  At  least  they 
were  so  to  my  mind  and  to  every  other 
'  fanatico  por  la  musica.'  1  heard  her 
frequently  afterwards  in  Tancredi  and 
other  operas,  but  I  never  was  so  much 
enchanted  as  with  her  performance  of 
Medea.  Years  passed,  and  I  did  not 
hear  her  again  until  she  took  her  final 
leave  of  the  stage.  She  sang  four  se- 
lections from  different  operas — Medea 
among  them.  Her  voice  was,  of 
course,  much  impaired  ;  but  even 
Madame  Grisi  was  heard  to  exclaim, 
'  Who,  now,  can  compete  with  her, 
although  her  voice  has  so  failed  ? ' 

Pasta  had  a  handsome  countenance, 
expressive  and  capable  of  strong  emo- 


tion at  the  more  thrilling  parts  of  her 
performances.  Her  figure  was  pleas- 
ing, and  she  moved  with  grace.  Her 
hands  might  be  said  to  speak. 

I  first  heard  Grisiin,  I  think,  1837, 
in  La  Somnamhula.  She  was  then 
remarkably  handsome,  and  her  figure, 
although  on  a  large  scale,  was  finely 
proportioned.  She  was  so  handsome 
that  Lord  C ,  among  her  many  ad- 
mirers, became  rather  too  empresie  in 
his  attentions,  and  had  to  fight  a  duel 
with  Signor  Grisi.  Her  voice  was 
charmingly  mellifluous.  In  those  days 
I  think  she  appeared  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage in  La  Sonmambula ;  after- 
wards her  great  role  was  Norma. 
She  sang  in  a  number  of  the  operas 
which  were  then  in  vogue,  and  was 
ably  supported  by  Eubini,  Tam- 
burini,  Lablache,  and  a  host  of 
other  fine  singers.  Among  these  I  re- 
member Madame  Sclirffider-Devrient. 
j  She  was  a  German  by  birth,  married 
;  to  a  Frenchman,  and  acquired  a  very 
!  high  celebrity  in  Beethoven's  opera  of 
Fidelio,  by  her  singing  and  acting. 

I  was  present  when  Grisi  took  her 
final    leave   of     the     stage.     It    was 
I    thought    injudicious    in    her  to  have 
i    chosen  the   role   of   Donna   Anna,  in 
I    Mozart's  L>07i  Giovanni.    The  part  is 
j    rather  that  of  a  girl  than  of  an  elderly 
j    person.      Her  voice  had   been  failing 
lor  some  years,   and   the  exertion  of 
singing  and   performing   through   the 
whole  of  a   long  piece  was   evidently 
I    beyond  her  powers.    Mario — who  was 
I    then,  I  think,  her  husband — aided  her 
I    greatly.    No  one  could  surpass  him  in 
beauty  of  voice  ;  and  in  love  scenes  he 
was   perfection.      I    heard  him   after- 
wards, with  Patti,  in  Martha,  a  li.iiht 


580 


MUSICAL  AND  THEATRICAL  REMINISCENCES. 


opera,  partly  founded  on  the  air  of 
the  '  Last  Rose  of  Summer.' 

I  heard  Jenny  Lind  sing  at  con- 
certs, but  never  in  an  opera.  I  have 
no  doubt  many  of  the  readers  of  The 
Monthly  will  recollect  hearing  her  at 
the  concerts  she  gave  in  Toronto. 

I  regret  much  that  I  never  had  an 
opportunity  of  hearing  either  Sontag 
or  Malibran.  With  the  exception  of 
these  two  brilliant  stars,  I  believe 
I  have  heard  all  the  best  singers  of  the 
day. 

As  to  instrumental  players — I  mean 
on  the  violin — I  heard  Paganini,  De 
Beriot,  Vieuxtemps,  Ole  Bull,  Gries- 
bach  and  others.  Of  these  Paganini 
was  facile  princeps.  He  first  appear- 
ed at  the  Opera  House  in  London. 
Many  of  its  trustees  were  opposed  to 
its  being  used  for  other  than  operatic 
performances.  Eventually  it  was  an- 
nounced that  he  would  play  a  selec- 
tions of  pieces — some  of  them  his  own 
compositions.  The  house  was  very 
crowded,  and  as  he  advanced  upon  the 
stagehe  was  greeted  with  loudapplause. 
He  made  three  very  low  bows — and 
w^hen  he  placed  the  violin  to  his  should- 
er he  smiled  upon  it  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction,  as  if  it  had  been  his  fairy 
or  his  guardian  angel.  I  think  he  be- 
gan by  playing  the  Carnival  de  Venice, 
which  was  one  of  his  stock  pieces.  He 
was  very  pale  and  thin,  his  black  hair 
parted  in  the  middle,  and  curling 
down  the  back  of  his  head.  His  face 
was  cadaverous,  attributed  to  having 
been  for  many  years  in  an  Italian  pri- 
son, on  a  charge  of  some  political 
otience.  One  could  not  help  noticing 
the  extreme  length  of  his  fingers.  Al- 
together he  had  a  weird  appearance. 
On  the  second  night  that  I  heard  him, 
while  he  was  playing,  a  roll  of  music 
took  fire  in  the  orchestra,  and  made 
quite  a  blaze  ;  although  he  observed  it, 
he  continued  to  play  with  the  same 
serenity.  This  reassured  the  audience 
and  the  fire  was  soon  extinguished. 

He  had  the  most  extraordinary 
power  over  the  instrument.  At  one 
time  cajoling   it  to  produce  the  most 


delicious  notes  '  in  linked  sweetness 
long  drawn  out,'  at  another,  as  it  were, 
whipping  it,  until  it  shrieked  and 
sobbed,  and  groaned  and  moaned.  In 
a  word,  if  ever  a  violin  spoke  in  va- 
ried moods,  it  was  the  violin  of  Paga- 
nini. 

Some  few  months  after  the  death  of 
the  late  king,  hei-  present  Majesty 
honoured  the  Opera  House  with  a 
visit.  She  had  held  a  Drawing-Room 
dviring  the  day,  and  the  mnjority  of 
the  audience  were  in  court  dresses. 
When  she  entered  her  box  Madame 
Grisi  sang  the  first  verse  of  the  Natio- 
nal Anthem.  The  sight  of  the  audi- 
ence standing,  displaying  diamonds, 
:»  feathers,  beautiful  dresses,  and  spark- 
ling orders  was  quite  thrilling.  The 
beauty  of  some  of  the  women  could  not 
be  equalled  in  any  other  meti-opolitan 
city  in  the  world.  In  one  of  the  boxes, 
seated  side  by  side,  were  Lady  Sey- 
mour— who  had  won  the  prize  for 
beauty  at  the  Eglinton  Tournament — 
and  her  sister  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Norton, 
who  was,  in  my  opinion,  far  more  in- 
tellectually beautiful  than  Lady  Sey- 
mour. The  three  '  fair  foresters  '  were 
also  pre-eminently  beautiful.  The  Coun- 
tess of  Blessington  was  also  there — 
surrounded  by  notabilities,  ComteD'Or- 
say,  Trelawny,  and  others.  The  Coun- 
tess was  then  handsome,  and  her  figure 
had  not  attained  the  large  proportions 
it  afterwards  acquired.  The  Count  was 
certainly  one  of  the  handsomest  men 
of  his  day,  and  was,  as  Byron  described 
him,  '  un  cupidon  dechain^'  There  was 
another  remarkably  handsome  man, 
one  of  the  Stanleys,  with  a  peculiar 
oval  face,  w^io  looked  for  all  the  world 
as  if  he  had  stepped  into  life  from  one 
of  the  picture  frames  of  his  ancestors 
in  the  Knowsley  Gallery. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  I  think  that  the 
standard  of  music  cannot  be  a  little 
raised  among  the  amateur  lady  singers 
of  Toronto.  Some  of  them  sing  bal- 
lad songs  very  pleasingly.  Some  time 
since,  i  heard  an  attempt  made  by  a 
lady  to  sing  a  passage  from  the  Opera 
of     Orfeo    and    Eurijdice.       If    sung 


MUSICAL  AND  THEATRICAL  REMINISCENCES. 


581 


with  taste  it  is  one  of  the  most  wail- 
ing, mournful  airs  in  the  whole  repei'- 
toire  of  music.  Orfeo  is  in  a  most 
distracted  state  and  begins  the  air 
with  the  words  '  Che  faro  senza  Eury- 
dice,'  and  then  he  calls  her,  again  and 
again— pausing  for  her  answer.  The 
lady  sang  the  air  as  if  it  had  been  a 
jig  —  the  word  '  Eurydice  '  '  followed 
fast  and  followed  faster'— so  quick 
and  increasing  were  the  '  dirges  '  of  his 
despair.  One  felt  doubtful  whether 
Orfeo  or  the  hidy  was  most  to  be 
pitied. 

My  theatrical  reminiscences  go  as 
far  back  as  the  performances  of  Ed- 
mund Kean  in  Richard  the  Third 
and  Macbeth.  I  was  too  young  at 
the  time  to  fully  appreciate  the  beauty 
of  his  acting.  Yet  I  must  have  felt 
some  inspiration  from  it,  as  I  was  for 
some  time  after  constantly  bothering 
my  brothers  and  sisteis  to  hear  me 
declaim  from  both  plays.  Macready's 
acting  always  appeared  to  me  to  be 
stiff  and  artificial.  It  is  true  he  de- 
claimed well,  but  one  could  never  lose 
sight  of  the  fact  that  it  was  Macready, 
not  the  character  before  one. 

Of  all  actors  who  lost  their  self- 
consciousness  and  individuality,  I 
think  Fechter  was  in  this  respect  ad- 
mirable. Hamlet  himself  was  before 
the  audience,  Fechter  acted  so  natur- 
ally. Until  his  time  no  one  had  per- 
formed the  part  of  the  Prince  so 
well.  He  played  some  one  hundred 
and  fifty  nights,  and  ])eople  never 
seemed  tired  of  hearing  him.  Young, 
in  his  day,  performed  ihe  part  well 
and  gracefully,  but  his  acting  was  far 
inferior  to  Fechter's. 

The  first  Charles  Mathews  used  to 
give  most  amusing  entertainments. 
He  was  alwnys  ready  to  catch  the  fly- 
ing follies  of  the  day.  For  instance, 
Charlotte  and  Werther  had  been 
translated  from  the  German  into  Eng- 
lish, and  there  was  among  foolish 
people  quite  a  craze  for  everything 
sentimental.  Mathews,  in  ridicule 
of  this,  personated  a  German  cook 
dressed  in  a  white  biVjand  tucker,  with 


a  white  nightcap  on  his  head.  He 
read  a  few  passages  from  the  book — 
the  most  extravagant  and  nonsensical 
he  could  pick  out.  Then  he  clasped 
his  hands,  raised  his  eyes,  and  ex- 
claimed, '  Oh  !  Charlotte,  Oh  !  Wer- 
ther— Oh  divine  sensibility  !  Hulloa 
there,  have  you  skinned  those  eels  ? ' 
The  answer,  '  Yes,'  came  from  Mat- 
thews, who  was  a  great  ventriloquist. 
*  Are  they  all  alive  V  'Yes.'  Is  the 
water  hot  —  boiling  hot  1 '  '  Y^es.' 
'  Then  put  in  the  eels  at  once.  Oh 
Charlotte  !  Oh  Werther,  Oh  divine 
sensibility.' 

He  stood  behind  rather  a  high  table 
upon  the  stage,  and  it  was  surprising 
to  see  the  rapidity  with  which  he 
changed  his  dresses. 

His  son,  the  late  Charles  Mathews, 
was  also  a  talented  actor.  His  acting 
improved  much  after  his  marriage 
with  Madam  Vestris,  who  had  been 
for  many  years  on  tlie  stage.  She  was 
always  a  charming  actress,  full  of  life 
and  spirit. 

I  was  at  the  theatre  when  Fanny 
Kemble  made  her  debid  as  Juliet. 
When  siie  first  came  on  the  stage,  she 
looked  dreadfully  pale  and  nervous,  and 
it  was  not  until  the  ap[)lause,  which 
lasted  for  some  time,  had  ceased,  that 
she  partially  recovered  her  self-posses- 
sion. Notwithstanding  all  these  dis- 
advantages, she  performed  the  part — 
particularly  the  balcony  scene — very 
finely.  Her  youth  gave  her  great  ad- 
vantage over  her  contemporaries  who 
were  playing  the  same  part. 

While  staying  at  an  hotel  in  New 
York,  I  was  introduced  to  Captain 
Marryat,  who  had  lately  arrived  from 
England.  A  party  was  formed  to  go 
and  see  Keeley  and  his  wife  in  some 
farce.  At  su|)per,  on  our  return, 
Captain  Marryat,  after  praising  the 
acting  of  the  Keeleys,  said  that  he 
could  not  help  remarking  upon  the 
difference  between  the  subordinate 
actors  in  the  States  and  those  in  Eng- 
land. He  thought  the  actors  in  the 
States  seemed  tojjlay  with  more  enei'gy, 
and  strove  'o  do  every  justice  to  their 


58: 


EVENING  IN  JUNE. 


parts.  In  England,  the  actors  who 
took  second  or  third-rate  parts  showed 
carelessness,  and  were  generally  apa- 
thetic and  listless.  He  had  a  great 
knowledge  of  plays  and  of  actoi's,  and 
I  think  there  was  a  good  deal  of  truth 
in  his  observation. 

The  French  actors  were  also  very 
careful  in  learning  and  studying  their 
parts.  They  acted  most  conscien- 
tiously. A  French  troupe  used  to 
visit  London  during  each  season.  I 
recollect  Mademoiselle  Mars  was  in  one 
of  them.     She  must  then  have  been 


between  sixty  and  seventy,  as  she  had 
performed  before  the  first  Emperor 
Napoleon.  She  continued  to  take  ju- 
venile parts,  and  acted  them  with  sur- 
prising youthfuluess.  Mademoiselle 
Ste.  Ange  was  a  delightful  actress,  and 
there  were  many  finished  performers 
in  the  troupe.  It  was  a  great  treat  to 
them  act  Moliere's  comedies. 

If  I  were  not  tiring  the  readers  of 
the  Monthly,  I  might  add  some  further 
sketches,  but  I  feel  that  it  is  time  to 
leave  off. 


EVE^^ING   IN   JUNE. 


BY   T.    W.    S.,    NEW   DURHAM. 


THE  glow  of  eve  is  fading  from  the  west, 
The  wind  is  softly  playing  through  the  trees, 
The  birds  and  lambs  are  folded  to  their  rest, 
And  flowers  sleep,  unroused  by  humming  bees. 

The  blue  above  grows  deeper,  deeper  still  ; 

The  rosy  west  has  changed  to  sober  gray ; 
More  shady  grow  the  hollows,  and  the  hill 

Looms  larger  as  the  daylight  fades  away. 

The  stars  come  forth  like  sparkling  diamonds  bright, 
Casting  their  beams  through  endless  realms  of  space. 

And  view  our  lovely  world  with  still  delight  ; 
While  silv'ry  lakes  reflect  the  moon's  bright  face. 


Oh  !  day  is  very  beautiful  in  June, 

With  waving  trees  and  grass  and  birds  and  flowers, 
But  night  seems  more  harmoniously  in  tune 

With  chords  that  vibrate  in  our  pensive  hours. 


LIl ERATUllE  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  C.  P.   R. 


083 


LITERATURE  CONNECTED   WITH   THE   CANADA   PACIFIC  KR. 


BY    NICHOLAS    FLOOD    DAVIN. 


THE  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  will 
be  completed,  wehope  and  believe, 
long  before  Sir  John  Macdonald  will 
have  an  opportunity  of  looking  down 
on  it  from  over  the  shining  verge  of 
hovering  clouds.  The  building  of  a 
railway  across  the  continent  has  evi- 
dently been  one  of  the  Prime  Minis- 
ter's most  cherished  projects,  and  in- 
deed it  is  a  work  which,  for  magnitude 
and  usefulness,  will  have  distanced  all 
others. 

Long  prior  to  the  existence  of  the 
Dominion  of  Canada,  the  germinal  idea 
of  a  great  route  across  that  portion  of 
the  continent  over  which  the  flag  of 
Canada  rules,  stirred  in  the  minds  of 
men  on  whose  attention  its  geogra- 
phical and  physical  advantages  were 
forced  ;  and  on  the  facts  connected 
with  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  the 
history  and  literatui-e  which  gathered 
round  that  idea  cast  an  interesting 
and  instructive  light.  Over  this  great 
work,  which  from  rail  to  rolling-stock 
will  be  as  much  as  anything  in  the 
world  of  to  day,  the  expression  and 
■emblem  of  nineteenth  century  condi- 
tioiis,  the  tangible  evidence  of  a  new 
order  of  things  in  politics,  in  society, 
in  nieclianics,  there  comes  from  the 
earliest  dawn  of  New  World  history,  a 
large  imperial  air,  with  the  scent  in  it 
of  social  and  political  forces  wliich 
have  disappeared.  We  are  witnessing 
the  progress,  the  oldest  may  hope  to 
behold  the  completion,  of  an  undertak- 
ing, which  will  bring  the  Pacific,  and 
with  the  Pacific,  China  and  the  East, 
nearer  to  the  Atlantic  and  to  Europe, 
than  would  have  been  possible  by  any 
of  the  routes,  the  thought  of  which 
for  more  than  two  centuries  filled  men 


of  enthusiastic  foresight  and  construc- 
tive imagination  with  visions  of  a 
boundless  trade  with  the  East.  It  is 
not  possible  for  a  cultivated  man  to 
think  of  the  day  when  the  traveller 
shall  take  his  ticket  in  Halifax  to  be 
carried  across  the  Dominion  to  Victoria, 
and  thence  to  Hong  Kong,  without 
recalling  Sebastian  Cabot  in  1512  in 
the  palace  of  Ferdinand,  planning 
under  the  monarch's  eye  an  explora- 
tion of  the  North- West  Passage  to 
Asia.  The  Courts  of  Henry  IV.,  of 
Louis  XIIL,  and  of  Louis  XIV.  were 
often  occupied  with  projects  for  the 
discovery  of  a  passage  through  the 
interior  of  the  continent  to  the  Orand 
Ocean,  with  China,  of  course,  as  the 
ultimate  objective.  These  projects 
were  taken  up  with  renewed  ardour 
under  the  Regency,  and  the  Regent 
had  the  refusal  of  the  same  plan  which 
afterwards  carried  Lewis  and  Clark  to 
the  Columbia.  The  early  French  ex- 
plorers were  full  of  the  idea  of  finding 
a  river  which  should  conduct  them  to 
the  Western  Sea.  In  a  very  curious 
tract  written  in  French — The  Log- 
book of  Jean  Alphonse  de  Xantoigne, 
first  pilot  of  Roberval,  published  in 
1542,  we  read  of  the  Saguenay  :  'I 
believe  that  this  river  comes  from  the 
China  Sea  {nier  dii  Cathay)  for  here 
it  issues  with  a  strong  current  and 
runs  with  a  terrible  tide.'  In  a  his- 
tory published  in  1609,  the  French 
possessions  in  North  America  were 
described  as  bounded  on  the  west  by 
the  Pacific  Ocean.  In  1612,  Charles 
de  Bourbon,  Lieutenant-General  in 
New  France,  commissioned  Champlain 
to  build  forts  as  far  in  the  interior  as 
he  could  penetrate  with  the  object  of 


584 


LITERATUUE  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  C.  P  .R. 


finding  a  practicable  road  to  China 
and  the  East.  La  Salle  conceived  the 
idea  of  0|>enin<r  a  way  to  China  and 
Japan  through  the  lakes  and  rivers  of 
Canada,  and  the  village  and  rapids 
near  Montreal  took  their  name  of 
Lachine  from  his  grand  but  abortive 
enterprise.  The  story  of  theVerendrye, 
father  and  sons,  is  one  of  scantily  re- 
quited efforts  which  are  among  the 
most  stirring  and  touching  in  the  an- 
nals of  heroism.  All  their  endeavours 
seemed  about  to  be  crowned  with  suc- 
cess, when  on  the  1st  of  Januaiy, 
1743,  the  brothers  saw  the  Rocky 
jjjlountains  lise  before  them.  On  the 
12th  of  the  same  month  the  Chevalier 
de  la  Verendrye  prepared  to  ascend 
them  to  contemplate,  from  their  sum- 
mits' the  sea  which  he  knew  to  be  on 
the  other  side.  He  was  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. Dissensions  having  bro- 
ken out  among  the  tribes  inhabiting 
that  part  of  the  country,  he  was  forced 
to  return  without  experiencing  the  joy 
which  the  sight  of  that  ocean  two  cen- 
turies earlier  had  filled  the  hearts  of 
Cortez  and  Balboa.  On  the  22nd 
July,  1799,  Sir  Alex.  Mackenzie  wrote 
on  the  Rock  which  separates  the  Prai- 
rie of  the  Centre  from  the  Pacific 
Slope,  his  name,  whence  he  had  come, 
and  the  date.  The  feat  was  worthy 
of  record.  The  centenary  of  that  day 
however  will  not  have  arrived  when 
railway  cars,  with  all  modern  appli- 
ances, will  wind  through  one  of  the 
passes  of  those  mountains.  This  great 
consummation  was  what  many  of  the 
modern  but  worthy  successors  of  pre- 
vious projections  whose  names  should 
never  be  forgotten  in  Canada,  desired 
to  see.  But  they  fell  like  the  advance 
guard  of  an  army  over  whose  bodies 
other  men  march  to  victory. 

Poor  and  crude  as  the  United  States 
were  fifty  years  ago,  as  compared  with 
their  wealth  and  advancement  to- 
day, and  as  England  was  then,  they 
were  yet  far  ahead  of  the  mother 
country  in  their  readiness  to  take  in 
the  far  reaching  consequences  of  Ste- 
phenson's invention.       A   portion   of 


the  New  York  Central  was  chartered 
in  1825  ;  what  was  not  inaptly  styled 
the  railway  mania  struck  Massachu- 
setts in  182G,  Pennsylvania  in  1827. 
and  Maryland  and  South  Carolina  in 
1828.  The  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Rail- 
way was  begun  July  4th,  1828. 

Amongst  us  a  few  minds  were  con- 
scious of  the  importance  of  the  new 
era  which  was  at  hand,  and  we  find 
Mr.  Henry  Fairbairn  writing  in  1825 
to  the  newspapers,  and  proposing  a 
railway  system  for  Canada  in  connex- 
ion with  that  of  the  United  States. 
He  had  some  fair  idea  of  the  extent 
of  the  net  work  of  railways  which 
would  one  day  vein  the  Republic,  and 
the  magnitude  of  attendant  results. 
If  the  advantages  which  were  coming 
into  being  in  the  United  States  were 
to  be  successfully  contended  with,  this 
could  only  be  effected  by  building 
siuiilar  works  here,  so  as  to  bring  to 
tlie  Atlantic  the  agricultural  exports 
of  the  colonies,  and  to  secui'ethe  stream 
of  emigration  which  otherwise  would 
be  rapidly  diverted  to  the  United 
States.  We  now  know  the  stream  of 
emigration,  nor  any  fair  portion  of  it, 
was  not  secured,  and  in  fact  many 
years  elapsed,  and  many  battles  were 
fought  with  ignorance  and  j^rejudice 
before  the  Intercolonial  Railway  was 
built,  and  Mr.  Fairbairn's  early  sug- 
gestions translated  into  fact. 

In  1829  Commissioners  were  ap- 
pointed by  Sir  G.  Arthur,  Lieutenant- 
Governor,  and  the  Legislature  of 
Upper  (yanada,  to  survey  the  waters 
between  the  Ottawa  and  Lake  Huron 
in  order  to  test  the  practicability  of 
effecting  a  navigable  communication 
between  the  two. 

One  of  the  earliest  of  those  who 
stated  the  policy  of  a  part  rail  and  a 
part  water  route  was  a  young  officer 
of  Engineers,  who,  some  thirty  years 
ago,  published  a  pamphlet  entitled 
'  Canada  in  1848.'  The  pamphlet  was 
written  at  Bytown,  now  Ottawa,  the 
Capital  of  the  Dominion.  No  place 
in  the  whole  country  is  more  calcu- 
lated to  impress  its  great  possibilities 


LITERATURE  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  C.  P.   R. 


58r 


on  the  mind,  and  in  the  amplification 
of  his  title,  Lieutenant  Synge  states, 
that  his  object  is  to  examine  the 
existing  resources  of  British  North 
America,  and  to  put  forth  consider- 
ations for  their  further  and  more  per- 
fect development.  At  this  period, 
famine  had  brought  cold  and  hunger 
and  misery  into  thousands  of  homes 
in  the  United  Kingdom,  and  the  young 
officer  desired  that  the  British  Colo- 
nies might  be  further  developed  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  furnish  a  practi- 
cal remedy  for  the  prevailing  distress 
and  provide  for  their  defence. 

Lieutenant  Synge  glances  with  a 
sigh  at  the  A^hburton  Treaty,  and 
with  scorn  at  the  general  ignorance 
regarding  the  question  involved  in 
that  treaty.  To  prevent  similar  oc- 
currences '  a  general  interest  in  the 
immense  Empire  inhabited  by  our 
countrymen  is  essential.'  He  pays  a 
splendid  testimony  to  Canadian  loy- 
alty, and  rebukes  those  persons  who 
hastily  and  ignorantly  throw  doubts 
on  its  endui'ing  fibre.  He  denounces 
'  spontaneous  emigration.'  The  scheme 
for  accomplishing  the  varied  objects 
he  had  in  view,  he  was  enabled  to 
state  in  a  sentence  :  *  the  formation  of 
secure,  rapid,  and  complete — that  is,  in- 
dependent— communication  through- 
out the  country.'  He  commences  with 
the  Halifax  and  Quebec  E^ailway  into 
which  other  lines  would  flow.  From 
Quebec  to  Montreal  a  steamboat  com- 
munication WHS  already  established. 
For  the  continuation  of  the  trunk  line 
he  thought  the  Ottawa  was  preferable 
to  the  present  route,  both  on  military 
and  commercial  grounds.  'The  moral, 
political,  and  commercial  effects  of  a 
central  trunk  communication  removed 
from  the  frontier  cannot  be  easily 
overrated.'  He  then  proceeds  to  dis- 
cuss the  alternative  of  an  unbroken 
water  route  to  the  head  of  Lake  Su- 
perior, via  the  Ottawa,  overcoming 
the  Chaudiere  and  other  rapids,  or  a 
mixed  rail  and  water  route. 

Arrived  at  the  head  of  Lake  Supe- 
rior he  looks  to  the  west.  The  natural 
3 


i   facilities  for  a  water  communication 
render  that  policy  very  tempting,  and 
:   in  spite  of  his  judgment,  he  would 
I    have  decided  very  unwillingly  against 
it,  did  not  the  very  unrivalled  rich- 
,    ness    of    the    land    come    to   his   aid, 
:    which  rendered  it  certain  that  besides 
I    the  active  occupation  of  unobstructed 
I    waters,   it    can   command    a    railway 
1    from  the  mouth  of  the  Kaministiquia 
I   to  the  Lake  of  the  Woods,   the  line 
j    touching  at   Rainy  Lake.       For  the 
■    present,  the  railroad  might  terminate 
I    at  Rainy  Lake  to  be  again  i-esumed 
at  the  first  rapid  of  the   River  Winni- 
i    peg,    whence    it    would    run   to  Fort 
Garry.       From    Lake   Winnipeg    our 
I    author   again    looks    west    along    the 
j    Saskatchewan,  from  the  extreme  point 
I    rendered  accessible  by  whose  waters 
the    passage    of    the    Rocky    Moun- 
tains would  prove  a  stimulant  to  en- 
deavour.      He  adds  that  the  time  of 
accomplishing  this  would  depend  on 
the  progress  of  civilization  from   the 
east — and  the  sagacity  of  this  remark 
we  shall,  a  few  pages  later,  see  exem- 
plified.     '  It  might  have  been  greatly 
hastened  by  a  simultaneous  settlement 
from  the  western  coast,  but  England's 
ministers  have  there  surrendered  all 
territory  of  agricultural  value.'     But 
he   warns    statesmen   and    the  public 
against  underrating  what  remains. 

Four  years  later — in  1852  —  the 
same  writer  meanwhile  having  become 
Captain,  read  a  paper  before  the  Royal 
Geographical  Society  in  which  a  route, 
composed  in  part  of  rail  and  in  part  of 
water  was  again  advocated,  but  with 
more  detail,  and  this  time  with  a  firm 
hold  of  a  line  with  its  western  tei-mi- 
nus  on  the  Pacific. 

'  The  proposed  communication  con- 

:    sists  of  component  parts,  each  of  which 

I   is  in  itself  complete  and  independent, 

i    opening  a  new  and  distinct  feature  of 

j    the  country,   and  forming   separately 

a  profitable    and    reproductive  work. 

Each  part   is   characterized  by  these 

distinctive  features,  and  by  marks  of 

superiority  over  com[jeting  routes,  si- 

I   milar  to  those  which  distinguish  the 


58G 


LITEHATUltE  CONNECTED  WIl'H  THE  C.  P.  R. 


entire  proposed  inter-oce.niic  coiumii- 
nication.  Every  part  of  tlie  cliain 
may,  therefore,  rely  on  its  iutiinsic 
merits,  and  is  capable  of  separate 
execution.  Tliat  execution  would, 
however,  be  the  most  profitable,  and 
for  every  reason  the  most  desirable, 
which  would  most  speedily  open  the 
countiy,  and  effect  tlie  communication 
the  whole  way  to  the  Pacitic  ! ' 

In  an  ajipendix  he  compares  in  re- 
spect to  advantages  for  reaching  Aus- 
tralia and  the  East  the  proposed  route 
with  the  Indian  route  of  that  day, 
across  the  Isthmus  of  Suez,  not  tltrouylb 
the  Suez  Canal,  with  the  Central  Am<i- 
rican  route  across  the  Isthmus  of  Pan 
ama,  with  the  route  by  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  and  demonstrates  the 
superiority  of  that  through  British 
American  territory. 

In  1849  Major  Robert  Carmichael 
Smith,  who,  like  Lieutenant  Synge, 
had  dwelt  in  the  country,  published  a 
remarkable  letter  to  his  friend,  the 
author  of  '  The  Clockmaker,'  for  the 
purpose  of  bringing  before  the  public 
a  '  British  Colonial  Railway  Commu- 
nication '  between  the  Atlantic  and 
the  Pacific,  '  from  the  magnificent 
harbour  of  Halifax  in  Nova  Scotia  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Frazer  River.' 
Like  all  the  early  projectors,  his  theme 
is  empire.  Would  England  hesitate 
with  such  a  power  as  steam  at  her 
command  ?  Would  the  expenditure 
of  a  few  millions  check  the  noble 
work?  As  an  answer  to  this  question 
he  asks  what  are  the  expenses  of  a 
war  1  The  very  length  of  the  railway 
would  be  in  its  favour  :  he  has  the 
authority  of  the  Quarterly  that  the 
working  details  of  a  railway  are  inva- 
riably well  executed  in  proportion  to 
their  magnitude.  Instead  of  allowing 
New  Brunswick,  Quebec,  Montreal, 
and  Toronto  to  make  a  number  of 
small  railways,  he  calls  on  England 
to  assist  them  by  planning  and  arrang- 
ing '  one  grand  route  and  system  of 
lines  throughout  the  whole  country  ' 
vinder  a  Board  of  fifteen,  of  which 
three  would  i-eprestmt  England,  three 


the  Hudson  Bay  Conn)any,  three  Can- 
ada, three  New  Brunswick,  and  three 
Nova  Scotia.  The  railway  would  be 
built  by  convict  labour,  the  convicts 
being  guarded  by  soldiei's  of  six  or 
eight  years'  service,  who,  after  a  cer- 
tain term  would  bo  rewarded  by  grants 
of  land.  Our  author's  idea  of  the 
first  step  to  be  taken  is  most  prac- 
tical. 

'We  will  suppose,  in  the  first  place, 
active,  intelligent,  and  scientific  young 
men  to  be  sent  to  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, to  ascertain  the  best  spot  at 
which  to  cross  them,  and  the  best  port 
(if  the  mouth  of  the  Frazer  River 
will  not  answer)  on  the  western  shore 
of  North  Auieiica,  within,  of  course, 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Couipanies  terri- 
tory, for  a  great  commercial  harbour 
and  railway  terminus.  Then  let  a 
grand  line  of  i-ailway  be  marked  out 
from  Halifax  to  that  spot,  and  let  all 
local  towns  or  districts  that  have  suffi- 
cient cajjital  and  labour  to  undertake 
any  part  of  the  line,  have  the  benefit 
of  the  profits  of  the  whole  line,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  parts  they  may  finish. 
No  convict  labour  need  interfere  with 
them.  But  in  such  districts  as  are  at 
present  so  thinly  inhabited  as  to  have 
no  working  population,  and  no  capital 
to  expend,  let  the  work  be  commenced 
by  England,  by  her  capital,  and  her 
convicts,  and  let  government  encour- 
age and  facilitate  the  formation  of  a 
great  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Railway 
Company,  by  obtaining  from  Parlia- 
ment a  national  guarantee  for  the 
completion  of  the  work  ;  first,  of 
course,  having  entered  into  arrange- 
ments with  Hudson's  Bay  Company, 
and  her  North  American  Provinces, 
for  the  security  of  such  sums  of  money 
as  may  be  advanced  by  way  of  loan 
from  Great  Britain.' 

He  quotes  largely  from  the  Rev.  C. 
G.  McKay,  with  the  view  of  emphas- 
izing the  attractions  of  the  country  for 
settlement,  and  the  necessity  for  stim- 
ulating emigration  to  Canada,  and  he 
goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  .£200,000,- 
000  (11,000,000,000)  might  be  well 


LITERATURE  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  C.  F.  R. 


587 


spent  in  making  a  road  from  the  At- 
lantic to  the  Pacific. 

Shortly  after  the  appearance  of 
Major  Smith's  ])amphlet,  Captain  F. 
A.  Wilson,  and  A.  B.  llichards,  of 
Lincoln's  Inn,  published  a  book  writ- 
ten with  great  grasp  and  power  :  '  Bri- 
tain Redeemed  and  Canada  preserved. ' 
The  authors  were  not  railway  projec- 
tors so  much  as  social  reformers  and 
Imperial  politicians.  England  seemed 
to  them  enfeebled  and  sinking  under 
the  weight  of  pauperism  and  crime. 
Fully  sensible  of  the  Imperial  advan- 
tages of  a  railway  across  the  continent, 
they  proposed  to  make  the  act  of  its 
constitution  a  blessing  to  the  Unioed 
Kingdom,  by  emptying  her  prisons  on 
i»  the  route,  and  thus  utilizing  con- 
victs and  preparing  them  for  honest 
careers.  To  restore  the  '  ailing  and 
weakened  parent'  to  health  and  reas- 
sured longevity,  all  that  w^as  necessary 
was  to  convert  British  American  pro- 
vinces into  a  bi'idge  between  Europe 
and  Asia,  In  the  fifth  chapter,  an 
eloquent  and  cogent  appeal  is  made 
for  a  Canadian  Pacific  Railway.  If 
the  Whitney  scheme  was  fraught  with 
such  prodigious  benefit  for  the  Amer- 
ican community,  why  should  not  a 
like  scheme,  carried  out  on  British 
territory,  be  still  more  fruitful  for 
England  paramount  in  both  seas  ? 

Early  in  1851  Mr.  Allan  McDonell, 
of  Toronto,  one  of  the  boldest  and 
ablest  of  all  those  who  have  occupied 
themselves  with  this  question,  pressed 
a  scheme,  thoroughly  worked  out,  on 
the  public  and  the  Legislature.  He 
published  a  pamphlet  entitled:  'A 
Railroad  from  Lake  Superior  to  the 
Pacific  :  the  Shortest,  Cheapest  and 
Safest  Communication  for  Europe  with 
all  Asia.'  He  interested  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  statesmen  of  the  day 
(the  Honourable  Henry  Sherwood)  in 
theproject,  and  a  company  was  formed, 
called  the  Lake  Superior  and  Pacific 
Pv,ailroad  Company.  On  the  17ih  of 
June,  Mr.  Sherwood  obtained  leave  to 
>)ring  in  a  Bill  to  Incorporate  this 
Company.     The   Bill  was  referred  to 


the  Standing  Committee  on  Railways 
and  Telegraph  Lines,  whose  chairman 
was  Sir  Allan  MacNab.   A  paper,  pre- 
pared by  Mr.  McDonell,  and    in  sub- 
stance the  same  as  his  pamphlet,  was 
laid  l)efore  the  Committee.     Though 
;    Mr.  McDonell  grows  eloquent  on  the 
vast  wealth  and  imperial  splendours 
which  rise  before  his  imagination  in 
contemplating  Indian  fleets  and  Chi- 
nese  argosies,  he  does  not  forget  the 
'    development  of  this  country   and  its 
great  possibilities.      He  wants  to  keep 
what  he  calls  the  '  ocean  diadem  '   on 
England's  head,  but,  as  will  be  seen,  his 
])ractical,  yet  enthusiastic,  mind  takes 
I    fire  at  the  future  of  Canada  and  the 
'  diadems '  she  may  one  day  wear, 
Mr.  McDonell  intended,  like  Lieut. 
1    Synge,    whose    little    ti-act    he    had 
read,    to  utilize   our   water  highways. 
Our  portion  of  the  continent  lay  di- 
'    rectly   in   the    way   of  the  commerce 
I    passing   between   Europe    and  India. 
With  a  ship  canal  around  the  falls  and 
;    the    Sault     Ste.     Marie,     '  we    have, 
through  our  own  territories,  the  most 
magnificent  inland  navigation  in  the 
I    world,  carrying  us  one  half  way  across 
this  continent.'  By  means  of  a  railway 
•    to  the   Pacific  from  the   head  of  this 
navigation,  a  rapid  and  safe  com  muni- 
i    cation  would  be  formed,  by  which  the 
commerce  of  the  world  would  undergo 
[   an    entire    change.      Mr.    McDonell, 
seeking   to   alarm   England  points  to 
!    the  line  about   to  be   constructed  by 
j    Mr.  Whitney.      England  was  to  com- 
[    merce  what  the  principle  of  gravitation 
)    was  to  the  material  world,  that  which 
1   regulated  and  upheld  all  ;  buta railroad 
j    through  the  territories  of   the  United 
j   States  might  deprive  her  of  her  supre- 
macy.     He  urges  the  necessity  of  im- 
mediate action  which  would  result  in 
settling    lands   capable   of    sustaining 
])opulation  ;  the  great  West  would  be 
penetrated,  and  the  streams  of   com- 
merce, turned  from   '  boisterous  seas 
and   stormy  capes,'  would   flow  peace- 
fully to  our  shores  on  the   Pacific  and 
through    the  interior.      The  principal 
feature  of  his  plan  was  that  the  Gov- 


588 


THE  ST.  LA  WRENCE. 


ernment  should  sell  to  a  chartered  com- 
pany sixty  miles  wide  of  the  lands  from 
the  Lakes  to  the  Pacific  at  a  reduced 
i-ate,  or  at  such  a  rate  as  should  be 
paid  for  obtaining  its  surrender  to  the 
Crown  by  the  Indians, 

Mr.  McDonell's  scheme  was  worked 
out  with  great  detail,  consistency  and 
force  ;  but  the  Standing  Committee 
rejected  his  proposal,  and  reported 
that  the  application  for  a  charter  was 
premature.  Mr.  McDonell  foresaw 
all  the  evils  which  would  attend  build- 
ing so  great  a  line  as  a  government 
lyork.  The  writer  made  enquiries 
about  this  gentleman,  and  learned 
that  he  was  considered  an  enthusiast 


in  his  day.  '  So  it  ever  is.  The  man 
who  sees  farther  than  his  fellows  is 
always  misunderstood.  Only  for  the 
blind  conceit  of  his  contemporaries 
and  the  generation  immediately  suc- 
ceeding, we  should  have  been,  in  the 
matter  of  a  trans-continental  route, 
lieforehand  with  the  people  of  the 
United  States,  and,  instead  of  five 
millions,  should  be  counted  by  ten  mil- 
lions, or  by  yet  larger  figures. 

The  struggles  of  succeeding  projec- 
tors are  generally  known,  and  to 
all  newspaper  readers  the  history  of 
the  Canada  Pacific  Railway  for  the 
last  twenty  years  is  as  familiar  as 
A.  B.  C. 


THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 


BY  '  GARET  NOEL,    TORONTO. 


CHILD  of  the  lake,  bold  river,  rolling  down 
With  changeful  current  to  the  distant  sea, 
Giant  stream  of  a  giant  country  as  a  sun 

Rising  through  time  in  youthful  majesty, 
Were  but  its  children  grand  and  free  as  thee, 

As  all  that  bounteous  Nature  here  hath  wrought, 
Methinks  this  land  a  Heaven  on  earth  should  be 
The  home  of  liberty,  a  shrine  for  thought, 
Wearied  by  no  long  past  but  with  young  wisdom  fraught. 

But  now  the  night  is  past,  and  with  the  morn 

Methinks  we  touch  far-fabled  fairy  land. 
For  sure  such  scene  is  of  enchantment  born, 

And  for  a  happier  race  than  mortals  plann'd, 
As  the  blue  Heaven  upon  a  morning  bland 

Oft  islanded  with  fleecy  clouds  is  seen. 
So  from  the  wave  that  sleeps  on  either  hand 

Islands  smile  upward,  crowned  with  foliage  green, 

And  fair  as  ere  fay-haunted  isle  of  old,  I  ween. 

Here  curbs  the  river  aught  of  turbulence. 

And  woos  in  silence  all  the  summer  day, 
Till  as  we,  deeply  loving,  yield  the  sense 

Of  self,  and  image  forth  a  dearer  sway  ; 


THE  ST.  LA  WRENCE.  589 

8a  in  the  patient  waters  sleep  al way- 
Reflections  of  the  loveliness  they  prize, 

Low  wooded  isles  their  various  forms  display, 
Till  looking  downward  close  beneath  us  lies 
A  trembling  paradise  of  mingled  earth  and  skies. 

And  here,  methinks,  one  might  awhile  be  hidden 

From  the  sad  turmoil  of  our  human  race, 
And  gentler  thoughts  would  come  and  go  unbidden, 

And  peace  and  soft  tranquillity  have  place  ; 
And  years  would  leave  no  bitter,  scathing  trace, 

And  friendship  be  a  thing  serene  and  holy, 
No  trivial  dust  that  passing  winds  efface, 

A  mock  to  make  men  grieve  at  human  folly, 

Seeing  a  gift  so  pure  the  slave  to  interest  solely. 

Now  as  a  sea-god  waken'd  from  a  dream, 

Who  upward  springs  rejoicing  to  the  sun, 
And  shakes  his  glittering  locks  in  morning's  beam 

Speedeth  the  river  from  its  idyl  on  ; 
Eat  dark  and  troublous  are  its  waters  grown, 

Swifter  they  fly,  till  as  a  trembling  flock 
That  here  an(^  there  at  danger's  touch  are  strewn, 

They  rush  in  panic  outward  from  the  shock, 

Or  wrought  to  madness  boldly  leap  th'  opposing  rock. 

And  there  is  war  around  us  as  of  men 

Who,  dauntless,  brave  a  foe  invisible. 
And  backward  driven  assault  again,  again, 

So  rush  the  waters,  and  the  rocks  repel 
But  may  not  conquer,  now  with  rolling  swell 

Of  conscious  victr'y,  and  anon  with  shriek 
That  seems  of  mortal  pain  and  fear  to  tell, 

The  waters  in  white  foam  around  us  break 

And  still  from  rock  to  rock  their  downward  journey  take. 

Till  now  we  tremble  on  the  last  dread  steep. 

And  lo  !  through  Heaven  the  rolling  cloud  appears. 
As  Nature,  still  in  harmony  would  keep, 

Flash  follows  flash,  and  thunder  greets  our  ears 
As  plunging  downward  the  swoU'n  river  rears 

Its  waves  in  torture  from  the  rocks  that  lie 
As  foes  beneath  it,  till  our  pathway  clears. 

And,  once  more  free,  the  waves  spread  joyously 

Into  a  lake  whose  pleasant  shores  delight  the  eye. 

And  downward  rolls  to  meet  another  tide 

That  through  green  banks  hath  found  a  beauteous  way, 

As  two  that  love  not  journeying  side  by  side 
The  waters  joined  their  various  course  display. 

Or  darkly  wrought  or  emerald  in  their  play. 
And  borne  by  many  an  island  foliage  crowned, 

A  city  greets  us  ere  the  close  of  day. 

And  where  Jacques  Cartier  wood  and  wildness  found, 

Peace,  wealth,  and  commerce  spread  their  happiest  fruits  around. 


590 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE ;  jESTHETIC  OR  NOT  .ESTHETIC  f 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE  :  ESTHETIC  OR  NOT  ESTHETIC? 


BY    D.     FOWLER,    EMERALD. 


THE    above    is    a  question   Nvhich 
comes  home  to  us  all — to  all  of 
us,    that   is,    who   are    householders. 
What  we  want  is  a  comfortable,  con- 
venient, cleanly,  bright,  light,  cheer- 
ful, healthy  house  ;  an  every-day,  all- 
day-long,     all-the-year-round    house  ; 
cool   in    summer,    warm    in    winter ; 
shaded  when  the  sun  blazes,  open  to 
all  his  cheering,  exhilarating  influence 
when  he  shines  with  milder  beams  ; 
flooded    with   day-light    in   the  short 
days.      Can  all  that  has  been  enume- 
rated be  possible  in  one  house  1     It  is 
all  possible.  Add  to  it  all  the  good  taste 
and  aesthetic  beauty  that  you  can,  the 
more   the   better;    but   sacrifice  to  it 
any  of  the  qualities  that  have  been  men- 
tioned, and,  depend  upon  it,  all  the 
good  taste  and  aesthetic  beauty  that 
ever  existed  will  not  compensate  you 
for  the  loss.      Is  there  auy  danger  of 
such  a  loss  1     I  think  there  is  ;  a  loss 
of  light,  of  day-light.      Now,  the  light 
of  heaven,  as  we  call  it,  is  the  greatest 
and  cheapest  of  all   divine   blessings. 
(Not  the  cheapest,  though,  when  your 
windows   are   taxed,  as  they  used   to 
be,  and  are  still,  for  aught  1  kriow,  in 
England ;  certainly  a  daring  flight  of 
impost.)     Light  is  the  source  of  life, 
cheerfulness,    health  ;    of    colour  and 
beauty,  of  clear  complexions  and  ivory 
shoulders ;    of    the   preservation  and 
prolongation  of   eyesight ;    of  cleanli- 
ness, for,  '  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point 
upon  it,'  darkness  means  dirt.      How 
can  you  tell  whether  anything  is  clean 
or  dirty   if   you   have   not  plenty  of 
light  to  see  it  by  %  How  can  you  make 
it  clean  if  you  have  not  light  enough  to 
see  when  you  have  done  if?     For  this 
reason  kitchens,  of  all  places,  should 


be    most    amply    lighted.      Not    that 
aesthetic  decoration  is  likely  to  darken 
kitchens  much,  but  this  is  a  little  bit 
of  advice  earnestly  given,  by  the  way. 
'  Well,  but,'  you  will  naturally  ask, 
'  what  can  aesthetic  decoration  have  to 
do  with  the  darkening  of  a  house  V  That 
is  what  I  am  going  to  try  to  show.     I 
shall  be  able,  I  hope,  to  give  you  both 
sides  of   the   question,   and,  for  that 
purpose,  entei-  Mr.   Cimabue  Brown. 
He   needs    no   introduction ;   we    all 
know  him.      He  is  the  archpriest  of 
the  aesthetic  cult.     He  has  been  mer- 
cilessly held  up  to  ridicule  in  Funrh 
week  after  week,  and  has  been  made 
the  butt  of  shrieks  of  laughter  from 
theatrical  audiences.     He  is  popularly 
supposed  to  fall  into  ecstatic  veneration 
of  a  bit  of  cracked  old  china  ;  to  wor- 
ship  sunflowers   as   thei/  worship  the 
sun  ;  and  to  hold  peacock's  feathers  to 
be    the   basis    of    housekeeping.     All 
this  has   roused   Mr.    Brown   at   last. 
He  lately   published   a   paper,   called 
'  Mr.  Cimabue  Brown  on   the  Defen- 
sive.'    He  shows  admirable  temper, 
and  takes  it  all  in  excellent  good  part. 
He  writes  so  cleverly  and  brightly,  and 
with  so  genial  a  humour,  that  it  would 
be  a  treat  to  the  readers  of  the  Cana- 
dian Monthly  if  I  could  transplant 
his  defence  bodily  into  the  magazine. 
As  it  is,  I  shall  have  to  indulge  them 
with   copious   extracts.      j\[i\    Brown 
rides  a  hobby.     Admit  that   he  does. 
So  do  most  of  us,  though  it  be  hut  a 
donkey  sometimes.      Mr.    Brown  has 
so  light  a  hand  and  so  firm  a  seat,  and 
has  the  animal  so  well  under  control, 
that  we  cannot  but  admire  his  horse- 
manship.     1  am  not  able,  in  the  space 
at  my  disposal,  to  f(jllow  him  through 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE ;  AESTHETIC  OR  NOT  .ESTHETIC) 


;9i 


his  wLole  ride,  but  miist  limit  myself 
to  that  part  of  it  which  lies  nearest  to 
his  own  residence  which  he  describes 
so  feelingly,  and  to  yoiu'S  or  mine, 
which,  it  must  be  confessed,  he  does 
not  spare. 

Mr.  Brown  disclaims  the  absurdi- 
ties into  which  a3sthetics  have  been 
carried  by  some  extravagant  devotees. 
'  Every  great  revolution  is  accompa- 
nied by  some  excesses  ;  the  Reforma- 
tion had  its  Anabaptists  and  its  Icono- 
clasts ;  the  Puritan  movement  had  its 
ufth  monarchy  men  and  its  naked 
prophets.'  Then  he  says,  *  Don't  you 
know  that  caricature  is,  in  its  own  na- 
ture, exaggeration,  and  that  neither  I 
am  nor  any  other  "  aesthete  "  is  one- 
twentieth  part  as  ridiculous  as  Mr. 
Du  Maurier  makes  us  out  to  be  %  Do 
you  really  suppose  that  any  one  of  us 
talks  the  marvellous  jargon  that  Mr. 
Gilbert  puts  into  our  mouths  in  Pa- 
tie  ce ;  or  that  we  really  dress  our 
wives  in  such  ridiculous  costumes,  or 
worship  lilies,  or  dedicate  our  days  to  1 
the  study  of  the  intense  1  All  that  is  ! 
just  the  playful  nonsense  of  our  satir- 
ists.' Again,  'in  spite  of  Patience 
and  Piinrh,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  the  [ 
aesthetic  revolution  is  an  accomplished 
fact.  It  is  here,  there  and  everywhere 
en  evidence  before  our  eyes.  I  can't 
walk  from  my  club  up  St.  Jamess 
Street  without  seeing  it  staring  at  me 
from  every  shop  window  in  London. 
I  can't  go  into  a  friend's  house  with- 
out observing  it  in  ever^-  room,  from 
the  entrance-hall  to  the  attics.  I  can't 
travel  about  the  country  without 
noticing  how  it  pervades  every  village 
in  England.  I  can't  go  to  the  theatre  ' 
witiiout  finding  it  put  bodily  upon  the  , 
.stage.  1  can't  buy  a  comic  paper  with- 
out running  up  against  it  in  nonsen- 
sical misrepresentation.  Say  what  you 
like  of  it,  there  it  i.s.  an  unmistakable 
fact,  growing,  like  Jonah's  gourd,  be- 
foi-e  our  very  eyes,  and  spreading  so 
wide  that  it  overshadows  all  the  land 
with  its  sunflowers  and  its  pomegra- 
nate blossoms.  And  I  say  to  myself, 
all  the  time,  with  some  coinplrtcency  I 


acknowledge,  "  All  this  is  the  work  of 
our  set."  ' 

Mr.  Cimabue  Brown,  you  see,  is  not 
half-hearted  in  his  advocacy;  he  has 
the  full  courage  of  his  opinions,  'Fifty 
years  ago,'  he  continues,  '  art  in  Eng- 
land was  practically  all  but  unknown. 
People  generally  understood  that  it 
had  something  to  do  with  the  National 
Gallery  and  the  Royal  Academy  ;  and 
that  it  was  very  expensive  ;  and  that, 
in  order  to  know  anything  about  it, 
you  must  be  born  to  the  inheritance 
of  an  ancestral  picture-gallery,  and 
must  travel  abroad  to  Rome  and  Flo- 
rence. As  to  the  possibility  of  its 
having  any  connection,  then  or  ever, 
with  their  own  every-day  lives,  they 
would  as  soon  have  speculated  on  the 
possibility  of  every  English  child  talk- 
ing classical  Latin,  and  every  agricul- 
tural labourer  spending  his  spare  cash 
on  the  purchase  of  Elzevirs  or  Bodo- 
nis.  Art  meant  pictures  and  sta- 
tues ;  and  pictures  and  statues  were 
sjjecialitis  for  the  same  class  which 
could  afford  to  keep  French  cooks, 
and  thorough-bred  race-horses,  and 
domestic  chaplains,  and  a  score  of 
gamekeei>ers.  For  themselves,  they 
were  perfectly  content  to  live  in  ugly 
houses,  with  ugly  wall  papers  and  ugly 
furniture  ;  while  the  interests  of  lite- 
rature, science  and  art  were  stttfi- 
ciently  considered  in  three  mouldy- 
looking  illustrated  books  on  the  draw- 
ing-room table,  a  few  coarse  litho- 
graphs liung  upon  the  wall,  and  a 
fequeaky  piano  in  the  corner,  with  an 
Hi'senicgreen  satin  lining  behind  the 
ch(  ap  veneered  network  which  over- 
hung the  key-board  cover.' 

Ah,  now,  then  the  hobby  became 
rtstive,and  for  the  moment, the  rider's 
seat  was  not  quite  so  firm.  '  Fifty 
years  ago'  may  be  to  Mr.  Brown  the 
dark  ages  V)efore  '  he  was  born  or 
thought  of,'  but  those  within  whose 
ken  that  remote  period  comes  must 
stand  up  for  their  bit th right,  de- 
menti. Broad  wood,  Stoddart  and  Col- 
lard  had  lived  or  were  living,  and  cer- 
tainly did    not    turn    out    ' squeaky  ' 


592 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE;  jESTHETIC  OR  NOT  JiSTHETIC! 


pianos. 


The  age  of  '  coarse  litho-  j 
had  not  yet  begun,  nor  that, 
I  think,  of  the  'arsenic-green.'  And,  i 
as  for  '  cheap  '  veneering,  the  reign  of  j 
'  cheap  and  nasty '  has  certainly  set  | 
in  since  that  time.  ^'Estlietic  or  not  j 
aesthetic,  cheap  and  paltry  imitations 
of  every  kind  have  advanced  pari 
passu  with  Mr,  Cimabue  Brown's  pi'O- 
gress  of  art,  and  are,  at  this  very  mo- 
ment, in  full  swing.  This  is  merely 
just  a  hint  to  Mr.  Brown  not  to  allow 
his  hobby  too  much  head  ;  to  ride  him 
with  a  curb  ;  a  snaffle  will  hardly  hold 
him.  '  It  was  in  those  hopeless  and 
hideous  days,'  proceeds  Mr.  Brown, 
*  that  I  and  my  fellow- workers  grew 
wp.  As  young  men,  we  began  to  feel 
that  this  was  not  all  quite  right.  We 
were  not  born  to  the  inheritance  of 
picture-galleries,  nor  were  we  dukes 
or  Manchester  manufacturers,  that  we 
should  buy  old  masters,  and  give  com- 
missions to  sculptors  for  preserving 
our  own  amiable  features  in  marble 
busts.  Most  of  us  were  decidedly  far 
from  rich.  But  we  had  an  idea  that 
something  might  be  done  to  make 
English  home-life  a  little  more  beau- 
tiful, a  little  more  cultivated,  and  a 
little  more  refined  than  it  used  to  be.' 
And  a  most  admirable  idea,  too, 
my  dear  Mr.  Cimabue  Brown  ; 
and  I  trust  you  will  accept  my  right 
hand  of  good  fellowship  offered  in  all 
sincerity  ujion  it.  Who  would  not 
wish  you  good  speed  in  an  undertak- 
ing so  harmless,  so  praiseworthy,  so 
excellent  in  its  promised  results  ? 

You  further  say  to  us,  '  there  are  a 
few  serious  objections,  however,  some- 
times urged  against  the  great  contem- 
porarj'  aesthetic  movement  typified  by 
my  unworthy  personality,  about  which 
objections  I  should  like  to  say  a  few 
words  in  passing,  now  that  I  have  got  j 
you  fairly  button-holed  in  a  corner  by 
yourself.  The  first  of  them — a  very 
common  one — is  that  we  aesthetes  are 
sworn  enemies  to  colour.  There  never 
was  a  greater  mistake  on  this  earth. 
We  revel  in  colour  ;  we  perfectly  roll 
in  it ;  we  live  in  the   midst  of  green. 


and  blue,  and  scarlet  and  purple  all 
our  days.  Nobody  who  has  seen  the 
interior  of  a  really  good  modern  a;s- 
thetic  house  could  ever  afterward  se- 
riously commit  such  a  ridiculous  blun- 
der as  to  say  that  it  was  "  dingy,"  or 
"gloomy,"  or  "faded-looking,"  as  a 
thousand  unthinking  critics  assert  un- 
hesitatingly every  day.  I  think  I  can 
see  the  oi-igin  of  this  absurd  miscon- 
ception. Young  ladies  and  gentlemen 
walking  down  Oxford  Street  glance 
into  the  windows  of  a  famous  red- 
brick shop,  near  the  lower  end  of  Or- 
chard Sti^eet,  and  see  there  some  ebony 
cabinets,  some  Persian  blue  and  white 
pottery,  some  yards  of  dark-green  vel- 
vet with  an  inexpressibly  faint  under- 
tone of  peacock-blue.  They  contrast 
these  sober  shades  with  the  staring 
reds  and  blues  and  yellows  in  the  car- 
pets, wall-papers,  satin  covered  chairs, 
and  other  noisy  upholsteries  in  various 
adjacent  windows  of  the  old-fashioned 
sort ;  and  they  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  aesthetic  people  hate  colour.  They 
forget  that  these  things  are  but  the 
ground  tones  of  the  whole  finished  pic- 
ture, and  that  in  a  full- furnished  aes- 
thetic house  they  would  find  them  so 
interspersed  with  pictures,  pottery, 
flowers,  decorations,  and  the  dresses  of 
women  and  children,  that  the  entire 
effect  would  be  one  of  peculiarly  rich, 
deep  and  harmonious  colouring.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  the  Philistine 
house  which  eschews  colour.  There 
white — dead,  cold,  pale,  cheerless 
white— forms  the  background  and 
key-note  of  the  total  decorative  effect. 
The  ceiling  is  white  all  over  ;  the  wall- 
paper is  white,  with  a  few  patches  of 
regularly-disposed  gold  ornamentation 
in  geometrical  squares.  The  mantel- 
piece is  of  white  marble  ;  the  carpet 
has  a  white  ground,  sprinkled  with 
red  and  Ijlue  roses.  The  cheap  chromo- 
lithographs, which  do  duty  for  tine  art, 
have  broad  white  margins ;  and  there 
is  no  deeper  colour  to  balance  and 
neutralize  this  chilly  general  tone.  The 
place  of  honour  over  the  hearth  is 
filled  by  a  great  gilt  mirror,  which  re- 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE ;  .ESTHETIC  OR  NOT  .ESTHETIC! 


593 


fleets  the  white  ceiling.  The  chairs 
and  sofas  are  covered  in  pale  blue 
satin  ;  the  vases  are  in  whitish  glass  ; 
the  ornaments  are  Paiian  statuettes, 
alabaster  boxes,  and  white-S[)ar  knick- 
knacks.  There  is  hardly  a  bit  of  colour 
in  the  whole  room,  and  whatever  there 
is  consists  of  crude  masses  of  unmiti- 
gated blue,  red  and  yellow,  isolated  in 
great  harsh  patches,  amid  the  prevail- 
ing sea  of  inhospitable  white.  The 
place  seems  contrived  on  purpose  to 
repel  one  by  its  xitter  unhomeliness.' 

Perhaps  the  hobby   has  taken  the 
bit  in  its  teeth  now,  just  a  little. 

'  Now,'  triumphantly  exclaims  Mr. 
Cimabue  Bi-own,  'just  contrast  such 
a  room  as  this  with  my  little  drawing- 
room  at  Hampstead.  Our  ceiling  is 
covered  with  a  pretty  continuous  dis- 
tempered design  ;  our  walls  are  broken 
into  a  high  decorative  dado  of  storks 
and  water-plants  beneath,  and  a  small 
upper  piercing  above,  with  geometrical 
interlacing  patterns  in  a  contrasting 
hue.  Our  floor  is  polished  at  the  sides, 
and  has  two  or  three  different  rugs 
placed  about  between  the  chairs  and 
tables.  So  every  bit  of  the  frame- 
work of  the  room  is  simply  full  of 
colour — subdued,  pleasant,  restful  col- 
our for  the  most  part  I  allow,  with 
xmobtrusive  patterns  which  do  not 
solicit  or  fatigue  the  eye,  but  still  most 
unmistakable  colour,  as  different  as 
possible  from  the  poverty  stricken 
white  of  utter  Philistia.  Then  we 
have  a  few  pictures  hung  upon  the 
upper  piecing  ;  a  few  decorative  plates 
fastened  against  the  wall  ;  a  cabinet 
with  Venetian  glass  and  good  old 
(yhinese  porcelain  above  the  dark-red 
mantelpiece  ;  and  a  hearth  set  above 
with  green  and  blue  Persian  tiles.  We 
have  chairs  and  sofas  covered  with 
pretty  tapestry  ;  we  have  a  few  crewel- 
work  anti-macassars  (which  I  myself 
detest,  but  endure  for  Mrs.  Cimabue 
Brown's  sake) ;  we  have  flowers  in 
abundance ;  and  on  reception  nights 
we  have  the  dresses  and  faces  of  wo- 
men enlivening  the  whole  scene.  Jf 
you  were  to  drop  in  at  one  of  our  Wed- 


nesday evenings,  I'm  quite  sure  you 
would  say  you  never  saw  so  much 
colour  crowded  into  a  single  room  in 
all  your  life  before.  Only  the  colour 
is  not  dispersed  about  indiscriminately 
in  great  solitary  patches  ;  it  is  har- 
monized and  subdued,  and  combined 
into  a  single  decorative  chromatic 
effect.' 

I  am  here  very  reluctantly  com- 
pelled to  part  company  with  Mr. 
Cimabue  Brown.  There  is  much  more 
that  he  says,  which  is  as  well  said  as 
what  I  have  quoted  ;  but  I  have  en- 
deavoured to  do  him  full  justice,  and 
to  put  his  case  sufliciently  and  fairly 
before  the  reader.  He  is  an  enthusi- 
astic advocate  of  the  prominent  aes- 
thetic agitation,  of  which  we  now  hear 
and  see  so  much.  With  a  great  deal 
that  he  says  we  must  all  of  us  entirely 
agree  ;  but  I  am  certain  that  the  style 
of  decoration  which  he  describes  would 
diminish  the  daylight  in  any  room  in 
which  it  was  carried  into  practice. 
And  I  am  equally  convinced  that  that 
is  a  fatal  objection.  In  all  ordinary 
domestic  rooms  there  is  no  super- 
abundance of  light ;  very  frequently 
there  is  a  deficiency.  I  have  already 
put  in  a  very  strong  claim  for  ample 
daylight  in  a  house,  and  have  endea- 
voured to  show  what  inestimable  ad- 
vantages are  to  be  derived  from  it.  In 
all  rooms  a  large  proportion  of  the 
light  is  obtained,  not  directly,  but  by 
refraction  ;  and  in  this  refraction  a 
white  ceiling  is  a  most  important  fac- 
tor, and  of  the  most  advantageous  and 
agreeable  kind,  the  light  being  re- 
fracted from  it  downwai'd  upon  any 
work  upon  which  you  may  be  en- 
gaged. Now  change  this  white  ceil- 
ing for  any  *  distempered  design  '  and, 
just  in  proportion  as  that  design  is 
lemoved  from  white,  so  do  you  lose 
the  light  in  your  room.  The  same 
reasoning  applies  to  the  walls  ;  the 
further  they  are  removed  from  white 
the  less  light  the  room  becomes.  So 
with  all  surfaces,  of  whatever  descrip- 
tion, about  the  room.  But  this  is  not 
all.      There  is  quality  and  quality  of 


594 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE;  .ESTHETIC  Oil  NOT  .ESTHETIC? 


colour  ;  there  are  certain  qualities  of 
colour  which  swallow  up  the  light,  and 
other  certain  qualities  which  refract 
it.  Examples  of  both  may  be  given 
in  a  blanket  and  in  a  satin  dress. 
Now,  what  Mr.  Cimabue  Brown  means 
by  'subdued,  pleasant,  restful  colour,' 
is  that  quality  of  colour  which  swal- 
lows up  the  light,  which  is  dull,  does 
not  shine.  If,  then,  we  are  to  give  up 
what  ]\rr.  Brown  calls  '  dead,  cold, 
pale,  cheerless  white,'  and  substitute 
for  it  'subdued,  pleasant,  restful  col- 
our,' it  follows,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
that  we  must  lose  almost,  if  not  quite, 
all  of  our  refracted  light,  and  our 
room  will  be  very  considerably  dark- 
ened. 1  will  give  a  very  simple  ex- 
ample of  what  I  mean.  In  a  house, 
which  I  have  the  i)leasure  of  frequent- 
ing, there  is  a  large  folding  screen, 
which  the  mistress  tells  me  is  fashion- 
able, for  the  exquisite  reason  that 
screens  of  all  kinds  are  common  in 
Japan.  Until  lately  this  screen  was 
covered  with  some  pale  bright  mate- 
rial. I  cannot  say  that  I  liked  the 
look  of  it ;  the  effect  was  poor.  Going 
there  again,  the  other  day,  I  was  some- 
what surprised  to  find  my  usual  place 
at  table,  near  to  the  screen,  much 
darkened,  so  that  I  had  some  ado  to 
see  what  was  on  my  ])late.  After  a 
while  I  discovered  the  cause.  The 
screen  had  been  a3stheticised.  It  was 
now  covered  with  some  material  of  a 
deep,  dark,  dull  crimson,  of  ?esthetic 
quality,  '  subdued,  pleasant,  restful 
colour.'  It  had  a  *  decorative  dado  of 
storks  and  water-plants  beneath'  (only, 
unfortunately,  the  water  lilies  were 
quite  as  large  as  the  storks,  in  true 
Japanese  style),  and  '  a  small  upper 
piercing  above  with  geometrical  inter- 
lacing patterns  in  a  contrasting  hue.' 
It  was  precisely  in  accordance  with 
Mr.  Brown's  description.  It  is  true 
that  it  was  greatly  improved  in  ap- 
pearance, and  had  become  a  really 
handsome,  ornamental  piece  of  furni- 
ture. Here,  then,  we  have  the  whole 
case  before  us — the  screen,  as  it  had 
been,   not  beautiful,  but   useful   as  a 


receiver  and  dispenser  of  light,  or,  as 
it  is  now,  much  better  to  look  at,  but 
very  decidedly  producing  an  incon 
venient  loss  of  daylight.  The  choice 
lies  between  aesthetic  beauty  and  eat- 
ing your  dinner  in  comfort.  Utrum 
horum  mavis  accipe.  Because,  con- 
sider. Multiply  the  eflect  produced 
by  the  change  in  the  screen  by  that  of 
all  the  objects  about  the  I'oom,  beside 
the  walls  and  the  ceiling,  and  all  you 
have  left  is  a  twilight,  a  sort  of  a  clear- 
obscure,  I  cannot  agree  with  Mr. 
Cimabue  Brown  that  white  must  of, 
'•,  be  '  dead,  cold,   pale,  cheer- 


less.' There  is  white  and  white;  there 
is  lime  whitewash,  and  there  is  plea- 
sant, agreeable,  warm  white,  such  as 
many  of  the  wall-papers  are,  or  used 
to  be,  with  just  a  suspicion  of  gold 
about  them.  But  I  need  not  dwell 
upon  this  in  my  own  person,  as  it  hap- 
pens that  I  can  adduce  on  my  side  the 
authority  of  a  very  distinguished  r.ian. 
Every  one  has  heard  of  Mr.  Mill-ds, 
R.A.,  the  famous  artist.  We  are  told 
of  '  merchant  pi'inces,'  we  might  now 
add  painter  princes,  of  whom  Mr.  Mil- 
lais  is  one  of  the  very  foremost.  He 
may  beelassed  with  Titian,  whosebrnsh, 
as  is  related,  was  picked  up  for  iiini 
by  ihe  Emperor  Charles  V.,  with  the 
graceful  compliment,  '  There  are  many 
kings,  there  is  but  one  Titian  ; '  or 
with  Sir  Peter  Paul  Rubens,  who  was 
a  great  courtly  gentleman,  and  an 
ambassador  between  kings  ;  and  who, 
it  may  be  added,  was  a  remarkably 
handsome  man,  and  had  two  beautiful 
wivt'S  (one  at  h  time  1  mean),  whose 
portraits  by  his  own  pencil  have  come 
down  to  us.  But,  great  as  these  men 
were,  it  may   very   well  be   doubted 

[  whether  their  gains  were  equal  to 
those  of  Mr.    Millais,  who  is  said  to 

j  make  an  annual  income  of  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  pounds  sterling — say 
from    fifty  to   sixty  thousand  dollars. 

■  We  should  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Mr.  Millais'  income,  and  it  would  be 
an  impertinence  to  inquire  into  it, 
but  what  comes  to  us  through  the 
pul)]ie    ]:re.ss  .may  be   quoted  without 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE;  .ESTHETIC  OR  NOT  .ESTHETIC 


595 


impropriety.     In  the  November  num-    ! 
ber  of  the  Magazine  of  Art  for  1881 
there  is  a  notice  of  the  prices  of  two    j 
pictures  by  Mi\  Millais, painted  within 
the    last  few  years,   namely   $17,500 
and   $19,500    respectively.     The    di- 
mensions of  one  of  these  pictures,  as 
stated  in  '  Academy  Notes,'  are  tive 
feet  by   three,   and  the  other  would 
probably  be  of  the   same   size.     The 
subjects  are   not    elaborate,   and  the 
mannerof  painting  has  the  appearance 
of  being   rapid,  so  that  probably   the 
two  pictures  would  not  represent  half 
a  year's  work,  and  fully  bear  out  the 
above    report.      Moreover,   the   Illus- 
trated London  News  has  published  an 
advertisement,  to  the  effect  that  the 
price  of  a  forthcoming  picture  by  Mr. 
Millais,     similar,    we    may    infer,  to 
'  Puss  in  Boots  '  or  '  Cherry  R,ipe,'  fur 
their  Christmas  number,  is  to  be  three 
thousand  guineas — say   $15,000.     It 
has  also  been  stated  that  the  portrait 
of  Lord  Beaconstield,  by  Mr.   Millais, 
for  which  he  had   only  four  sittings, 
shortly    before    Lord    Beaconsfield's 
death,    was  purchased  by  the  Bight 
Hon.  W.  H.  Smith  for  two  thousand 
gxxineas.    Such  prices  as  these,  in  con- 
nection with  artistical  honours  of  all 
kinds  may  be  taken  as  a  sufficient  in- 
dication of  Mr.  Millais'  high  rank  as 
an  artist.    So  that  we  may  accept  him 
as    a    great  authority  as  to  what  is 
really  beautiful,  and  may  suppose  that 
no  one  would  be  more  likely  to  appre- 
ciate the  full  value   of  daylight  upon 
which  his  work   so   mainly  depends. 
The  Magazine  of  Art  has  been  lately 
publishing     articles      entitled      '  The 
Homes  of    our  Artists,'    and    in  the 
number  for  last   May  is  a  description 
of  a  palatial  residence  which  Mr.  Mil- 
lais has  built  for  himself  in  one  of  the 
most  choice  situations  in  London,  with 
illustrations  of  the  staircase,  drawing 
room,  studio,  and  fountain.      The  au- 
thor, Mr.  John  Oldcastle,  writes  about 
it  as  follows  : — '  We  English,  who  con- 
sider ourselves  par  excellence  the  peo- 
ple of  good  sense,  are  a   curious  peo- 
ple for  extremes.     If  we  get  a  good 


thing,  we  fling  ourselves  into  the  pas- 
sion of  it,  do  it,  overdo   it,  work  it  to 
death,    rend    it,    empty    it   out,    and 
trample    it   underfoot.      So    with  the 
needful,  welcome  and  admirable  fash- 
ion of   taste   in  furniture  and  wall- 
papers.    It  might  have  spread  i-eason- 
ably  and  gently  over  the  whole  coun- 
try, and    made   the  entire  aspect  of 
Knglish    home-life   delightful,  unvul- 
garising  a  domestic  nation  (which   is 
no  small  good,   becausi^,  while  people 
know  tliemselves  to  be  vulgar  and  vul- 
garly  surrounded,    their  homely  vir- 
tues   were   apt   to    have  a  repulsive 
flavour,  and  also  loftier  virtues  were 
felt  to  be  out  of  place),  and  serving 
incalculably  the  cause  of   high  art  by 
educating  the  eyes  of  a  whole  people- 
in  the  joys  of   colour  and  the  laws  of 
form.     But  the  British  enthusiast  was- 
too  strong — and  too  absurd.     His  day 
of  frenzy   must   pass,   and  art  in  the 
house,  as  a   fashion,  must  pass  with 
with   it.      Still,   the   peacock  and  the 
lily  are  not  less  beautiful  because  they 
have  been  made  a  ridicule  by  aesthetic 
poseurs  ;  so  will  the  happy  repose  ol 
tertiary   backgrounds,   and  the  splen- 
did accents  of  bold  yet  subtle  Oriental 
colour,  and  the  simplicity  of  lines  and 
the    rightness    of    ornament.      Mean- 
while, these  good  things  are  somewhat 
ridiculous — a   fact   to  which  we  muse 
resign  ourselves.     Our  great  satirical 
draughtsman    has   laughed   at   them 
wittily,  and  our  actors  have  mimicked 
them  ignorantly,and  a  veiy  large  num- 
ber of  sensible   men   are   sick   of  the 
subject.      Among  those,   we  suppose, 
must  be  placed  Mr.  Millais,  who  has 
built   himself  an    artist's    house  into 
which  the  a^stheticism  of  the  day  does 
not  enter  ;  no,  not  by  so  much  as  a 
peacock's  fan.      Only  a  few  feathers^ 
if  we  mistake  not,  in  a  single  vase  of 
Oriental  blue-green  upon  the  drawing- 
room  mantelpiece,  serve  to  remind  him 
(.f  the  peculiar  flasJi  and  play  of  colour 
which  most  of  us  have  learned  to  think 
so  beautiful.   Thus  the  great  red  house 
.    at  Palace   Gate  is,  above  all  things^ 
'•    remarkable  for  aV)sence  of  every  kind 


J96 


YOUR  HOUSE  AND  MINE;  ^ESTHETIC  OR  NOT  .ESTHETIC? 


of  aflectation.  It  is  scarcely  pictu- 
resque, though  not  an  impossible  house 
to  put  into  picture.  It  is  stately  and 
})rosperous,'  <tc.,  kc.  Further  on, 
Mr.  Oldcastle  writes  :  '  Nearly  all  the 
walls  are  of  variegated  whites — cream- 
white,  ivory-white,  milk-white.  Those 
who  are  accustomed  to  this  whiteness 
in  a  glowing  climate,  who  know  that 
nothing  could  be  more  broad  and  pic- 
turesque than  the  effectiveness  of  a 
greenish  or  creamy- white  wall  in 
Italian  sunshine  and  Italian  shade, 
full  of  golden  i-eflected  lights,  check- 
ered with  the  fine  shadows  of  Italian 
vines,  and  accentuated  by  dark  Italian 
objects — a  black  dwvelure,  a  brown 
face,  or  a  huge  indistinguishable  old 
picture — may  be  incredulous  of  the 
beauty  of  a  background  of  whitewash 
in  England,  where  the  grey  lights  of 
London  days,  and  the  sunshine  at  half 
power,  which  is  the  greatest  glow  we 
ever  receive  in  the  fullest  midsummer, 
would  seem  to  require  some  surface 
less  dependent  upon  the  colours  of  the 
atmosphere.  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Millais' 
warm  white  roomshavethegreat  merit 
of  making  the  most  of  what  light  thei-e 
is  for  seeing  purposes,  nor  will  the 
eyes  which  most  delight  in  the  dis- 
tinctively English  tones  of  sage-green 
find  fault  with  the  whiteness  here, 
■where  the  surrounding  objects  are  in 
no  case  suggestive  of  the  quaint,  ten- 
der, and  shadowy  colours  of  the  last 
century.' 

Here,  then,  we  see  how  doctors 
■difFei-.  We  have  before  us  two  great 
authorities.  Mr.  Cimabue  Brown  has 
studied  the  subject,  and  understands 
what  he  is  talking  about.  On  the 
-other  hand,  here  is  acelebrated  painter, 
who  knows  the  nature  of  half  lights 
and  half  shadows  if  ever  any  man  did, 
for  no  picture  was  ever  yet  painted 
without  both  (except,  indeed,  that  of 
•Queen Elizabeth, who  commanded  that 
her  portrait  should  be  painted  without 
shadow,  which,  by  the  bye,  was  just 
like  her),  and  he  has  no  idea  of  intro- 
ducing them  artificially  into  his  house, 
^t  ilie  expense  of  the  daylight,  which 


he  seeks,  as  every  painter  does,  to  in- 
fuse into  his  colours.  We  might 
imagine  Rembrandt  to  have  liked  a 
dark  house,  but  then  there  has  been 
but  one  Rembrandt,  and  we  are  not 
likely  to  see  another.  It  is  to  be  par- 
ticularly observed  that  our  authori- 
ties diflfer  as  to  the  '  white,'  upon 
which  Mr.  Brown  is  so  especially  se- 
vere— that  is,  the  white  ceilings  and 
the  white  walls,  not,  be  it  remarked, 
a  glai-ing,  cold,  cheerless  white,  but  a 
soft  creamy  white,  relieved  with  just 
a  suspicion  of  gold.  The  more  white, 
the  more  daylight,  that  is  certain  ; 
and  the  more  daylight,  the  more 
health,  the  more  lilies  and  roses  on 
the  cheeks  of  beauty.  Ladies  may 
choose  to  sit  in  a  half-darkened  room, 
with  their  backs  to  the  light,  when  the 
mischief  has  been  done,  but,  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  attractive,  forestall 
the  mischief,  make  and  retain  day^ 
light,  sunshine  complexions ;  do  for 
yourselves  what  nothing  but  artifice 
can  do  for  you,  when  the  harm  has 
been  done  and  the  day  has  gone  by, 
for  ever.  Shut  up  the  most  beautiful 
flower  in  a  dark  cellar,  and  see  what 
becomes  of  its  colour  ;  take  it  out  into 
the  sunshine,  and  revel  in  its  radiant 
charms.  So  it  is  with  feminine  beauty. 
Flowers  are,  beyond  question,  the  most 
beautiful  things  in  the  world.  How 
do  they  come  into  being  ?  In  the 
bright,  pure,  open  air  and  the  broad 
sunshine,  in  floods  of  daylight.  So  is 
it  with  the  lilies  and  roses  of  humanity. 
They  can  only  bloom  by  the  same 
l)rocess. 

As  an  essential  part  of  the  same 
subject,  I  wish  to  say  a  word  about 
verandas.  Any  opposition  to  them 
will  be  met  with  an  outcry,  I  am  very 
well  aware.  They  have  so  many  re- 
commendations, I  shall  be  told.  So 
they  have.  But  they  have  more  than 
equivalent  disadvantages.  First  and 
foremost,  and  above  all,  they  shut  out 
the  sunshine  in  winter.  That  is  in- 
expiable. At  all  seasons  they  give 
an  unfavourable  direction  to  the  light 
entering  a  room.     If  a  hotise  has  any 


UNSHELTERED  LOVE. 


597 


architectural  pretension  whatever,  a 
veranda  never  harmonizes  with  it ; 
it  cannot ;  it  is  a  mery  flimsy  excre- 
scence, or  an  incongrous  addition  stuck 
on.  Shade  must  be  had  in  the  great 
Iieat  of  summer,  you  say.  Admitted. 
But  there  are  many  kinds  of  blinds 
which  answer  the  purpose  well  enough, 
and,  what  is  more,  accommodate  them- 
selves to  the  time  of  day.  Best  of  all, 
however,  are  shade  trees.  They  are 
all  that  can  be  desired.  They  can  be 
planted  just  exactly  where  they  are 
most  wanted.  In  summer  they  are 
highly  ornamental,  full  of  natural 
beauty,  which  no  veranda  that  was 
ever  designed  could  reach  ;  and  they 
harmonize  perfectly  with  an}^  build- 
ing, in  any  style.  In  winter  they  are 
bare,  it  is  true,  but  even  then  not 
without  natural  beauty,  and  entirely 
innocuous.  Then  they  shade  the  whole 
walls,  or  nearly,  and  so  keep,  not  cer- 
tain rooms  only,  but  the  whole  house 
cool.  Here,  as  in  all  else,  there  must 
be  moderation.  The  trees  must  not 
be  too  thick  nor  too  near  the  house. 
In  cities  they  are  often  both,  and  very 
perniciously  so.  To  be  sure,  trees 
take  time  to  grow,  and  a  veranda 
can  be  put  up  at  once.  But  have  a 
little  patience  ;  it  will  not  be  much 
tried.  While  you  are  eating  and 
sleeping,  and  going  about  your  busi- 
ness, your  trees  will  be   growing  into 


height  and  breadth  and  beauty,  and 
into  all  that  you  could  have  best  hoped, 
invaluable  for  every  quality.  It  need 
not  be  said  that,  in  dull  weather  and 
in  the  short  days  of  winter,  a  veran- 
da darkens  a  room  most  seriously, 
let  alone  keeping  out  every  gleam  of 
sunshine,  at  that  season  worth  its 
weight  in  gold. 

Though  not  strictly  belonging  to  tlie 
subject,  may  I  add  a  hint  which  will 
be  found  well  worth  consideration.  I 
learnt  it  myself  from  an  old  Canadian 
when  I  was  a  young  one,  and  others,^ 
may,  if  they  will,  learn  it  from  me. 
Opportunity  serving,  put  up  a  j)avil- 
ion  or  a  summer-house,  in  the  shade, 
.sufficiently  handy  to  the  summer  kit- 
chen, large  enough  for  six  or  eight 
persons  to  sit  round  a  table,  and  take 
your  meals  there  in  the  warm  season.. 
You  will  find  it  delightful,  and  every 
body  that  comes  to  your  house  will 
like  it.  You  will  not  have  many  liie!^,. 
and  it  will  keep  them  out  of  the  house,, 
as  they  will  not  find  their  meals  spread 
for  them  there.  It  is  far  better  than 
a  tent ;  I  have  tried  both ;  experta 
crede.  A  tent  is  much  hotter  and 
closer.  The  floor  of  the  summer-house 
can  be  swept  and  washed.  The  turf 
under  a  tent  becomes  tiodden,  worn 
and  sour.  The  summer-house  may  be 
j  of  open  lattice- work,  moi-e  or  less,  ac- 
1    cording  to  taste  and  shelter  from  wind. 


UNSHELTERED   LOVE. 


nest. 


LIKE  a  storm-driven  and  belated  bird 
That  beats  with  aimless  wings  about  th( 
fStraining  against  the  storm  its  eager  breast, 
80  is  my  love,  which  by  no  swift-winged  word 
May  enter  at  her  heart,  and  there  be  heard 
To  sing  as  birds  do,  ere  they  fold  in  rest 
Their  wings  still  quivering  from  the  last  sweet  quest, 
When  with  their  song  and  fli<;ht  the  air  was  stirred. 


Oh,  if  some  wind  of  bitter  disbelief, 

Some  terrible  darkness  of  estranging  doubt, 

Keep  it  from  thee,  oh,  now,  sweet  Love,  reach  out 
Thy  hand  and  pluck  it  from  this  storm  of  grief  : 

It  takes  no  heed  of  alien  nights  and  days, 

So  in  thy  heart  it  finds  its  resting-place. 

— Philip  Bourke  Marstok. 


598  ^^^  PICTURE. 


HIS    PICTURE. 


BY    '  ESPE RANGE. 


THAD  to  paint  the  arching  blue ; 
The  golden  sunshine  of  July 
Just  tinging  with  an  amber  hue 
The  lazy  cloudlets  flitting  by ; 

I  had  to  paint  the  velvet  lawn 

Swift  sloping  to  the  river-side, 
Wherever  from  the  early  dawn, 

The  shifting  shadows  wander  wide ; 

I  had  to  paint  the  house  that  made 
A  fitting  background  to  the  scene, 

Ka,  half  in  sunlight,  half  in  shade, 
It  faced  us  with  its  white  and  green  ; 

1  had  to  paint  the  spreading  trees 

That  told  their  length  upon  the  grass, 

I  could  not  paint  the  whispering  breeze 
That  pushed  the  boughs  aside  to  pass. 

But  nought  besides  could  I  omit 
And  make  my  picture  strictly  true  ; 

Some  call  the  painting  'queer'  and  'quaiuL, 
Yet  those  who  like  it  are  not  few. 

But  when  /  look  at  it  I  see 

Nor  house,  nor  river,  lawn  or  sky. 

Although  the  scene  comes  back  to  me 

Through  threeand-twenty  years  gone  by  ! 

For  underneath  yon  flow'ring  thorn 
Stands  all  the  picture  holds  for  me  ; 

To  you  'tis  but  a  graceful  form. 
Whose  equal  every  day  you  see  ; 

But  when  I  saw  her  standing  there. 

That  summer  day  of  long  ago. 
The  dusky  masses  of  her  hair 

Drawn  backward  from  the  brow  below  ; 

The  star-depths  of  her  hazel  eyes. 
Illumined  with  a  greeting  light. 

All  shining  with  a  glad  surprise. 
That  put  the  old  reserve  to  flight ; 


I 


HIS  PICTURE. 

Whilst  trembling  lips  and  flushing  cheek 
Gave  answer  to  my  yearning  love, 

Till  there  was  little  need  to  speak 
The  secret  of  our  hearts  to  prove  ! 

Ay  1  when  I  saw  her  standing  there — 
The  blossoms  drooping  o'er  her  head, 

The  sunlight  resting  on  her  hair 

The  velvet  sward  beneath  her  tread — 

I  drew  my  breath  in  sheer  amaze 
That  beauty  such  as  this  could  be, 

Forgot  the  rudeness  of  my  gaze 

And  only  thought :  '  Is  this  for  me  ?  ' 

I  clasped  the  hands  outstretched  to  meet 
The  eager,  joyous  grasp  of  mine, 

*■  God's  blessing  be  upon  thee.  Sweet ! 
For  all  my  manhood's  love  is  thine  !  ' 

Ah,  then  I  saw  the  crimson  tide 

Flush  upward  from  the  blushing  cheek, 

And  knew  that  I  had  won  my  bride. 
Though  not  a  word  her  lips  could  speak. 

I  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  '  Yes,' 
For  well  I  knew  what  it  would  be, 

I  prayed  again  that  God  would  bless 
The  treasure  He  had  given  me.     ,     .     . 

The  sun  sank  lower  in  the  west. 
The  water  caught  its  latest  beam. 

And  from  the  ripples  on  its  breast 

Flashed  back  again  the  golden  gleam  ; 

The  stars  stole  softly  to  the  sky, 

The  while  the  kindly  evening  breeze 

Breathed  forth  a  gentle  lullaby. 

To  soothe  the  sighing,  sobbing  trees. 

I  cared  not  that  the  sun  had  set, 
That  night  was  dark'ning  o'er  the  lea, 

For  life  had  but  one  thought  as  yet, 
And  day  and  night  were  one  to  me ! 

1  only  knew  that  I  that  day 

Had  won  my  Love  to  be  my  Wife — 
What  1     Did  I  wed  her  do  you  say  ? 

God  raised  her  to  a  higher  life. 


599 


I 


600 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


BY    GEORGE    M.     HARRINGTON,    TORONTO. 


''pHE  following  paper  is  intended 
J-  to  be  as  close  and  faithful  a  re- 
view as  laborious  search  can  make  it 
of  the  dramatic  and  other  similar 
events  which  occurred  in  '  York  '  be- 
fote  the  incorporation,  and  in  '  To- 
ronto '  since  that  ceremony  made  the 
place  a  city  and  Lyon  Mackenzie  a 
mayor.  It  is  not  within  the  memory 
of  the  '  oldest  inhabitant,'  nor  is  it  re- 
corded either  in  print  or  manuscript, 
that  any  place  of  entertainment  (if 
we  except  the  ordinary  taverns)  was 
opened  in  York  until  1820.  During 
that  year  the  ball-room  of  an  hotel, 
situated  on  the  north  side  of  King 
Street,  near  Sherbourne  Street,  was 
fitted  up  as  a  theatre,  and  the  '  legiti- 
mate '  was  fairly  patronized  as  long  as 
this  primitive  temple  of  Thespis  re- 
mained in  existence.  The  first  mana- 
ger was  an  enterprising  gentleman 
who  had  recently  arrived  from  Eng- 
land, and  he  was  succeeded  by  one  or 
two  others  before  the  drop-curtain  had 
fallen  on  the  last  scene.  It  cannot  be 
ascertained  how  long  this  theatre  con- 
tinued to  exist ;  but  it  could  only  have 
been  for  three  or  four  years ;  and 
then,  perhaps,  interruptedly,  for  as 
early  as  1825  a  new  theatre  was 
opened  at  the  corner  of  Market  Lane, 
on  the  north  side,  towards  the  market 
(St.  Lawrence's).  As  in  the  previous 
instance,  it  was  only  a  ball  room  fitted 
up  for  the  purpose  of  dramatic  repre- 
sentations, the  ball-room  being  an 
apartment  in  an  hotel,  of  which  a  gen- 
tleman named  Frank  was  the  proprie- 
tor. The  hotel  was  an  unpretentious 
white  frame-building,  in  which  nothing 
more  intellectual  than  political  debates 
had  previously  been  htJd,  and  the  ex- 


temporized theatre  was  approached  by 
a  stairway  on  the  outside.  Messrs. 
Archbold,  Talbot,  and  Vaughan  were 
the  managers  respectively.  Mrs.  Tal- 
bot, wife  of  the  second-mentioned, 
being  a  very  pretty  woman,  as  well  as 
a  fair  actress,  was  exeeedingly  popu- 
lar with  the  young  bloods  of  York  at 
that  date.  The  chief  and  favourite 
characters  in  her re^^er/oiVe  were 'Cora,' 
in  Fizarro,  and  '  Little  Pickle,'  the 
title  rdle  of  a  comedy.  A  son  of  Mr. 
Vaughan,  a  young  lad  of  about  eight- 
een years  of  age,  was  drowned  in  the 
Don  during  the  term  of  his  father's 
management.  He  met  his  death  while 
on  a  fishing  excursion.  The  night  be- 
fore the  accident  occurred,  young 
Vaughan  acted  the  part  of  '  Rode- 
rigo,'  in  Othello,  and  it  was  subse- 
quently considered  a  strange  coinci- 
dence that  the  line  '  I  will  inconti- 
nently drown  myself '  should  have 
been  put  into  his  mouth  only  a  few 
hours  before  his  violent  withdrawal 
from  the  stage  in  which  all  are  actors. 
He  was  personally  well  liked,  and 
many  were  grieved  that  the  drama  of 
his  life  should  have  ended  in  a  tragedy. 
The  theatre  to  which  attention  is  now 
being  drawn  was  a  very  slight  im- 
provement upon  its  predecessor.  The 
ceiling  was  low,  the  stage  was  small, 
the  '  properties '  were  very  limited  in 
extent,  and  the  orchestra  generally 
consisted  of  one  individual,  a  Mr. 
Maxwell,  who  is  thus  described  in  Dr. 
Scadding's  '  Toronto  of  Old  ' : — '  A 
quiet- mannered  man,  who  wore  a 
shade  over  his  eye,  in  which  there  was 
a  defect.  He  was  well-known  and 
esteemed  for  his  homely  skill  on  the 
violin.'     Frequently  assemblies   were 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


GO  I 


held  here,  at  which  the  elite  of  the 
town,  composed  of  the  Governor,  his 
family,  other  officials  connected  with 
the  Government,  the  officers  of  the 
garrison  and  their  wives,  and  the  mu- 
nicipal authorities  and  their  families, 
were  present.  Three  years  had  passed 
since  the  establishment  of  this  place 
as  a  theatre,  when  a  terrible  incident 
occurred  in  connection  with  it,  which 
afterwards  appeared  to  give  an  air  of 
ill-repute  to  it.  There  are  persons  yet 
living  in  Toronto  who  can  remember 
the  affair.  It  occurred  on  a  summer 
night  during  the  year  1828.  It  ap- 
pears that  a  young  man,  named  Charles 
French,  had  made  himself  obnoxious 
to  the  more  rabid  members  of  a  poli- 
tical party  under  the  patronage  or  in- 
fluence of  the  '  Family  Compact.'  A 
man  named  Nolan,  who  had  fre- 
quently appeared  as  a  sort  of  bully  in 
the  interests  of  his  party,  counted 
French  as  a  personal  enemy,  and  en- 
(.leavoured  to  annoy  bim  or  quarrel 
with  him  on  every  occasion  that  pre- 
sented itself.  On  the  night  in  ques- 
tion he  met  French  as  the  latter  was 
leaving  the  theatre,  It  was  thought 
at  the  time  that  Nolan  was  waiting 
for  him  until  the  conclusion  of  the 
pei-foi-mance,  knowing  that  he  was  at 
the  theatre  on  this  evening,  but  whe- 
ther this  supposition  was  correct  or 
not  was  never  learned.  As  French 
afterwards  alleged,  at  his  trial,  Nolan 
addressed  to  him  some  insulting  epi- 
thets, and  then  raised  a  wea])on  of 
some  kind  to  strike  him.  French 
immediately  drew  a  pistol  and  fa- 
tally shot  his  assailant.  He  was  ar- 
I'ested,  tried,  and  condemned  to  death. 
Petitions  for  a  reprieve  were  exten- 
sively circulated  and  signed  ;  but  they 
had  no  efi'ect.  The  afternoon  preced- 
ing the  day  appointed  for  the  execu- 
tion a  meeting  of  the  Executive  Coun- 
cil was  held  to  consider  the  question 
of  reprieve,  but  the  members  dispersed 
without  taking  action  in  the  matter". 
Yet  the  efforts  on  behalf  of  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man  were  not  relaxed, 
and,  still  hoping  for  a  reprieve,  Gov- 
4 


ernor  Maitland  called  a  meeting  of  the 
Council  at  midnight,  but  all  attempts 
to  obtain  a  reprieve  were  in  vain. 
Young  French  was  hanged  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  on  the  spot  which  now 
forms  the  site  of  the  building  occupied 
by  Messrs.  Rice  Lewis  &  Son,  on  the 
corner  of  King  and  Toronto  Streets. 

From  1830  until  1842  there  was  no 
regular  place  of  amusement — that  is, 
no  place  in  which  dramatic  perform- 
ances were  given  for  a  sufficiently  long 
period  to  be  recognised  as  and  called 
a  theatre.  For  a  short  time  during 
1833  a  frame  building,  situated  on 
King,  near  Jordan  Street,  which 
had  been  used  as  a  Methodist  church, 
was  changed  from  an  altar  to  God  to 
a  temple  to  Thespis.  But  it  was  soon 
closed  up. 

Early  in  the  autumn  of  1842  a  large 
hall  in  the  North  American  Hotel, 
situated  on  the  corner  of  Front  and 
Scott  Streets,  was  fitted  up  as  a  thea- 
tre. The  stage,  scenery  and  proper- 
ties were  still  on  a  very  humble  scale, 
but  a  considerable  advance  had  been 
made  in  providing  intellectual  enter- 
tainment. Messrs.  Dean  &  Forrest 
were  the  managers,  and  the  first  piece 
produced  by  them  was  London  Assur- 
ance. In  the  advertisement  announc- 
ing the  performance  it  was  stated  that 
a  Miss  Clemence  would  dance  La 
Cac/mca,  and  the  evening's  amuse- 
ment would  conclude  with  a  farce 
called  Sudden  TJioughls.  The  box  en- 
trance was  on  Front  Street,  and  the 
pit  and  gallery  entrance  on  Scott 
Street.  Admission — box,  3s.  9d.  ; 
pit,  2s.  6d.  ;  gallery,  Is.  3d.  On  Oc- 
tober 1st  of  the  same  year  Dean  & 
Forrest's  company  united  with  Mi-. 
Braham  and  Son,  and  produced  the 
opera  of  Guy  Manneriny,  Mr.  Bra- 
ham,  sen.,  assuming  the  role  of  '  Harry 
Bertram.'  A  vocal  concert  followed. 
The  name  of  Miss  Clemence  frequently 
appears  in  the  local  press  of  that 
time  as  an  exponent  of  fancy  dancing. 
A  lady  named  Mrs.  Noah  was  the 
leading  attraction  at  the  new  theatre, 
and  an  editorial  note  in  the  Toronto 


GO: 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


Herald  said  that  she  was  '  the  best 
actress  Toronto  had  ever  seen ' — a 
rather  doubtful  compliment,  as  it  con- 
veyed very  little  infonnation  concern- 
ing the  actress's  histrionic  abilities.  On 
October  4th  she  was  tendered  a  bene- 
fit, the  advertisement  reading  that  Mrs. 
Noah  (late  iNIrs.  McClure)  would  ap- 
pear in  Sheridan  Knowles'  play  of 
TJte  Loi^  Chase,  and  in  a  melodrama 
entitled  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.  About 
tlie  same  time  a  vocal  and  instrumental 
concert  was  given  in  the  City  Hall  by 
Signor  Nagel,  a  pupil  of  Paganini,  and 
first  violinist  to  the  King  of  Sweden. 
For  two  weeks,  commencing  Satur- 
day, loth  Octobei',  a  panorama,  re- 
presenting views  of  the  Storming  of 
Seringapatam,  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar, 
and  Captains  Parry  and  Hooper's 
last  voyage  to  the  Arctic  regions,  was 
on  exhibition  in  a  large  building 
erected  for  the  purpose  on  King, 
between  Bay  and  York  Streets.  The 
entrance  was  fi'om  the  Waterloo  Build- 
ings, and  the  price  of  admission  was 
2s.  6d.  for  the  front  seats,  and  Is.  3d. 
for  the  back  seats — the  reserved 
chair  is  comparatively  a  modern  in- 
novation. The  season  closed  on  Oc- 
tober 13th,  when  a  performance  was 
given  for  the  benefit  of  Mr.  Forrest, 
one  of  the  managers.  At  the  City 
Hall,  on  October  25th,  Mrs.  Gibbs, 
formerly  Miss  Graddon,  gave  what 
was  styled  a  Soiree  Musicale.  Single 
tickets  were  5s.  each,  but  a  gentleman 
accompanied  by  tico  ladies  was  ad- 
mitted for  10s. 

With  the  new  year  the  house  in 
which  theatrical  representations  were 
given  received  a  new  name,  and  was 
thenceforth  styled  Theatre  Royal.  On 
Wednesday  evening,  18th  January, 
1843,  was  given  the  first  of  a  series 
of  dramatic  entertainments  by  the 
officers  of  the  83rd  and  Royal  Artil- 
lery Regiments  in  aid  of  local  chari- 
ties. The  comedy  of  Charles  II. 
and  a  farce,  The  Irish  Lion,  were 
presented  on  that  occasion,  together 
with  '  a  variety  of  singing  and  danc- 
ing,' according  to  the  wording  of  the 


advertisements.  Under  the  latter 
were  included  an  Irish  song  by  Mr. 
Deering,  and  a  Highland  fling  in  cos- 
tume by  a  Miss  Fitzjames.  The  band 
of  the  83rd  Regiment  formed  the  or- 
chestra. In  commenting  upon  the 
performance,  a  contemporary  journal 
stated  that  the  part  of  '  Mary  '  in  the 
force  was  taken  by  Mr.  Portal  (an 
oflicer  in  the  83rd),  and  naively 
adds  that  '  the  ladies  were  in  rap- 
tures at  her  acting,  and  the  gentle- 
men waxed  eloquent  in  praising  her 
ankles.'  The  tickets  were  placed  at 
3s.  6d.  currency,  rather  a  high  figure 
for  a  general  admission,  but  possibly 
raised  in  view  of  the  charitable  object. 
The  officers  composing  this  company 
afterwards  gave  occasional  perform- 
ances, under  the  title  of  garrison  ama- 
teurs, and  were  assisted  by  two  or 
three  ladies,  who  assumed  some  of  the 
female  characters.  Rockwell  and 
Stone's  circus  appeai-ed  in  the  city  on 
the  17th,  18th  and  19th  of  July, 
occupying  a  space  of  ground  between 
the  '  Pavilion  '  and  the  Ontario  House 
Hotel,  and  giving  what  they  called 
'  a  novel,  classical,  and  highly  amus- 
ing entertainment'  The  principal  at- 
traction was  Mynheer  Ley  den,  the 
Dutch  giant.  On  August  11th  and 
15th  concerts  were  given  in  the  City 
Hall  by  a  Mr.  Wallace,  who  called 
himself  leader  of  the  Anacreontic  So- 
ciety in  Dublin,  and  director  of  the 
Italian  Opera  in  Mexico.  He  met  with 
moderate  success,  and  was  followed, 
on  the  6th  September,  by  Signor  Beg- 
nis,  who  was  assisted  by  the  band  of 
the  93rd  Highlanders.  That  famous 
ventriloquist  and  magician,  Signor 
Blitz,  gave  performances  at  the  City 
Hall  on  November  22nd,  23rd,  and 
24th. 

After  the  display  of  legerdemain, 
there  was  a  dearth  of  amusement  for 
some  time,  and  not  until  the  18th  of 
July,  1844,  was  a  public  entertain- 
ment given.  On  that  date  a  foreign 
nobleman.  Baron  de  Fleur  by  name, 
styling  himself  pianist  and  inspector- 
general  of  military  music  to  the  Em- 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


603 


peror  of  livissia,  gave  a  vocal  and  in- 
strumental concert  in  the  City  Hall, 
assisted  by  several  amateur  vocal- 
ists. There  was  a  large  and  fashionable 
attendance,  the  rank  of  the  principal 
performer  having,  doubtless,  something 
to  do  with  the  success  of  the  entertain- 
ment. The  baron,  in  conjunction  with 
a  Mr.  Edwin  W.  Bliss,  subsequently 
started  a  music  academy,  at  No.  40 
Yonge  Street ;  but  the  partnership 
did  not  exist  very  long,  and  both  gen- 
tlemen opened  rival  establishments. 
The  celebrated  violinist,  Ole  Bull, 
'  had  the  honour  to  announce  to  the 
gentry  of  Toronto  ' — as  per  advertise- 
ments— a  grand  concert  at  the  Citv 
Hall,  on  the  23rd  July,  1844.  On  this 
occasion  the  band  of  the  82nd,  a  regi- 
ment recently  arrived  in  the  city, 
made  its  first  appearance  in  connec- 
tion with  and  assisting  in  public  en- 
tertainments, but  during  the  two  years 
in  which  the  corps  formed  portion  of 
the  garrison  of  Toronto,  the  services  of 
the  band  were  frequently  required, 
and,  with  the  permission  of  the  com- 
manding officer,  Colonel  Mackay,  were 
as  often  forthcoming. 

Not  until  the  year  1845  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close,  did  the  necessity  of 
a  regular  theatre  become  so  apparent 
as  to  lead  to  the  erection  of  a  build- 
ing purposely  constructed  for  drama- 
tic representations.  In  the  mean- 
time the  City  Hall,  and  the  Govern- 
ment House  on  King  Street  west, 
were  each  made  the  rendezvous  of 
amusement-seeking  citizens  ;  and  dur- 
ing this  period  the  names  of  Messrs. 
Henry  Phillips,  Frazer,  and  Sloman, 
Mrs.  Seguin,  and  Mr.  Seguiu,  the 
Misses  Sloman,  and  Signers  Antog- 
nini  and  Sanquiroco  figured  in  the 
announcements  of  vocal  and  instru- 
mental concerts,  while  prominent 
among  the  specialties  exhibited  were 
panoramic  views  of  the  heavens,  a 
musical  box  representing  a  complete 
band,  Swiss  Bell  Ringing,  a  menag- 
erie with  Herr  Driesbach,  the  lion 
tamer,  and  monstrosities  of  human 
nature  in  the  persons  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


Randall,  the  Scotch  giant  and  giant- 
ess, whose  combined  height  was  over 
fourteen  feet,  and  their  weight  over 
seven  hundi'ed  pounds. 

On  Monday  evening,  12th  January, 
1846,  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  situated 
on  the  site  of  the  present  Royal  Opera 
House,  King  Street  West,  was  opened 
by  the  Toronto  Amateur  Theatrical 
Society.  The  play  selected  for  the 
occasion  was  The  School  for  Scandal, 
a  piece  which,  by  a  strange  coinci- 
dence, was  performed  on  the  opening 
night  of  the  Grand  Opera  House 
some  few  years  ago.  In  the  new 
theatre  there  was  accommodation  for 
five  hundred,  and  the  scale  of  prices 
during  the  early  part  of  its  history 
was,  box,  5s.  ;  pit,  2s.  ^d.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  theatrical  society  above 
referred  to  were  styled  'Gentlemen 
Amateurs,'  and  they  did  not  confine 
the  display  of  their  abilities  to  Tor- 
onto, but  gave  occasional  perform- 
ances in  Hamilton.  One  of  these 
!  gentlemen,  Mr.  Lennox  by  name,  was 
tendered  a  benefit  on  the  evening  of 
the  28th  of  April,  Eoh  Roy  forming 
t\i.e  piece  de  resistance,  and  the  farce, 
The  Review,  concluding  the  enter- 
tainment. In  the  former  the  realism 
of  the  representation  was  consider- 
ably heightened  by  the  fact  that  the 
English  troops  supposed  to  appear 
in  the  play  were  actually  present  in 
the  persons  of  some  members  of  the 
82nd  regiment.  The  city  band  formed 
the  orchestra.  May  8th  was  a  red- 
letter  day  in  the  history  of  the  '  gen- 
tlemen amateurs'  of  Toronto,  for  on 
that  date  an  amateur  theatrical  society 
from  Hamilton  gave  a  very  creditable 
performance  at  the  Lyceum,  playing 
two  pieces,  Douglas  and  The  Mar- 
ried Rake.  Early  in  May  it  was  an- 
nounced through  the  press  that  the 
18th  instant  would  be  '  positively  the 
last  night '  of  the  season,  when  Mr. 
Mirfield,  with  a  view  to  the  comfort 
of  the  audience,  would  have  the  house 
ventilated.  But  like  many  other  '  last 
night'  announcements  since  then,  this 
one  was  a  *  snare  and  a  delusion,'  for 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


604 

it  was  subsequently  advertised  that 
the  celebrated  actress,  Mrs.  Harrison, 
being  on  her  way  from  New  York  to 
Montreal,  was  present  in  the  city,  and 
had  been  prevailed  upon  to  favour  the 
citizens  with  a  performance  for  one 
aright  only,  on  the  19th  instant.  She 
was  assisted  by  the  Mr.  Lennox  pre- 
viously referred  to,  Hotzbue's  play  of 
The  Stranger  being  produced.  Mrs. 
Hai-rison,  however,  was  prevailed 
upon  to  remain  longer  than  the  term 
of  her  announcement,  for  she  appeared 
on  one  or  two  other  occasions  before 
finally  leaving  for  Montreal.  On  June 
1st,  the  Lyceum  was  first  opened 
under  a  regular  professional  man- 
agement. Mr.  Skerrett,  who  hailed 
from  different  theatres  in  the  north 
of  England,  grasped  the  helm  of  thea- 
trical affairs  in  Toronto  by  opening 
the  Lyceum  for  a  short  season.  His 
experience  as  manager,  however,  was 
like  unto  that  of  many  others  holding 
a  similar  position  in  Toronto  since  his 
tinl^.  His  expenses  were  far  in  ad- 
vance of  his  receipts,  and  the  season 
came  to  an  abrupt  close  before  the 
date  at  first  appointed.  The  fault  was 
not  his  own,  for  he  brought  a  good 
dramatic  company,  in  which  was  in- 
cluded his  wife  ;  l3ut  his  efforts  to  pro- 
vide a  high  class  of  dramatic  enter- 
tainments were  not  sufficiently  appre- 
ciated, and  he  left  the  city  with  an 
unfavourable  impression  of  its  inhab- 
itants. During  the  season  he  adver- 
tised the  early  appearance  of  Miss 
Celeste,  a  premiere  danseuse  from  Ni- 
blo's.  New  York,  but  that  lady  failed 
to  fulfil  her  engagement,  although  a 
considerable  sum  of  money  had  been 
advanced  to  her  by  the  management 
of  the  Lyceum.  Th^  press  frequently 
appealed  to  the  public  to  sustain  Mr. 
Skerrett  in  his  enterprise,  and  on  one 
or  two  occasions  lodges  of  the  Masonic 
Society  visited  the  theatre  in  a  body, 
but  yet  the  unfortunate  manager  lost 
heavily.  The  season  closed  on  the 
evening  of  June  26th,  and  after  the 
performance  Mr.  Skerrett,  who  ap- 
pears to  have  been  an  eccentric  cha- 


racter with  a  philosophic  turn  of  mind, 
made  a  vaiedictoiy  speech,  replete 
with  amusing  allusions  to  his  recent 
financial  disasters.  He  stated  that  he 
had  settled  all  claims  against  him,  and 
in  reference  to  the  payment  of  the 
members  of  his  compaay  for  their  ser- 
vices he  recited  a  few  verses  of  his 
own  composition.  It  will  be  observed 
that  they  are  written  after  the  man- 
ner of  Wolfe's  poem,  '  The  Burial  of 
Sir  John  Moore.' 

Not  a  guinea  remained,  not  a  one  pound  note, 
As  they  to  their  hotels  hurried  ; 

Nor  left  me  in  pity  one  farewell  shot. 

In  the  chest  where  nothing  lay  buried. 

Few  and  short  were  the  words  they  said — 
And  those  not  the  words  of  sorrow, 

As  cheerfully  off  with  their  money  they  fled, 
And  I  not  a  rap  for  the  morrow. 

Slowly  and  sadly  I  sat  me  down, 

With  my  hand  on  my  upper  storey  (strik- 
ing forehead), 
And  I  felt  as  I  pressed  my  only  crown, 

That  cash  was  better  than  glory. 

Mrs,  Skerrett,  who,  during  her  short 
residence  in  Toronto,  had  made  an 
enviable  reputation  as  an  actress, 
was  called  before  the  curtain  at 
the  conclusion  of  her  husband's  ad- 
dress. A  peculiar  feature  of  the  theat- 
rical advertisements  during  the  period 
referi'ed  to  was  that,  in  every  issue 
of  the  papers,  special  attention  was 
called  to  the  fact  that  '  the  theatre 
was  thoroughly  ventilated,'  and  there 
was  '  no  admission  behind  the  scenes.' 
The  next  name  occurring  in  the  amuse- 
ment annals  of  the  city  is  one  fami- 
liar to  many  Torontonians  during 
nearly  half  a  century.  George  Yan- 
denhoff,  the  celebrated  elocutionist, 
gave  readings  from  Shakespeare 
at  the  Old  City  Hall — for  now  it 
was  so  called,  as  a  new  one  had  been 
erected — on  the  10th  July,  1846. 
The  price  of  admission  was  $\,  show- 
ing that  American  monetary  terms 
were  now  beginning  to  be  used. 
A  few  evenings  afterwards,  July 
24th,  a  concert  was  given  in  the 
Government  House,  by  Leopold  de 
Meyer,  a  pianist  of  some  repute.  For 
four  days  during  the  following  month 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


G05 


Howe's  circus  provided  recreation  for 
the  residents  of  the  city  and  vicinity, 
■when  Madame  Marie  Marcarte  (a 
name  bearing  a  suspicious  resemblance 
to  the  familiar  McCarthy)  was  an- 
nounced as  *  tlie  beautiful  and  daring 
equestrienne,'  while  Dan  Pace  per- 
formed the  duties  of  clown  at  the  en- 
tertainment. For  over  a  yearfollowing, 
there  was  experienced  a  great  dearth 
of  amusements,  but  the  little  provided 
was,  with  a  single  exception,  confined 
to  theatricals.  The  Lyceum  was  I'e- 
opened,  16th  September,  by  the  gentle- 
men amateurs,  when  The  Foor  Gentle- 
man, under  the  synonymous  title  of 
Canadian  Virtne,  was  the  principal 
piece  selected,  the  performance  con- 
cluding with  the  farce  called  His  Last 
Legs.  On  this  occasion  the  band  of 
the  81st  Regiment,  by  permission  of 
the  Colonel,  Sir  Charles  Chichester, 
formed  the  orchestra.  On  the  2nd, 
.^th,  and  6th  of  the  following  month, 
the  performances  were  enlivened  and 
varied  by  the  exhibition  of  dancing,  by 
a  Miss  liosalie  Hill ;  the  Polka,  then 
recently  introduced,  being  advertised 
as  a  specialty.  The  Old  City  Hall  was 
again  called  into  requisition  on  the  5th 
November,  Mr.  Wall,  a  blind  harper, 
giving  a  concert  under  the  patronage 
of  the  Rev.  Dr.  McCaul.  Several 
amateur  vocalists  tendered  their  ser- 
vices. After  a  lapse  of  a  month  the 
Lyceum  was  reopened,  December  18th, 
when  the  amateur  theatrical  societies 
of  Hamilton  and  Toronto  united  to 
present  a  comedy,entitled  King  O'Neill, 
or  the  hish  Brigade,  and  a  farce,  with 
a  title  which  could  bear  considerable 
abbreviation,  viz.,  Lid  you  ever  send 
your  Wife  to  the  Falls  ? 

With  a  view,  probably,  to  reimburse 
himself  for  losses  previously  sustained 
in  the  city,  Mr.  Skerrett  considerately 
overlooked  his  former  expensive  ex- 
perience, and  returned  to  the  Lyceum 
in  June,  1847,  bringing  with  him,  as  a 
kind  of  loadstone  with  which  to  at- 
tract back  to  his  pockets  the  precious 
metal  of  which  he  had  been  deprived, 
the  eminent  tragedian,  Mr.  J.  W.  Wal- 


lack.  A  sei'ies  of  Shakespearian  plays 
were  then  produced,  with  a  result 
which  completely  satisfied  the  enter- 
prising manager. 

For  two  years  there  was  a  dearth  of 
dramatic  entertainment  in  Toronto. 
Managers  and  proprietors  of  '  shows  ' 
seemed  shy  of  the  city,  but  when  the 
tide  returned  it  was  overwhelming. 
Not  until  April  the  29th,  18.50,  was 
the  Lyceum  again  devoted  to  its  legiti- 
mate purpose.  On  the  date  men- 
tioned, Mr.  De  Walden,  who  was  pre- 
viously employed  as  stage  manager  by 
Mr.  Skerrett,  assumed  the  position  of 
director,  and  secured,  as  his  first  at- 
traction, an  actress  of  some  reputation, 
named  Miss  Mary  Duflf.  The  pieces 
presented  were  styled,  according  to  ad- 
vertisements, '  petite  dramas  and  ele- 
gant comediettas.'  The  Hill  family, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  and  Miss  Rosa- 
lie, formed  part  of  the  company,  and 
frequently  appeared  in  the  Lyceum  for 
a  long  time  afterwards.  On  May  7th 
a  minstrel  ^ro^«/)e  appeared  for  the  first 
time  in  Toronto.  The  members  of  the 
company  were  styled  '  Nightingale 
Ethiopian  Serenadei'S,'  and  they  per- 
formed under  the  management  of  a 
Mr.  George  Harvey.  In  contradistinc- 
tion to  the  '  black  vocalists,'  a  company 
called  '  White  Serenaders  '  appeared 
at  the  Lyceum  for  three  nights,  com- 
mencing July  8th.  They  were  accom- 
panied by  the  famous  Christy's  Min- 
strels. But  it  has  been  omitted  to 
mention  that  during  De  Walden's 
management  the  theatre  received  an 
addition  to  its  name,  and  was  called 
the  Theatre  Royal  Lyceum  ;  a  month 
subsequent  the  first  of  the  trio  of 
words  was  dropped,  and  thenceforth 
the  place  was  known  as  the  Royal  Ly- 
ceum. Mi\  T.  P.  Besnard,  a  gentle- 
man who,  in  former  years,  had  fre- 
quently assisted  at  amateur  theatrical 
performances,  was  the  next  manager  or 
lessee  of  the  Royal.  He  opened  the 
theatre  on  the  loth  July,  with  the 
Martinetti  Family,  in  ])antomime  and 
incidental  ballet.  This  company  re- 
mained  for   a  couple   of  weeks,  and 


OOo 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


their  farewell  performance  was  given 
under  the  patronage  of  the  officers  of 
the  71st  Highlanders,  as  that  regiment 
then  formed  part  of  the  resident  gar- 
rison. The  iloyal  Lyceum  continued 
under  Mr.  Besnard's  management  until 
the  close  of  the  year,  but  did  not  re- 
main regularly  open.  During  the  pe- 
riod here  included,  there  were  sev- 
eral performances  held,  prominence 
being  given  to  the  names  of  Mrs. 
Mossop,  Mrs.  Kinlock,  Miles.  E.  &.  C. 
Kendall,  Mr.  Fleming,  and  the  Hill 
family.  There  also  appeared  at  the 
Lyceum  Mons.  Adrien,  the  magician  ; 
Miss  Eliza  Brienti,  vocalist ;  a  pano- 
rama of  Edinburgh  ;  and  a  company 
of  Swiss  Bell  ringers,  who  gave" their 
exhibitions  in  '  native  '  costume.  On 
the  9th  August,  a  visit  was  paid  to 
the  city  by  the  Mayor  and  a  num- 
ber of  citizens  of  Buffalo.  On  this  occa- 
sion a  '  big  bill '  was  presented  at  the  Ly- 
ceum, and  by  permission  of  Colonel  Sir 
Hew  Dalrymple,  the  band  of  the  71st 
was  again  allowed  to  act  as  orchestra. 
It  was  during  this  year  that  the  Tem- 
perance Hall  is  first  heard  of  in  con- 
nection with  public  entertainments, 
for,  on  November  11th,  an  Indian  con- 
cert of  vocal  music  was  given  in  that 
place,  by  Mr.  Dsyacs  Rokwoho  and 
his  sisters,  Misses  Sosanenh  and  Yo- 
gonwiea.  It  is  to  be  hoped  there  was 
more  music  in  the  voices  than  in  the 
names  of  the  dusky  vocalists.  For  the 
next  two  years  tl.ere  was  again  a  com- 
parative dearth  of  amusements,  and 
duiing  that  time  no  person  of  import- 
ance in  theatrical  life  appeared  in  the 
city. 

Whatever  dramatic  performances 
or  other  entertainments  took  place 
dui-ing  the  following  year  and  a  half 
must  remain  unrecalled  to  mind  at 
present,  for  it  is  found  impossible 
to  learn  anything  about  them.  The 
thread  is  taken  up  again,  however, 
with  the  year  1852. 

Mrs.  Emma  Bostwick  gave  a  con- 
cert at  the  Royal  Lyceum  on  August 
20,  1852,  assisted  by  Mr.  Henry 
Appy  (violinist  to  the  King  of  Hol- 


land) ;  and  shortly  afterwards  a  pano- 
rama of  the  World's  Fair,  then  in  pro- 
gress in  the  Crystal  Palace,  London, 
was  exhibited  by  the  widely-known 
showman,  Mr.  P.  T.  Barnum. 

Messrs.  and  Miss  Frazer,  the  Scot- 
tish vocalists,  appeared  at  the  St. 
Lawrence  Hall,  May  17,  1853.  In 
April  of  the  same  year  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Iloyal  Lyceum  was  taken 
in  hand  by  Mr.  Johii  Nickinson  (father 
of  Mrs.  Charlotte  Morrison,  recently 
of  the  Grand  Opera  House).  Two 
months  later  is  fii'st  heard  the 
name  since  very  familiar  to  the  resi- 
dents of  Toronto,  for  on  June  13th 
Mr.  C.  W.  Couldock  commenced  a 
week's  engagement,  during  which  a 
Shakespearian  play  formed  the  chief 
atti-action  at  each  night's  perform- 
ance. The  dancing  of  the  Misseg 
Cook,  two  young  danseuses  who  had 
recently  made  their  appeax-ance  in 
Toronto,  formed  a  pleasing  interlude 
between  drama  and  farce.  On  Fri- 
day, June  17,  Mr.  C.  W.  Couldock 
received  a  benefit,  on  which  occasion 
Hamlet  was  selected  for  representa- 
tion, when,  '  in  order  to  give  proper 
effect  to  this  sublime  creation  of  the 
immortal  bard  of  Avon,'  no  other  piece 
was  played.  At  this  time  the  prices 
of  admission  were  as  follows  : — 
Dre.«s  circle,  2s.  6d.  ;  upper  box.  Is. 
lOid.  ;  pit,  Is.  3d.  Sand  &  Quick's 
circus,  with  the  late  Billy  Pastor  as 
clown,  gave  exhibitions  on  July  8th 
and  9th.  The  enterprising  Mr.  Nickin- 
son next  attempted  opera,  producing 
Bellini's  Norma  on  the  8  th  of  July 
with  encouraging  success.  The  prices 
were  raised  to  meet  increased  expenses, 
ranging  from  7s.  6d.  to  2s.  6d.  On 
the  same  evening  St.  Lawrence  Hall 
was  used  by  the  temperance  lecturer, 
Neal  Dow,  for  the  purpose  of  explain- 
ing the  system  and  working  of  the 
Maine  Liqxior  Law.  The  next  name 
occurring  is  one  possessing  some  slight 
interest,  as  its  owner  has  since  risen 
to  an  advanced  position  in  the  line  of 
art  she  had  chosen  to  follow.  In  a 
concert  given,  under  the  management 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


607 


of  Mr.  Jaell,  15th  Jitly,  Camilla  Urso, 
then  a  little  girl  of  ten  or  twelve  years 
of  age,  was  announced  as  a  special  at- 
traction. Her  execution  on  the  violin 
was  compared  with  that  of  Ole  Bull. 
A  peculiar  feature  in  entertainments 
was  advertised  in  connection  with 
8palding  &  Rogers's  circus,  which 
was  exhibited  in  the  city  on  the 
29th  and  30th  of  July.  At  the  per- 
formance every  night,  in  addition  to 
the  usual  circus  attractions,  '  a  melo- 
drama was  acted  and  comic  ballets 
were  danced.'  As  an  evidence  of  the 
rapid  advance  which  theatricals  were 
making  in  Toronto,  it  is  stated  that 
on  July  15,  on  the  occasion  of  a  per- 
formance under  the  patronage  of  the 
Toi'onto  Y'acht  Club,  a  new  drop- 
scene  would  be  used.  This  addition 
to  the  '  properties  '  was  sketched  by 
Mr.  W.  Armstrong,  C.E.,  and  was 
painted  by  Mr.  Burton.  It  '  repre- 
sented the  bay  as  seen  from  Mr.  Wid- 
der's  gate  ' — a  piece  of  information 
doubtless  intelligible  to  Toronto's  in- 
habitants at  that  date.  About  this 
time  Mr.  Nickinson  opened  a  thea- 
tre in  Hamilton,  which,  dui'ing 
the  term  of  its  existence,  seems  to 
have  been  properly  encouraged.  The 
Lyceum,  having  been  closed  for  a 
couple  of  months,  re-opened  Septem- 
ber 9th,  with  London  Assurance  and 
The  Irish  Tutor.  This  opened  the 
second  regular  season  under  Mr.  Nick- 
inson's  management.  The  Siamese 
Twins,  Chang  and  Eng,  each  accom- 
panied by  one  of  their  children,  paid 
the  city  a  visit  on  October  3rd  and 
4th.  They  were  exhibited  in  St. 
Lawrence  Hall,  and  the  price  of  ad- 
mission was  7 id.  After  this  came  a 
panorama,  representing  Adam  and 
Eve  in  Paradise.  Ole  Bull  reappeared 
November  23rd,  giving,  perhaps,  the 
first  of  his  since  celebrated  *  farewell 
concerts  in  America.'  He  was  assisted 
by  Signorina  Adelina  Patti  (then 
termed  the  musical  phenomenon),  and 
Maurice  Sti^akosh,  pianist.  Mons. 
Gr'du  was  the  manager. 

The   Nickinson   sisters,     Charlotte 


and  Eliza,  made  their  first  profes- 
sional appearance  in  April,  1854,  and 
became  at  once  deservedly  popular. 
Of  this  year  there  is  nothing  of  much 
importance  to  chronicle.  The  amuse- 
ments offered  to  the  public  were 
panoramas  of  the  Canadas,  of  the 
Eastern  War  (the  Crimean),  and  of 
the  River  Thames,  all  exhibited  in 
St.  Lawrence  Hall;  a  concert  by  Herr 
Griebel,  Franconi's  Hippodrome,  San- 
ford's  Burlesque  Opera  Troupe,  Leger- 
demain, by  Macallister,  the  Wizard  ; 
and  the  Maddern  Family  of  special- 
ists. To  judge  by  Macallister's  ad- 
vertisements he  would  readily  be  taken 
for  an  arrant  humbug.  He  stated 
that  his  wife,  by  whom  he  was  as- 
sisted, was  a  Parisian  lady  of  noble 
family  ;  and  that  he  was  accompanied 
by  a  private  secretary,  servants,  and 
numerous  assistants.  The  entertain- 
ments, which  were  of  the  usual  gift 
character,  were  given  in  the  French 
and  English  languages  ;  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  surmise  what  purpose  could 
here  be  served  by  this  display  of  lin- 
guistic knowledge.  Theatrical  ad- 
vertisements during  the  year  1854 
wound  up  with  the  legend,  '  God 
save  the  Queen,'  '  Vive  V Empereur 
des  Francais,'  in  recognition  of  the 
alliance  between  England  and  France, 
whose  armies  were  then  ranged  side 
by  side  in  the  Crimea. 

Having  thus  closely  traced  drama- 
tic and  other  similar  events  up  to 
the  end  of  the  year  1854,  it  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  particularize,  with  day 
and  date,  the  performances  given  by 
artists  who  subsequently  appeared. 
The  peiiod  mentioned  is  a  compa- 
ratively recent  one,  and  after  it  the- 
atrical affairs  are  familiar  to  the 
major  portion  of  Toronto's  theatre- 
going  public.  It  will  be  sufficient, 
therefore,  to  recall  the  names  of  the 
prominent  professionals  who  have  vis- 
ited the  city  from  that  time  to  the 
present,  reserving  for  a  detailed  re- 
cital those  events  possessing  a  more 
than  ordinary  interest.  The  season  of 
1855   was    opened   at  the  Royal   Ly- 


COS 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


ceum  by  Madame  Rose  Devries,  who 
gave    a  concert  from    operatic    selec- 
tions ;  and  on  Monday,  July  2nd,  of 
the  same  year,  the  clever  author  and 
actor,  the  late  John  Brougham,  made 
his  tirst    appearance  in  Toronto,    re- 
maining   for  one    week.      The  Lush 
Lion  was  the  principal  piece  in  his 
repertoire.    Early  in  the  spring,  a  cer- 
tain strong-minded  female,  named  Miss 
Lucy  Stone,  who  disclaimed  marriage 
as  a  necessary   rite   between  the  two 
sexes,    gave    a   series    of  lectures  on 
*  Woman,'  in  St.  Lawrence  Hall.    Her 
advent  created  no  little  excitement  in 
the  city.     However,  despite  her  ener- 
getic advocacy  of  woman's  right  to  an 
impartial  distribution  of  her  affections, 
the  fair   lecturer  herself  was  subse- 
quently led  to  the  hymeneal  altar,  but 
under  protest  (?)  so  it  was  stated.    Mr. 
D'Arcy  McGee  also  gave  a  series  of 
lectures  in  the  same  hall  a  short  time 
afterwards.    Among  the  stars  engaged 
by  Mr,  Nickinson   during  the  season, 
were   Mr.   and  Miss  Caroline   Rich- 
ings.  Miss  Louisa  Howard,  and  Mr. 
Henry  Farren,  Mr.  G.  K.  Dickenson, 
and  Mr.  G.  S.  Lee.     The  name  of  W. 
Davidge  occurs  Nov.  26,  when  he  ap- 
peared at  the  Eoyal  in  The  Poor  Gen- 
tleman, and  in  the  Wandering  Minstrel. 
He   was   engaged  for  a  week.     Miss 
Charlotte  Nickinson  was  tendered  her 
first  benefit  on   November   12th.     In 
addition  to  the  Misses   Cook  already 
mentioned,  the  services  of  Monsieur 
and    Mdme.    Bouxary,    terpsichorean 
artists,   were    secured   for  the  season 
ending  with  the  spring  of  1856.   Chief 
among  the   other  attractions    offered 
during  the  year  1855,  were  concerts 
by   Mdlle  Theresa  Parodi  and  Mdme. 
Amalia   Patti,  and  Paul   Julien  and 
August  Goekel ;  North's   Circus    and 
jMyer  and    Maddigan's    Menagerie   ; 
and  Curran's  Ethiopian  Opera  troop. 
But    the  year  was  destined   to   close 
with  a  painful  tragedy,  which  for  a 
short  while  was    adverse    to  the   in- 
terests of  theatricals.    For  the  Christ- 
mas and  New  Year's  holidays,  a  spec- 
taciilar    piece    called  The    Enchanted 


Isle,  an    adaptation  of  The    Tempest, 
had  been  prepared.     Miss  Rosa  Cook, 
the     younger   of  the  two   sisters  be- 
fore   referred    to,    had    assumed    the 
role  of  a  fairy,  and  was  attired  there- 
for in  a    dress  of  light  muslin.     The 
exposed    situation   of    the  stage  ren- 
dered   necessary    the    presence    of    a 
stove  at  each  side,  and  in  passing  one 
of  these  Miss  Cook's  skirt  caught  fire. 
In  an  instant  she  was  in  a  blaze.    She 
gave  a  cry  of  terror   and  rushed    to- 
wards the  second  fly.  Mr.  Petrie,  oneof 
the  company,  who  was  dressed  for  the 
King,  tore  off  his  heavy  cloak  and  put 
out  the   flames.     For  a  moment  the 
manager,  Mr.   Nickinson,  thought  it 
was  his  youngest   daughter,  and  sup- 
posing the  flames  were  stifled    I'aised 
the   cloak.     They  again    burst   forth 
but  were  immediately    extinguished. 
This  happened  out  of  sight  of  the  au- 
dience, but    those    in   front    became 
aware  of  the  excitement   inside   the 
wings,    and    raised    a    cry   that    the 
house  was  on  fire.     Many   rose  from 
their   seats    and  prepared    to    leave, 
but   Miss  Charlotte   Nickinson,  with 
great  forethought,  came  forward  and 
explained  that  there  was  no  danger. 
This  reassured  the  audience,  and  those 
who  had   prepared  to  leave  resumed 
their  seats.    Mr.  Nickinson  then  made 
his  appearance,  and  after  explaining 
the  nature  of  the  accident,  stated  that 
the    performance    would    be    discon- 
tinued.      The    theatre    was    speedily 
cleared.       The    unfortunate  girl  was 
carried  to  her  dressing-room  where  she 
received    medical     attendance.     Her 
dress  was  completely  burnt,  and  from 
the  first  it  was  evident  that  her  in- 
juries were  of  a  very  serious  nature. 
She   remained   i;nconscious  until  her 
death,  which   took  place  at  half-past 
four   o'clock    the    following  (Friday) 
morning.      Her  father,   the  leader  of 
the  orchestra,    was  a  witness  of  the 
accident.   The  theatre  remained  closed 
until  New  Year's  night,  and  on  Thurs- 
day evening,  January  17,   1856,  a  be- 
nefit was  tendered  Mr.  Thomas   Cook 
1   as  a  sort  of  salve  for  his  daughter's- 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


GOC> 


tragic  death.  On  this  occasion,  the 
overture  was  composed  by  the  benefi- 
ciary, the  services  of  the  company, 
including  Mr.  Nickinson  and  his  daugh- 
ters, and  Mons.  and  Madame  Boux- 
ary,  being  given  gratuitously. 

The  following  are  the  names  of  the 
dramatic  '  stars  '  appearing  at  the 
Koyal  during  the  year  1856  : — J.  B. 
Roberts,  Miss  Charlotte  Wythes,  Miss 
E.  Bridges,  Mr.  Neafie,  Mrs.  Ann  Sen- 
ter,  Miss  Georgiana  Hodson,  J.  W. 
Wallack,  Miss  Fanny  Morant,  (1  W. 
Couldock,  J.  Collins,  and  Mrs.  Melinda 
Jones.  Den  Thompson  made  his  first 
appearance  on  January  29th  of  this 
year,  performing  in  Paddy  Miles'  Boy, 
and  dancing  in  what  was  styled  Pas  de 
Matelot.  A  young  debutante,  named 
Miss  Avonia  Stanhope  Jones  (the  name 
suggests  a  reversion  of  the  natural 
order  of  events  —  a  patrician  beginning 
with  a  plebeian  ending),  appeared  at 
the  Lyceum,  July  5th,  and  was  favour- 
ably spoken  of.  The  well-known  song, 
'  Bobbin  Around,'  was  first  introduced 
about  this  time.  It  was  made  a  spe- 
cialty of  by  Miss  T.  Nickinson,  who 
sang  it  nightly  for  the  diversion  of  con- 
temporary play-goers.  Towards  the 
close  of  the  year  it  became  apparent 
that  an  enlargement  of  the  theati-e 
was  necessary.  The  subject  was  fre- 
'■quently  ventilated  in  the  newspa 
pers  of  the  period,  and  suggested  as 
beneficial  to  the  Lyceum,  as  the 
place  was  but  poorly  supplied  with 
air.  Other  attractions  presented  du- 
ring the  year,  other  than  regular 
dramatic  performances,  were  Zavis- 
towski's  troujye  of  ballet  dancers  and 
pantomimists,  Pinect^ Harri.son'sOpera 
Company,  French  Mountaineer  (Bear- 
nais)  Singers,  and  Julia  Pastrana,  the 
bear-woman,  all  of  which  appeared  in 
the  St.    Lawrence  Hall. 

Mrs.  Macready  fulfilled  an  engage- 
ment at  the  Lyceum,  commencing  De- 
cember loth.  Her  first  appearance 
was  made  in  the  School  Jor  Scandal. 
With  reference  to  the  performance  on 
December   2Gth,    the   term    '  boxing 


night '  was  used  for  the  first,  and  we 
think  for  the  last,  time  in  Toronto. 

A  few  well-known  names  occur  in 
the  year  1857;  Messrs.  Ben  G.  Rogers, 
F.  S.  Chanfrau,  George  Holland,  and 
Mdme.  Lola  Montez,  are  the  princi- 
pal ones  appearing,  while  the  others 
are  Messrs,  Archer,  Penniston,  Bass, 
James  Bennett,  Henry  Lorraine,  Mc- 
Farlane,  Gardiner  Coyne,  ]\Ir.  and 
Mrs.  Paunceforth,  Miss  Emma  Stan- 
ley, Miss  Woodbury,  and  Mrs.  Mc- 
Mahon.  All  these  personages  played 
'  star '  engagements  at  the  Lyceum. 
Mr.  George  Holland,  whose  burial  in 
New  York  some  few  years  ago  occa- 
sioned considerable  ill-feeling  between 
members  of  the  theatrical  profession 
and  the  pastor  of  a  certain  Church  in 
the  American  metropolis,  gave  his 
first  performance  in  Toronto  on  July 
8th,  1857.  Even  at  that  day  he  was 
called  the  '  veteran  actor  ; '  and,  in 
fact,  he  did  connect  the  stage  of  a  for- 
mer generation  with  that  of  the  then 
present  day.  That  celebrated  adven- 
turess— perhaps  notorious  would  be 
a  more  fitting  term  —  Mdme.  Lola 
Montez,  Countess  of  Landsfeldt, 
filled  a  four  nights'  engagement,  com- 
mencing July  21st,  her  repertoire  con- 
sisting of  Lola  Montez  in  Bavaria, 
Charlotte  Cor  day,  and  the  old  stand- 
ard, Tlce  School  for  Scandal.''  It  was 
her  first  visit  to  Canada,  and  in  a  finan- 
cial point  of  view,  it  was  eminently 
successful.  The  theatre  was  ci'owded 
every  night.  Of  her  abilities  as  an 
actress,  the  press  s}joke  favourably, 
but  commented  in  a  desparaging  man- 
ner upon  the  play  in  which  Lola  fig- 
ured as  the  heroine.  Describing  her 
appearance,  a  journal  of  the  time  said 
that  she  was  '  of  middle  size,  with  jetty 
ringlets  and  full  black  eyes.  A  fascin- 
ating and  earnest  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, a  graceful  carriage,  a  voice 
low,  but  rendered  very  attractive  by  a 
foreign  accent,  and  the  earnest  impul- 
sive manner  in  which  she  speaks.  In- 
stead of  a  strongly  formed,  determined 
looking  woman,  she  is  an  effeminate 


610 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


and  handsome  creature.'  Altbougli 
originally  and  pre-eminently  a  dan- 
seuse,  she  gave  only  one  exhibition  of 
her  skill  while  in  the  city.  This  course 
was  necessitated  by  the  limited  space 
aflbrded  by  the  stage.  After  the  con- 
clusion of  her  last  night's  performance 
she  addressed  the  audience  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms  :  'Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
1  could  not  take  leave  of  you  without 
s  tying  a  few  words.  In  the  first  place, 
1  learn  that  some  gentlemen  in  this 
•city  have  been  at  infinite  pains  to 
spread  a  report  that  I  am  not  the  real 
Lola  Montez,  of  Bavarian  history. 
While  returning  thanks  to  those  very 
officious  gentlemen  for  their  trouble 
on  my  behalf,  allow  me  to  say  that 
there  are  very  many  persons  in  the 
United  States — Russians,  Germans, 
Italians,  and  Frenchmen — who  have 
seen  me  in  Bavaria  and  other  for- 
eign countries,  and  there  are  hun- 
dreds of  Englishmen  who  can  testify 
that  I  am  the  veritable  Lola  Montez, 
and  none  other.  On  my  own  behalf, 
I  also  assure  you  that  I  am,  indeed, 
the  same  and  identical  Lola  Montez  of 
Bavaria,  except  that  I  hope  I  am  much 
improved  since  then.  Having  estab- 
lished ray  identity,  I  would  thank  you 
for  the  kind  manner  in  which  you 
have  received  me  during  my  stay  here. 
To  the  manager — Mr.  Nickinson — I 
would  especially  express  ray  indebted- 
ness for  the  great  desire  shown  by 
him  to  make  my  stay  here  as  plo^sant 
as  possible.  The  theatrical  company 
also  deserve  my  thanks  for  their  con- 
sideration and  desire  to  make  me  com- 
fortable while  among  them.  I  am  an 
old  stager  now,  having  been  on  the 
stage  since  1842,  and  therefore  can 
speak  from  experience  when  I  say  that 
Mr.  Nickinson's  company — although 
most  of  the  members  are  young — em- 
braces ladies  and  gentlemen  of  pro- 
mising talent.  Again,  I  would  thank 
the  audience  for  their  kind  reception 
of  me.  To  the  Toronto  Press,  I  have 
also  to  say  a  few  words ;  but  it  is  not 
to  thank  its  members — excepting  one 
person.     Let  me  say  to  the  Press  of 


Toronto  a  word  of  advice.  The  stage 
may  be  made  an  instrument  of  much 
good,  and  it  is  the  province  of  the 
Press  to  watch  over  it  and  encourage 
it,  and  I  hope  that  the  Press  will  take 
down  my  words  and  act  up  to  them.' 
The  report  then  went  on  to  say  that 
'  the  intense  silence  that  ensued  when 
Lola  commenced  to  speak  of  the  Press 
was  broken  by  a  burst  of  applause,  as, 
in  conclusion,  she  bowed,  and  extend- 
ing her  hand  to  Captain  Nickinson, 
retired,  frequently  acknowledging  the 
applause  vouchsafed  to  her.' 

Miss  Mathilda  Heron  and  Miss 
Jane  Coombs,  two  well-known  names 
in  the  annals  of  the  American  stage, 
appear  in  the  announcement  of  the 
Royal  Lyceum  for  the  year  1858.  The 
great  comedian,  Charles  Matthews, 
filled  a  three  nights'  engagement,  com- 
mencing July  1st,  his  bill  for  each 
night  consisting  of  Cool  As  A  Cucum- 
ber, Patter  vs.  Clatter,  and  Who'll  Lend 
Me  Five  Shillings  ?  During  the  fol- 
lowing month  he  was  re-engaged  for 
two  weeks,  and  continued  to  play  to  a 
good  business.  A  new  place  of  amuse- 
ment, called  the  City  Theatre,  was 
opened  on  October  30th,  in  Ontario 
Hall,  Church  Street,  by  Mr.  William 
Petrie,  formerly  a  member  of  the  Ly- 
ceum company.  It  does  not  appear  to 
have  met  with  sufficient  encourage- 
ment, for  it  was  closed  after  a  brief 
existence.  Frank  Hardenburgh  was 
the  chief  member  of  the  company. 

It  has  been  omitted  to  state  that  in 
the  previous  year,  October  13th,  1857, 
the  scale  of  prices  at  the  Lyceum  was 
altered,  being  made  to  read  : — Boxes, 
$1  ;  pit,  2s.  6d.  ;  upper  boxes.  Is. 
3d,  ;  but  this  queer  combination  of 
American  and  old-country  coinage  was 
not  permitted  to  remain  long,  for  in 
the  following  week,  October  1 9,  the 
prices  wei-e  changed  to  oOc,  37 'c, 
and  25c.,  for  boxes,  upper  boxes,  and 
pit  respectively.  During  1858,  Mr, 
Owen  Marlowe  assumed  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Lyceum,  having  previous- 
ly married  a  daughter  of  the  lessee, 
Mr,  John  Nickinson. 


TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


611 


The  last  performance  of  the  Ama- 
teur Dramatic  Company,  heretofore 
mentioned,  was  given  on  the  evening  of 
March  31st,  1859— the  Bunchhack 
being  the  play  selected.  In  the  same 
year,  commencing  April  30,  the  names 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Owen  Mai-lowe  ap- 
pear associated  in  the  management  of 
the  Lyceum.  Mr.  Den  Thompson  was 
a  member  of  their  company.  Mr.  W. 
A.  and  Miss  Lyon,  James  Ponisi,  Miss 
Charlotte  Thompson,  Miss  Davenport, 
Mr,  andMrs.Wallack,  and  Mr.  Barry 
Sullivan,  were  the  stars  appearing  un- 
der their  management.  The  latter 
gentleman,  Barry  Sullivan,  opened, 
on  July  1.3th,  with  Eidielieu — a  Miss 
Elise  de  Courcy  assuming  the  role  of 
'  Julie. '  Mr.  John  Nickinson  was  also 
engaged  in  the  support.  In  connec- 
tion with  this  engagement,  it  may  be 
of  interest  to  mention  that  the  subse- 
quent fate  of  the  Koyal  Lyceum  was 
nearly  being  anticipated  on  the  night 
of  July  21.  A  fire  broke  out  in  the 
cellar,  near  the  dressing-rooms,  about 
half  an  hour  after  the  performance 
had  concluded.  Fortunately,  it  was 
discovered  and  put  out  before  much 
damage  had  been  done, and  the  theatre 
was  open  as  usual  the  next  evening. 
During  this  year  there  appeared  at  the 
St.  LaM^-ence  Hall,  Miss  AgnesSuther- 
land,  the  Scottish  vocalist.  Sanford's 
operatroupe,Parodi'sopera  troupe,  and 
Louise  Well's  dramatic  and  equestrian 
troupe,  also  appeared  at  the  Lyceum, 
under  the  Marlowe  management.  The 
celebrated  tight-rope  performer,  Mons. 
Blondin,  gave  a  series  of  performances 
at  the  theatre,  commencing  August 
7th.  The  rope  was  laid  across  the 
stage  over  the  pit. 

]\Iiss  Elise  de  Courcy,  who  visited 
the  city  in  support  of  Barry  Sullivan, 
announced,  October  9th,  1859,  that 
she  had  engaged  tlie  Royal  Lyceum  for 
a  period  of  fiveyears.  The  theatre  would 
be  closed  for  a  month  to  allow  of  certain 
improvements  being  made.  It  wa.s  re- 
opened November  2nd,  with  new  act- 
drop,  enlarged  boxes,  and  new  scenery, 
and  the  scale  of  prices  ran  : — Dress 


circle,   50c.  ;  family   circle,    37|c.,  or 
lady  and  gentleman,  50c.  ;  pit,  25c.  ; 
boxes,  .$5,     The  season  opened  with 
The  Honeymoon  and  Robert  Macaire.  It 
does  not  appear,  however,  that  Miss 
de  Courcy 's  enterprise  was  at  all,  re- 
munerative, for  the  theatre  had  passed 
out  of  her  hands  long  before  the  five 
years   had    elapsed.     Cool    Burgess's 
I    Chicago  Minstrels  are  heard  of  for  two 
nights,  December  16th  and  17th. 
The  Royal  closed  again  for  improve- 
[    ments  on  January  28th,  1860,  and  re- 
■    opened     February     6  th,     with    Adah 
I    Isaacs    Menken,  the  popular  and  yet 
i    peculiarly  unfortunate  actress.   In  the 
j    lecture    field,   as    represented    by  St. 
j    Lawrence  Hall,  appeared  Elihu  Bur- 
j    rit,  March  15th,  and  Bayard  Taylor, 
i    March  29th.     In  order  that  the  peo- 
I    pie  of  Toronto  might  fully  understand 
'    the  versatility  of  talent  with  which 
i    she  was  gifted,  Madame  Lola  Montez 
again  appeared  in  the  city,  this  time 
in  the  character  of  a  lecturer,  hold- 
ing forth  on  the   follies  of    '  Fashion. ' 
In  anticipation  of  the  Prince  of  Wales' 
visit  to  the  country,  the  Lyceum  was 
reopened,  April  30,  under  the  man- 
agement of  Mr.  John  Nickinson,  and 
!    was  thenceforth  to  be  known  as  the 
I    Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre.     Cooper's 
opera  troupe  was  the  first  attraction 
announced,  with  Miss  Annie  IVIilner 
as   jjrima    donna.      Mr.    Brookhouse 
;    Bowler  was  one  of  the  company.     On 
the  evening  of  May  15,  and  during  the 
'    engagement  of  this  troupe,  a  laughable 
scene  occurred  in  the  middle  of  the  per- 
formance.    The    daily    papers  found 
space   for  lengthy  reports  concei-ning 
it.      It  appears  that  a  young  couple, 
who  were  evidently  from  the  country 
and  enjoying  their  honeymoon,  visited 
the  theatre  on  the  evening  mentioned 
and  occupied  front  seats.     Apparently 
not  satisfied  with  even  this  close  prox- 
I    imity  to  the  stage,  or  otherwise  sighing 
!    for  a  quiet  corner  to   themselves,  the 
young  man  applied  for  and  obtained 
the  use  of  a  private  box.   Accompanied 
by  his  adoi-ed  one  he  entered  the  box, 
and,  pushing  aside  the  curtains,  both 


(il2         TORONTO  AND  ITS  EARLY  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


sat  down  in  full  view  of  the  audience. 
Desiring  not  only  comfort  but  luxury, 
the  youth  signed  to  the  maiden,  and, 
in  response  to  the  motion,  she  seated 
herself  on  his  knee  and  placed  her 
arms  lovingly  around  his  neck.  Then, 
with  cheeks  pressed  close  together, 
they  settled  down  to  enjoy  the  music 
of  the  opera.  The  audience  faii'ly 
screamed  with  laughter,  but  the  happy 
pair,  in  blissful  unconsciousness  that 
they  were  the  objects  of  the  audi- 
ence's mirth,  contimied  to  occupy 
their  mutually  enjoyable  position  un- 
til expostulated  with  by  the  mana- 
ger. Adelina  Patti,  in  conjunction 
with  Signers  Brignoli,  Ferri  and 
Junca,  gave  a  concert  at  St.  Lawrence 
Hall  on  May  28th,  1860.  On  the 
same  date  the  Holman  family  made 
their  first  appearance  in  Toronto,  at 
the  Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre,  or  Ly- 
ceum. They  went  by  the  name  of 
*  The  Holman  Juvenile  Opera  Com- 
pany,' and  its  members  were  the  Misses 
Sallie  and  Julia  and  Masters  Alfred 
and  Benjamin.  They  achieved  suc- 
cess, being  favourably  received  by 
both  press  and  public.  A  criticism  in 
the  Leader,  the  morning  followingtheir 
first  performance,  styled  them  '  truly 
remarkable  children.'  At  the  St.  Law- 
rence Hall,  the  celebrated  cantatrice, 
Madame  Anna  Bishop,  gave  concerts 
on  September  5th  and  6th,  assisted  by 
P.  Rudolphsen  and  P.  A.  Hogan.  She 
was  followed  by  Mr.  Sam.  Cowell  and 
Miss  Effie  Germon.  John  C,  Heenan, 
who  was  travelling  round  the  coun- 
try on  the  strength  of  the  reputation 
gained  by  his  recent  fight  with  Tom 
Sayers,  gave  a  sparring  exhibition  at 
St.  Lawrence  Hall,  on  November  6th. 
In  the  way  of  entertainments,  the 
ye^r  1861  was  opened  by  a  couple  of 
lectures,  the  first  by  D'Arcy  McGee, 
January  9th,  and  the  next  by  '  Grace 
Greenwood.'  No  less  than  three  min- 
strel troupes  appeared  during  this  year 
at  the  Royal  Lyceum — for  the  theatre 
had  again  resumed  its  old  name — viz., 
Wood's,  Duprey  k  Green's,  and  Chris- 
ty's.    They  introduced  into   Toronto 


the  famous  old  negro  melody,  '  Dixie's 
Land.'  After  being  closed  for  a 
month,  the  Lyceum  opened  under 
a  new  management — Little  &  Co.'s — 
on  April  13th,  a  stock  company  having 
been  engaged.  John  Chester,  Charles 
Dillon,  Edwin  Adams,  and  Charles 
Barras  played  '  star'  engagements  un- 
der the  new  management,  and  among 
attractions  ofiered  were  leger-de-main 
by  Professor  Anderson  and  the  Span- 
ish dancers,  Isabel  and  Juan  Ximenes. 
The  Fabri  Italian  Opera  Troupe  gave 
a  concert  in  the  Temperance  Hall, 
and  to  the  St.  Lawrence  Hall  came 
the  Holman  Trovipe  in  Parlour  Opera, 
McEvoy's  Panorama  of  Ireland,  Tom 
Thumb  (Oct.  21,  22,  23  and  24),  Ma- 
dame Anna  Bishop,  and  the  Wild  Men 
from  Borneo.  Van  Amburgh's  circus 
also  visited  thecity.  '  The  Boyal '  again 
came  under  new  management  during 
the  season  of  '61.  James  Fleming, 
was  manager  at  this  period,  but  the 
exercise  of  his  managerial  duties  was 
discontinued  at  the  close  of  the  year, 
Mr.  Allan  Halford  appeared  as  a 
member  of  the  company  during  this 
year. 

Mr.  Henry  Linden  succeeded  Mr. 
Fleming  in  the  management  of  the 
Lyceum,  and  his  first  stars  were  Miss 
Mary  Shaw,  comedienne  and  vocalist, 
and  Miss  Matilda  Hughes,  danseuse. 
The  engagement  between  Miss  Shaw 
and  Mr.  Linden  terminated  very  ap- 
ruptly,  in  consequence  of  a  disagree- 
ment arising  principally  from  a  per- 
formance given  by  gentlemen  ama- 
teurs of  the  30th  Regiment.  During 
this  year  the  Octoroon  enjoyed  a 
run  of  nearly  three  months  at  the 
Royal.  Mr.  Siddons  gave  a  series  of 
readings  at  the  St.  Lawrence  Hall,  fol- 
lowed by  L.  M.  Gottschalk,  pianist, 
and  Wm.  Connolly,  the  Irish  piper. 
The  dramatic  events  occurring  in  Tor- 
onto during  the  following  twenty 
years,  which  would  bi'ing  us  down  to 
the  present  day,  are  familiar  to,  and 
were  })robably  enjoyed  by  a  majority 
of  its  citizens  who  still  reside  in  the 
Queen  city.      Therefore  no   purpose 


TO  A  MAYFLOWER.  Qy, 


would  be  served  by  refeience  to  them 
in  this  article.  The  minstrel  perform- 
ances given  by  the  non-commissioned 
officers  of  the  16th  Kegiment  are, 
perhaps,  alone  worth  mention,  be- 
cause these  entertainments,  given  in 


the  old  Government  House,  were  not 
open  to  the  general  public.  They 
were  generously  patronized,  however, 
by  the  men  and  officers  of  the  bat- 
talion, and  by  such  friends  as  those 
they  chose  to  invite. 


TO   A   MAYFLOWEPu 

BY   F.    M.    RAND,    FREDERICTON,    N.    B. 


SWEET  herald  of  the  bright,  warm  sprint 
Mid  winter's  fastnesses  a  king, 
To  thee  the  winds  their  homage  bring. 

Half  hidden  in  thy  dark  green  bed, 
I  see  thee  raise  thy  timid  head, 
Trembling  as  with  tears  unshed. 

And  all  unkingly  is  thy  mien, 

Thy  shrinking  in  thy  robes  of  green, 

Eather  a  pale  fair  nun  than  queen. 

An  hundred  fancies  quickly  chase 
Each  other  in  swifb  elfin  race, 
While  I  lie  dreaming  of  thy  face. 

A  shell  from  some  far  southern  sea, 
A  brooklet  naiad,  I  fancy  thee, 
Uprising  dim  and  mistily. 

A  rare  pink  pearl  of  softest  hue, 
A  summer  morn  while  yet  the  dew 
Lies  heavy  on  the  earth  born  new. 

My  dream-thoughts  see  the  morning  sky, 
The  faint  stars  quivering  ere  they  die, 
The  rose-tinged  clouds  which  swiftly  fly. 

A  village  maid  with  downcast  eyes. 
In  whose  pure  cheeks  the  blushes  rise, 
Whose  face  lights  up  with  shy  surprise. 

And  last  of  all,  I  see  in  thee 

An  Angel  form  whose  voice  to  me. 

Whispers  of  immortality. 


614 


FREE  THOUGHT  AND  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGHT. 


FREE  THOUGHT  AND  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGHT. 


By   W.    D.    LE    SUEUR. 


THE  publication  of  Mr.  Mill's  book 
on  "  Liberty  "  marked  probably 
the  culminating  point  of  the  modern 
worship  of  free  enquiry.  Up  to  that 
time  the  demand  for  intellectual  free- 
dom had  never  been  fully  satisfied  ; 
and  the  powerful  plea  put  forth  by 
Mr.  Mill  was  therefore  enthusiasti- 
cally welcomed  by  all  forward  looking 
minds  as  the  precise  statement  of  the 
case  which  their  intellectual  position 
required.  The  errors  of  the  past,  it 
was  then  felt,  had  been  largely  due  to 
the  restrictions  imposed  on  thought ; 
complete  liberty  of  thought  was  con- 
sequently the  chief  thing  necessary  for 
the  successful  pursuit  of  truth  and  the 
reconstriiction,  on  a  sound  basis,  of 
philosophy  and  of  human  life.  Let 
men  but  be  allowed  to  think  freely, 
and  give  free  play  to  their  several  in- 
dividualities, and  a  new  and  better ' 
order  of  things  would  speedily  arise. 
This  phase  of  thought,  which,  as  re- 
marked, had  its  culmination  at  the 
date  of  Mr.  Mill's  celebrated  treatise, 
shows  to-day  signs  of  diminished  and 
perhaps  diminishing  force.  It  is  rare 
to  find  such  enthusiasm  for  the  ab- 
stract idea  of  liberty  as  was  common 
a  generation  or  half  a  generation  ago. 
What  Mr.  Mill  in  his  'Autobiography ' 
represents  as  having  happened  to  him- 
self, in  regard  to  the  high  hopes  he 
had  entertained  of  the  adoption  of 
'  liberal  '  ideas  in  legislation  has  hap 
pened  to  many  since  in  regard  to  their 
fond  anticipations  of  the  eflfects  of 
unchecked  freedom  of  thought.  Mr. 
Mill  acknowledged  with  regret  that 
an  extended  franchise,  free  trade,  and 
other  radical  reforms  had  not  made 
such  a  wonderful  change  in  the  state 


of  the  nation  as  he  and  others  had 
counted  on  ;  and  in  like  manner  many 
to-day  are  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  thought  may  be  very  free,  so  far 
as  the  absence  of  civil  or  social  re- 
straints can  make  it  so,  and  yet  very 
unproductive.  Those  who  incline  to 
this  view  of  the  matter  do  not  deny 
that  freedom  of  thought  is  in  .itself 
a  good  thing  ;  they  only  say  that 
like  other  good  things  it  is  liable  :  1. 
to  non  use,  and,  2.  to  abuse.  Give  a 
man  a  freedom  which  he  does  not  care 
to  exercise,  and  what  better  is  he  1 
Give  him  a  freedom  that  he  is  not  fit 
to  exercise,  and  what  better  is  he  % 
Nothing,  but  possibly  the  worse.  Let 
us  therefore  look  a  little  into  this 
matter  of  free  thought  and  see  what 
there  is  in  it,  and  what  conclusions  it 
is  safe  to  form  respecting  it. 

Thought  may  be  defined  sufficiently 
well  for  our  present  purpose,  as  the 
activity  of  the  knowing  faculty  in  man. 
How  man  knows,  how  the  blending  of 
subject  and  object  is  accomplished  in 
the  act  of  knowledge,  or  what  are  the 
true  relations  of  object  and  subject,  are 
problems  with  which  the  highest  minds 
of  every  age  have  successively  grappled, 
but  the  exact  solution  of  which  is  pro- 
bably as  distant  now  as  ever.  Fortu- 
nately I  do  not  need  to  await  a  solu- 
tion before  adopting  such  a  pi'actical 
view  of  the  matter  as  serves  the  pur- 
poses of  every-day  thought.  We  place 
on  one  side  the  observing,  reflecting, 
mind  ;  on  the  other  an  objective  uni- 
verse in  which  that  mind  seeks  its  ali- 
ment. The  mind  absorbs  the  universe 
and  ideally  re-creates  it.  Knowledge 
is  the  mental  reproduction  of  an  exter- 
nal, or  assumed  external  order.  When 


FREE  THOUGHT  AND  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGHT. 


615 


we  are  confident  in  our  power  to  think 
of  things  as  then  ^•'^^'*'^  ^^  ^^7  ^^  know 
them.  If,  however,  we  look  a  little 
closely  into  the  matter,  we  shall  see 
that  the  mind  progressively  makes  the 
order  which  it  seems  to  discover  in 
the  universe.  Arrest  the  thinking 
faculty  at  any  stage,  and  what  shall 
we  find  it  doing  1  Trying  to  discover 
the  explanation  of  something,  in  other 
words  trying  so  to  conceive  a  new  fact 
as  to  make  it  harmonize  with  an  al- 
ready existing  scheme  of  thought. 
Tliat  is  to  say,  the  mind  has  esta- 
blished a  harmony  amongst  its  pre- 
vious observations  ;  the  new  fact  as  it 
first  presents  itself  threatens  to  dis- 
turb that  harmony,  and  the  question 
then  is  :  is  there  not  some  other  way 
of  viewing  it  which  will  bring  it  into 
harmony  with  what  is  already  known 
or  assumed  to  be  known  1  The  appa- 
rent backward  movement  of  the  plan- 
ets was  a  distu)'bing  fact  of  this  nature 
in  regard  to  the  primitive  geocentric 
theory  of  the  heavens  ;  and  as  that 
theory  was  too  firmly  rooted  to  be  easily 
shaken,  or  rather,  as  the  means  for  a 
complete  revision  of  it  were  lacking, 
the  disturbing  fact  was  reduced  to 
order  by  the  very  ingenious  theory  of 
epicycles.  That  theory  was  not  des- 
tined to  hold  good  for  all  time  ;  but  it 
held  good  at  the  time,  and  that  is  really 
as  much  as  we  can  say  for  any  theory 
we  adopt — that  it  harmonizes  with  the 
sum  of  our  existing  knowledge.  Whe- 
ther it  will  harmonize  with  the  know- 
ledge of  some  future  age  it  would  be 
rash  in  us  to  attempt  to  predict  ;  for 
the  system  that  seems  to  us  unshak- 
able to-day  may,  through  some  exten- 
sion of  our  knowledge,  have  to  be  as 
thoroughly  reconstructed  as  have  been 
the  ancient  views  of  astronomy.  At 
whatever  point,  as  I  have  said,  the 
progress  of  thought  may  be  inter- 
rupted, we  shall  find  two  things — first, 
that  the  mind  has  already  created  a 
certain  order  of  thought  for  itself  ; 
and  second,  that  it  is  trying  to  build 
more  and  more  of  the  universe  into 
the  system  so  established.  Every  now 


I  and  again  it  has  to  tear  down  a  large 
portion  of  its  work,  in  order  to  build 
on  a  better  place  and  a  wider  foun- 
dation ]  but  still  the  work  goes  on — 
the  great  work  of  giving  laws  to  phe- 
nomena, and  creating  ideal  unity  out 
of  actual  diversity. 

This  is  not  only  the  loorh  of  the 
mind ;  it  is  its  life  ;  it  is  the  one  law 
of  its  being.  Mind  is  only  mind  in 
so  far  as  it  progressively  knows,  that 
is,  in  so  far  as  it  progi-essively  enters 
into  things,  and  so  moulds  and 
masters  them,  as  to  be  able  to  think 
them.  The  mind  digests  facts,  and  • 
turns  them  into  a  vital  current  of  ra- 
tional thought.  A  fact — as  some  ap- 
parently supernatui-al  manifestation — 
which  the  mind  cannot  digest,  acts  as 
a  poison  upon  the  system,  and  may 
result  in  insanity  or  death. 

Such  being  the  course  of  thought, 
a  progressive  reduction  of  facts  to  a 
rational  or  thinkable  order,  we  are, 
perhaps,  prepared  to  understand  what 
are  likely  to  be  the  most  favourable 
conditions  for  vigorous  and  success- 
ful thought.  One  condition  certainly 
will  be  the  common  pursuit  of  truth 
by  a  multitude  of  minds.  Instead  of 
thought  being,  as  so  many  seem  to 
imagine,  a  purely  individual  thing,  it 
springs  almost  wholly  from  the  social 
nature  of  man.  What  a  man  thinks 
— if  he  thinks  sincerely — holds  good, 
or  should  hold  good,  not  for  himself 
alone,  but  for  all  men  ;  and  in  our  so- 
cial intercourse  we  instinctively  pre- 
sume that  the  impressions  made  on  us 
by  outward  facts  are  shared  by  other.o. 
But  as  we  all  err  more  or  less  in  the 
conceptions  we  form,  it  is  manifest 
that  the  most  satisfactory  progress 
will  be  made  in  thought  where  there 
is  the  freest  possible  social  comparison 
of  views,  and  where  men  most  fre- 
quently remind  themselves  that 
thought  is  not  destined  to  serve  merely 
individual  purposes.  Thought  will 
make  its  best  advance  when  men  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  try  to  think 
together,  and  not  when  the  tendency 
is  to  think  as  far  apart  as  possible. 


616 


FREE  THOUGHT  AND  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGHT. 


The  ideal  of  many  so-called  free- 
thinkers is  an  independent  life  of 
thought  for  each  individual,  the  culti- 
vation by  each  of  a  little  area  upon 
■which  no  other  man  shall  have  a  right 
to  set  a  foot.  Each,  as  it  were,  puts 
up  a  notice  on  his  lot  :  '  These  are  my 
■opinions.  Trespassers  will  be  prose- 
cuted with  the  utmost  rigour  of  the 
law.'  Now,  most  certainly,  I  do  not 
believe  in  trespassing  upon  a  man's 
intellectual  premises  against  his  will ; 
but  lam  strongly  of  opinion  that,  just 
in  so  far  as  a  man  thinks  in  this  se- 
parated spirit,  will  he  think  to  no 
purpose,  or  to  worse  than  no  purpose. 
After  all,  a  man  cannot  think  in  this 
spirit ;  he  may  think  that  he  thinks, 
but  he  doesn't  think.  To  think,  as 
before  explained,  is  to  construct,  to 
build  in,  to  harmonize  ;  and  nobody 
goes  to  this  trouble  for  the  mere  sake 
of  self-assertion.  The  man  who  has 
a  strong  impulse  to  think,  desires  to 
think  with  others,  or  at  least  desires 
others  to  think  with  him ;  for  he 
knows  that  whatever  is  true  is  true  for 
all,  and  that  whatever  is  important  is 
important  for  all.  He  does  not  there- 
fore seek  to  fence  himself  off  from 
the  rest  of  mankind,  but  takes  up  his 
work  as  a  continuation  of  what  others 
have  done  before  him.  The  real  work 
of  thought  is  too  full  of  interest,  and 
brings  the  labours  of  others  too  fre- 
quently to  mind,  to  be  carried  on  by 
one  whose  main  desire  is  to  preserve 
his  property  rights.  Better  far,  in  a 
social  point  of  view,  the  most  dogma- 
tic and  absolute  spirit  than  the  mere 
worship  of  la  petite  ciiUure  in  matters 
intellectual.  It  has  not  been  by  stand- 
ing apart  from  one  another,  each  man 
with  his  private  thought  and  purpose, 
that  the  greatest  triumphs  of  human- 
ity have  been  won,  but  by  the  effort 
of  all  to  universalize  truth  and  to 
merge  individual  differences  in  a  com- 
mon intellectual  and  spiritual  life. 
Thus  have  all  societies  been  founded 
and  extended,  and  all  enterprises  of 
great  pith  and  moment  undertaken 
and  accomplished. 


Another  important  condition  for 
the  successful  pursuit  of  truth  is  the 
cultivation  of  right  moral  dispositions. 
This  is  a  principle  which  is  quite  too 
much  overlooked.  It  is  commonly 
held,  particularly  by  people  of  our 
own  argumentative  temper,  that  rea- 
son is  wholly  independent  of  the  moi-al 
nature,  and  is  always  ready  to  perform 
its  ofhce  of  discovering  truth.  They 
forget  that  it  is  the  moral  or  emotional 
nature  that  gives  a  direction  to  the 
operations  of  reason,  just  as  it  does  to 
the  practical  activities.  That  reason 
is  not  an  all-seeing  eye,  discovering  all 
facts  and  relations  with  equal  facility, 
is  evident  from  the  very  partial  man- 
ner in  which  the  faculty  is  exercised 
by  different  individuals.  The  man 
whose  taste  is  for  books  will,  in  a 
week,  acquire  more  knowledge  about 
books  and  their  authors  than  another 
man,  whose  tastes  lie  wholly  in  the 
direction,  say,  of  practical  mechanics, 
will  gain  in  a  whole  lifetime.  The 
botanist  wonders  that  any  one  can 
talk  or  walk  in  the  country  without 
seeing  what  he  sees  ;  and  yet  he  may 
be  blind  as  a  bat  to  the  most  obvious 
phenomena  of  language,  even  as  they 
occur  in  his  own  daily  speech.  The 
sportsman  has  a  degree  of  lore  as  to 
guns  and  their  makers,  as  to  the  va- 
rieties of  wild  fowl  and  their  several 
habits  and  habitats,  that  strikes  with 
amazement  any  one  who  is  not  of  the 
craft.  Every  one  of  these  specialists 
may  have  had  abundant  opportunities, 
so  far  as  the  mere  passing  of  certain 
images  befoi*e  the  eye  is  concerned,  to 
pick  up  a  great  variety  of  knowledge 
outside  of  his  favourite  pursuit ;  but 
in  point  of  fact  he  has  not  picked  it 
up,  for  he  has  not  seen  what  he  has  not 
been  interested  in,  or  has  seen  it  only 
to  forget  straightway  what  manner  of 
thing  it  was.  Reason  only  occupies  it- 
self with  what  the  perceptive  faculties 
furnish  to  it ;  and  the  perceptive  fac- 
ulties only  see  what  they  are  told  to 
see,  in  other  words,  what  the  mind 
has  an  interest  in.  In  many  other 
ways,  however,  reason  is  affected  in 


FREE  THOUGHT  AND  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGHT. 


617 


its  workings,  for  good  or  for  evil,  by    j 
desire.     The  vain  man  will  desire  to 
see  the  things  that  will  minister  to  his   ! 
vanity ;  the  selfish  man  the  things  that   | 
will   minister  to   his  selfishness ;   the   ' 
just  and  social   man   the  things  that    ; 
make   for    the   general   welfare  ;   and 
each  will  be  more  or  less  successful  in 
seeing  the  things  he  wishes  to  see,  and 
avoiding  the  sight  of  things  that  con- 
flict  with    his   desires   and  purposes. 
Now  the  Universe,  like   Scripture,  is 
not    of  any   private    interpretation ; 
and  neither  the  vain  man  nor  the  sel- 
fish man  will  obtain  a  key  to  it.     The 
order  they  create  will  not  be  a  dur- 
able order  ;  it  will  have  flaws  precisely 
corresponding  to  the  admixture  of  im- 
pure motive  in  their  speculations.  The 
history  even  of   physical  discovery  is 
full  of  vicissitudes,  due  not  so  much 
to  the  weakness  of  the  reasoning  or 
perceptive  faculties  of  men,  as  to  er- 
roneous assumptions  dictated  by  per- 
sonal bias  or  passion. 

This  is  a  truth  which  might  with 
advantage  receive  extensive  illustra- 
tion ;  but  as  this  would  transcend  the 
limits  within  which  this  paper  is  ne- 
-cessarily  confined,  it  may  be  sufficient 
to  quote  the  testimony  of  one  of  the 
profoundest  scientific  minds  of  this  or 
any  other  century,  the  late  Michael 
Fa^raday.  In  an  address  delivered 
by  liim  before  the  E.oyal  Institution 
on  '  The  Education  of  the  Judg- 
ment,' we  find  the  following  ob- 
servations : — '  Among  those  points  of 
self-education  which  take  the  form 
of  mental  discipline,  there  is  one  of 
great  importance,  and  moreover  diffi- 
cult to  deal  with,  because  it  involves 
an  internal  conflict,  and  equally 
touches  our  vanity  and  our  ease.  It 
consists  in  the  tendency  to  deceive 
ourselves  regai-ding  all  we  wish  for, 
and  the  necessity  for  resistance  to 
these  desires.  It  is  impossible  for 
any  one  who  has  not  been  constrained, 
by  the  course  of  his  occupation  and 
thoughts,  to  a  habit  of  continued  self- 
correction,  to  be  aware  of  the  amount 
of  error  arising  from  this  tendency. 
5 


.  .  .  It  is  my  firm  persuasion  that 
no  man  can  examine  himself  in  the 
most  common  things,  having  any  refe- 
rence to  him  personally,  or  to  any  per- 
son, thought  or  matter  related  to  him, 
without  being  soon  made  aware  of  the 
temptation  and  the  difficulty  of  op- 
posing it.  I  could  give  you  many 
illustrations  personal  to  myself,  about 
atmospheric  magnetism,  lines  of  force, 
attraction,  repulsion,  unity  of  power, 
nature  of  matter,  cK:c.,  .  .  .  but  it 
would  be  unsuitable,  and  also  unne- 
cessary, for  each  must  be  conscious 
of  a  large  field  sadly  uncultivated  in 
this  respect.  /  vnll  simplij  express  my 
strong  helief  [the  italics  are  Faraday's 
own]  tJtat  that  point  of  self-education 
which  consists  in  teaching  the  mind  to 
resist  its  desires  and  inclinations,  until 
they  are  proved  to  he  right,  is  the  m.ost 
important  of  all,  not  only  in  things 
of  natural  philosophy,  hut  in  every  de- 
'partment  of  daily  life.^  The  first  and 
the  last  step  in  the  education  of  the 
scientific  judgment  this  eminent  phi- 
losopher declares  to  be — humility.  Such 
testimony  as  this  from  a  man  like 
Faraday  is  of  infinite  value.  If  in  such, 
matters  as  '  atmospheric  magnetism, 
lines  of  force,  attraction,  repulsion, 
&c.,'hecould  feel  his  judgment  swayed 
by  influences  connected  with  his  own 
personal  desires  and  preferences,  what 
must  have  been,  and  what  must  be, 
the  case  with  men  destitute  of  his  ad- 
mirable sobriety  of  character  and  con- 
scientious self-restraint  1 

The  truth   that  Faraday  has  thus 
laid  down   has   been  expressed    with 
even  greater  force  and  in  a  much  more 
systematic  manner  by  Auguste  Comte.' 
'  Goodness  of   heart,'  says  the  latter, 
'  helps    forward    a    theoretical  career 
more  than  force  of  character.'    Of  the 
great  physiologist,  Blainville,  one  of 
his  own  disciples,  he  observed  :     '  Im- 
pulses of  too  personal  a  kind  enfeebled 
{    the  ardour  and  constancy  required  for 
Blainville's  intellectual  task  ;  and  the 
j    full  strength  of  his  mind  was  never 
:    put    forth.      .      .     .     He    saw    rivals 
1    where  he  should  have  seen  colleagues. 


618 


FREE  THOUGHT  AND  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGHT. 


and  sometimes  superiors.  Always  un- 
just to  Broussais,  he  failed  to  I'ecog- 
nise  the  transcendent  greatness  of 
Bichat.  When  personal  feeling  ex- 
tends so  far  as  this,  it  hinders  the 
working  of  general  views  not  less  than 
of  generous  feelings.'* 

The  bearing  of  all  this  upon  the 
question  of  Free  Thought  may,  per- 
haps, begin  to  be  seen.  It  has  been 
shown  that  thought  in  its  dynamic 
aspect  consists  in  a  pi-ogressively  wider 
interpretation  of  the  universe  in  which 
man's  lot  is  cast.  This  being  its  task, 
it  is  apparent  that  individual  thought 
cannot  properly,  or  with  any  advan- 
tage, separate  itself  from  the  thought 
of  the  I'ace.  The  only  true  and  ser- 
viceable thought  is  the  thought  that, 
either  now  or  hereafter,  all  men  may 
think.  A  thought,  or  a  mode  of 
thought  that  is  essentially  peculiar  to 
an  individual — that  is,  so  to  speak, 
the  mere  expi^ession  or  outcome  of 
the  accidents  of  his  individuality — is 
of  about  the  same  value  to  himself  and 
the  world  as  would  be  a  wart  on  the 
hand  or  a  squint  in  his  eye.  The 
branch,  except  it  abide  in  the  vine, 
dies ;  and  so  the  individual  man,  ex- 
cept he  abide  in  the  great  vine — hu- 
manity. When,  therefore,  a  demand 
is  made  for  freedom  of  thought,  it  be- 
comes a  question  of  much  importance 
whether  the  freedom  claimed  is  free- 
dom to  pursue  truth  in  a  social  spirit 
for  social  ends,  or  mere  freedom  to 
think  what  one  chooses  without  regard 
to  ends  and  without  any  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility. In  either  case  the  de- 
mand should  be  granted,  for  no  good 
can  come  of  any  attempt  to  interfere 
by  way  of  control  with  men's  think- 
ings, or  what  they  choose  to  regard  as 
such  ;  but,  in  the  one  case,  the  de- 
mand is  entitled  to  all  the  sympathy 
that  can  be  given  to  it :  in  the  latter, 
it  is  entitled  to  just  as  much  as  we  ac- 
cord to  the  desire  for  any  other  purely 
individual  indulgence. 


*  See  Comte's  '  Positive  Polity ' — English 
translation— Vol.  I.,  p.  599.     Appendix. 


The  more  this  distinction  is  dwelt 
upon,  the  more  important,  I  believe, 
it  will  be  seen  to  be.  Not  that  it 
aifords  the  means  of  discriminating 
between  claims  for  freedom  of  thought 
that  ought  to  be  allowed,  and  claims 
that  ought  not  to  be  allowed  ;  for  all 
such  claims  should  be  allowed  lest  the 
very  disallowance  should  tend  to  the 
perversion  of  thought.  The  impor- 
tance of  the  distinction  lies  in  the  use 
that  may  be  made  of  it  by  those  who 
are  demanding  free  thought  for  them- 
selves. '  What  am  I  going  to  do  with 
it  when  I  get  it  ? '  or,  '  Having  got  it, 
what  am  I  doing  with  it  ? '  are  ques- 
tions, as  it  seems  to  me,  of  ext)-eme 
pertinency.  And  if  the  only  answer  to 
such  questions  is  to  the  effect  that  I 
am  going  to  think  just  as  I  choose, 
and  without  any  regard  to  what  others 
may  think,  all  that  can  be  said  is  that 
the  conclusion  is  a  very  poor  one.  To 
talk  about  thinking  as  one  chooses  is 
nonsense  and  worse  ;  for  one  cannot 
cJioose  his  way  of  thinking  without 
doing  what  is  distinctly  immoral.  Ta 
choose  in  such  a  matter  is  deliberately 
to  allow  the  judgment  to  be  swayed 
by  personal  feelings  and  interests. 
Put  these  aside,  and  there  is  no  choice  ; 
there  is  simple  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  thought,  or  to  the  truth  of  things 
in  so  far  as  the  mind  is  fitted  to  ap- 
prehend it.  The  great  lesson  which 
'  free-thinkers  '  have  to  learn  is  that 
all  true  thought  is  universal  in  its 
character,  not  individual ;  and  that 
nobody  can  be  said  to  be  tliinking  in 
the  right  sense  of  the  word  unless  he 
is  thinking  for  all,  and  endeavouring 
to  promote  the  general  harmony  of 
human  thought.  It  is  unfortunately 
too  common  to  find  '  fi'ee-thinkers ' 
look  upon  the  privilege  of  free  thought 
as  a  merely  private  possession,  some- 
thing for  the  use  of  which  they  owe 
no  account  to  any  one,  not  even  to 
themselves.  They  hold  it  as  a  kind 
of  charter  to  contradict  every  opinion 
with  which  they  do  not  immediately 
agree,  and  generally  to  disport  them- 
selves in  the  world  of  thought  with 


FREE  THOWSBT  A^D  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGHT. 


119 


the  most  perfect  feeling  of  irresponsi- 
bility. They  only  realize  their  intel- 
lectual freedom  in  differing  from  others 
not  in  agreeing  with  them.  This  is, 
no  doubt,  a  not  unnatural  reaction  from 
the  intellectual  tyranny  of  the  past ; 
but  none  the  less  does  it  lead  to  a 
hurtful  dissipation  of  mental  energy 
as  well  as  to  a  dangerous  weakening 
of  social  bonds. 

The  battle  of  mental  freedom,  so  far 
as  external  control  is  concerned,  may 
be  said  to  have  been  fought  and  won. 
The  Church  may  scold,  and  the  State, 
through  her  magistrates,  may  some- 
times frown  ;  but  no  man  to-day  is 
compelled  to  profess  to  believe  what 
he  does  not  believe,  nor  are  any  re- 
straints worth  mentioning  imposed 
upon  the  expression  of  opinion.  There 
is,  however,  another  battle  to  be  fought 
before  the  spiritual  freedom  of  man- 
kind can  be  complete  ;  and  that  is  the 
battle  against  anarchy  in  the  guise  of 
liberty.  So  far  as  men  insist  upon 
thinking  what  they  choose,  there  is 
from  one  point  of  view  anarchy,  and 
from  another  enslavement — anarchy 
inasmuch  as  the  very  idea  of  law  is 
set  at  naught,  and  enslavement  be- 
cause each  man,  instead  of  struggling 
against  the  personal  influences  that 
pervert  opinion,  as  Faraday  has  so 
well  shown,  resigns  himself  to  them 
entirely. 

We  are  thus  brought  roundby  a  road 
which  is  perhaps  not  often  travelled, 
and  which  many  '  advanced  thinkers ' 
particularly  dislike  to  travel,  to  the  old 
truth  that  true  liberty  lies  in  a  reasoned 
subjection  to  law.  How  can  human 
powers  be  carried  to  their  highest  ?  By 
a  knowledge  of,  and  conformity  with, 
the  laws  of  nature.  He  who  rebels  is 
shorn  of  power  and  cast  forth  from 
Nature's  protection.  He  who  rebels 
against  humanity  is  disowned  by  hu- 
manity, and  his  life  dwindles  to  the 
narrow  limits  of  his  infinitely  narrow 
self,  Free  thought  is  of  no  value  un- 
less it  be  also  responsible  thought.  To 
think  should  be  regarded,  not  as  a 
means  of  self-pleasing,  but  as  a  sacred 


ministry  ;  and   we  should  value   our 
thoughts  just  in  so  far  as  they  enable 
us  to  understand  and  sympathise  with 
the  great  life  of  the  world,  just  in  so 
far  as  they  quicken  our  sense  of  kin- 
'    dred  with  all  mankind.    The  triumph 
!    of  thought  is  not  to  enable  a  man  to 
'    stand  aloof  from  his  fellows,  superior 
to  what  he  regards  as  their  prejudices 
and    indifferent    to    their    hopes   and 
fears.     The  triumph  of  thought  is  to 
seize  what  an  excellent  French  writer, 
the  late  M.  Ernest  Bersot,  calls  '  the 
[    durable  aspect   of    things.'     The   tri- 
umph of  thought  for  each  individual 
I    is  to  enlai-ge  in  some  small  degree  the 
'    thought  of  humanity,  or  even  to  think 
I    over  again  the  great  thoughts  of  hu- 
!    manity  with  sympathetic  insight  into 
■    their  meaning.     The  latter  may  seem 
'    a  humble  office,  but  only  to  those  who 
know  not  what  it  is.     There  are  thou- 
sands and  millions  who  daily  use,  in 
a  sort  of  symbolic  or  empirical  fashion, 
the    thoughts    that    the    ages    have 
wrought    out — just    as    the    mariner 
uses  the  '  Nautical  Almanacs  ' — with 
very    little   conception    of    what    has 
gone  to  form  them,  or   of  their  true 
I    reach  and  significance.      The  mind  of 
I    of  humanity  is  known  to  none  but 
I    those  who  are  in  a  peculiar  manner 
j    its  sons. 

I        The  social  weakness  that    comes  of 
\    excessive  individualism  in  thought  is 
too   obvious    and   notorious    to    need 
j    dwelling  on,      '  Liberals' (in  the  theo- 
)    logical    sense)    are   constantly    heard 
j    complaining  how  difficult  it  is  to  se- 
cure any  joint  action  among  persons 
of  their  way  of  thinking.      To  organ- 
ize even.  Unitarians,  has  been  said  by 
one  of  themselves,  to  be  very  much 
the  same  as  trying  to   '  cord  stumps  ;' 
what  it  is    to  organize  '  Liberals  '   let 
those  who   have   ti'ied  it  say.      If  we 
seek  for  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  we 
shall  find  it  in   the  erroneous  impres- 
sion that  liberty  is    only   realized  in 
difference  ;  and  that,  as  organization 
and  system  tend   to  obliterate  differ- 
ences, they  must  also  be  dangerous  to 
liberty.     But,  when  once  men  in  gen- 


^20 


FREE  THOUGHT  AND  RESPONSIBLE  THOUGTT. 


eral  begin  to  think  under  a  sense  of 
responsibility,  they  will  see  that  all 
thinking  should  tend  to  unity,  and 
that  the  crown  of  thought  should  be 
the  discovery  of  a  true  philosophy  of 
human  life.  To  say  that  the  natural 
result  of  free  thought  is  infinite  and 
hopeless  divergence,  in  as  many  dif- 
ferent directions  as  there  are  thinkers, 
is  fatally  to  discredit  the  thinking 
faculty.  Better  far,  one  would  be 
•compelled  to  say,  that  thought  should 
not  be  fi-ee,  than  that  there  should  be 
no  harmony  or  coherence  in  men's 
opinions,  but  that  what  is  true  to  one 
man  should  be  false  to  every  other. 
It  is  not  so,  however.  When,  by  the 
subjugation  of  egoism,  thought  be- 
comes truly  free,  it  will  be  seen  to  be 
not  a  dispersive  but  a  unifying  force  ; 
and  when  men  begin  to  look  to  it,  not 
for  little  individual  allotments  of  opi- 
nion, but  for  conclusions  of  universal 
validity,  the  foundations  of  a  true 
philosophy  is  to  believe  it  possible.  If 
it  be  possible,  why  should  we  not  have 
it  ?  If  it  be  not  possible,  then  to  little 
purpose  have  we  emancipated  our- 
selves from  the  philosophies  and  theol- 
ogies of  the  past. 

I  began  this  paper  by  observing  that 
•the  zeal  for  free-thought  simply  for  its 
-awn   sake,    seemed    to  have    abated 


somewhat  of  late  years.  If  the  fact 
be  as  I  believe,  the  symptom  is  not 
wholly  an  unfavourable  one.  A  true 
instinct  whispers  to  mankind  that 
something  better  than  endless  wrang- 
lings  should  be  the  outcome  of  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  highest  human  faculty. 
The  world  has  had  enough  of  criticism 
of  the  past,  its  institutions  and  be- 
liefs. Many  doctrines  and  systems 
have,  no  doubt,  been  badly  shaken ; 
but,  for  all  that,  the  great  majority  of 
men  cling  to  them  still  for  the  practi- 
cal guidance  and  help  they  afibrd  in 
life.  What  is  wanted  now  is  a  philo- 
sophy which,  while  doing  justice  to 
the  past,  will  do  what  the  old  systems 
cannot  do,  rightly  interpret  the  pre- 
sent, and  give  the  keynote  of  the  fu- 
ture harmony  of  society.  When  such 
a  philosophy  is  in  a  forward  state, 
men  may  not  be  found  clinging  so 
tenaciously  to  doctrines  which  they 
acknowledge  are  in  many  respects  far 
from  satisfactory.  But  such  a  philo- 
sophy will  not  come  from  any  amount 
of  irresponsible  thought  dii-ected  to 
no  definite  ends  ;  it  will  come  as  the 
result  of  the  earnest  efforts  of  many 
minds,  and  from  the  growth  of  the 
conviction  that  thought  was  given  not 
for  individual  but  for  social  ends. 


I 


TWO  SCHOOLS  OF  MODERN  POETRY. 


62t 


TWO  SCHOOLS  OF  MODERN  POETRY. 


BY  THE  REV.  J.  F.  STEVEXSON,  D.D.,  MONTREAL. 


IT  has  been  a  commonplace  of  popu- 
lar writers  to  ridicule  metaphy- 
sics, and  to  declare  the  inquiries  with 
which  it  deals  at  once  beyond  human 
power  and  barren  in  result.  It  is  not 
popular  writers  alone,  however,  who 
have  done  this ;  eminent  scientific 
men,  and  some  even  of  literary  cul- 
ture, have  adopted  the  same  tone. 
They  have  followed  in  the  track  of 
Bacon,  and  after  him  of  Locke,  both 
of  whom,  anxious  to  recall  attention 
to  matters  of  experience  and  observa- 
tion, poured  the  vials  of  their  anger, 
without  measure,  on  the  deductive 
modes  of  thought  and  vei-bal  criticism 
to  which  the  thinkers  of  the  Middle 
Ages  were,  no  doubt,  excessively  prone. 
It  has  been  forgotten,  however,  that 
Bacon  was  the  herald  of  a  new  de- 
parture in  thought,  and  that  his  seve- 
rity against  his  predecessors  had  what 
we  may  call  a  strategic  purpose  so 
that  it  is  not  to  be  taken  at  the  foot 
of  the  letter.  I  question  greatly  whe- 
ther Bacon  in  his  heart  felt  half  as 
disrespectful  .to  the  great  schoolmen 
as  his  writings  would  lead  us  to  sup- 
jjose.  As  for  Locke,  father  of  clear 
and  trenchant  thinking  to  all  modern 
English-speaking  men  as  he  is,  there 
is  yet  no  disrespect  to  him  in  raising 
the  questiim  whether,  excei)t  by  hear- 
say, he  really  knew  anything  of  the 
mediaeval  thinkers  at  all.  The  fact 
is,  we  are  still  under  the  influence  of 
a  reaction,  and  a  reaction  means  a  fit 
of  unreasoning  excess.  The  time  will 
come — must  come  — when  the  human 
mind  will  recover  its  balance  and  set- 
tle to  the  point  of  equilibrium.  It 
will  then  be  felt  that  if  fact  is  great 
reason  is  great  also.     If  reason  with- 


out fact  is  barren,  fact  without  reasoit 
is  blind.  All  honour  to  Bacon,  to  ob-^ 
servation,  and  to  induction.  But 
honour  also — not  a  little — to  the 
fathers  of  the  deductive  logic,  to  Aris- 
totle and  his  illustrious  followers  ! 

The  fashion  is  to  sneer  at  meta- 
physics. Meanwhile,  it  remains  trne,, 
that  the  great  questions  with  which 
metaphysics  deals,  such  questions  as 
the  true  idea  of  existence,  the  possi- 
bility of  knowledge,  the  laws  of 
thought,  are  of  such  a  character  that 
no  man  can  think  consistently  for  ten 
minutes  without  assuming  for  himself 
some  solution  of  them,  and  that  ac- 
cording to  this  solution  the  entire  tone^ 
and  complexion  of  his  thinking  will  be 
governed.  Every  man  has  a  philoso- 
phy, and  a  metaphysical  philosophy- 
too,  whether  he  knows  it  or  not.  By 
a  paradox,  it  may  be  said,  and  said 
truly,  that  not  to  be  metaphysical  is  tc^ 
be  metaphysical,  it  is  to  assume,  that 
is  to  say,acertain  metaphysical  theory.. 
So  he  who  refuses  philosophy  assumes- 
that  all  existence — the  world  without 
and  the  mind  within — is,  in  its  ulti- 
mate  nature,  irrational,  that  it  cannot 
be  reduced  to  reason  or  consti'ued  to 
thought.  If  a  man  knows  that,  what 
a  vast  knowledge  of  the  nature  of 
being  he  has  attained  !  No  positive- 
construction  of  the  universe — not  eveni 
that  of  Hegel  himself — more  directly 
assumes  an  intellectual  contact  with 
the  TO  6v,  the  ultimate  reality.  It  is- 
amusing  to  read,  in  one  line  of  a  man's- 
writing,  a  gibe  at  metaphysics,  and 
in  the  next  a  sweeping  theory  that 
covers  half-a-dozen  positions,  the  bold- 
ness of  which  would  have  made  Plato^ 
and  Aristotle  shudder.     Such  thinss. 


622 


TWO  SCHOOLS  OF  MODERN  POETRY. 


occur,  and  only  can  occur,  in  epochs 
of  reaction. 

What  I  wish  to  illustrate  now,  how- 
ever, is  not  so  much  the  fact  that  every 
man  who  thinks  is,  whether  con- 
sciously or  not,  a  metaphysician,  as  the 
further  fact  that  his  philosophy  gives 
a  tone  and  manner  to  his  views  on  all 
subjects  of  reflection,  even  to  those 
apparently  most  remote  from  philo- 
sophical inquiry.  We  often  contrast 
philosophy  with  arts,  and,  perhaps 
most  frequently  of  all,  with  poetry. 
Truly,  it  may  be  said,  the  region  of 
poetry  is  sacred  from  the  jargon  of 
metaphysics.  The  wrangling  school- 
men will  not  dare  to  bring  their  end- 
less disputes  and  their  breakjaw  words 
into  the  Temple  of  the  Muses.  Yes, 
but  they  will  though ;  and,  more  than 
that,  the  Muses  cannot  utter  one  word 
without  their  help. 

A  man's  philosophy  is  his  view  of  the 
Universe.  It  is  his  idea  of  existence 
reduced,  as  far  as  he  is  able  to  reduce 
it,  to  harmony  and  consistency.  And 
it  is,  I  suppose,  tolerably  evident  that 
some  view  of  life  and  of  destiny,  of 
society  and  of  progress,  of  the  ultimate 
power  which  the  world  reveals,  and 
of  the  gi-ounds  and  nature  of  hu- 
man duty,  must  grow  up  in  the  mind 
of  a  man  who  thinks  at  all.  It 
grows  up  in  tlie  mind  of  the  poet 
as  well  as  of  other  men,  so  that  there 
is  no  great  poet,  or  even  small  poet, 
without  his  philosophy.  Homer  based 
his  view  of  life  on  the  crude  guesses 
of  the  early  Greek  mythology.  Sopho- 
cles, and  the  other  Greek  tragedians, 
assumed  the  idea  of  a  destiny  which 
controlled  gods  and  men,  and  grouped 
their  views  of  man  and  of  the  battle 
of  life  around  that.  And  so  it  is  now  : 
Shakespeare  and  Milton,  Southey  and 
Wordsworth,  Byron  and  Shelley,  are 
philosophers  before  they  are  poets, 
and  diflfer  only  from  the  philosopher  or 
system  in  the  fact  that  they  drop 
their  philosophy  and  take  it  up  again 
according  to  their  mood.  More  than 
that.  The  quality  of  a  man's  poetry 
or  art  is  influenced  by  his  philosophy. 


Is  the  philosophy  noble,  inspiring,  un- 
selfish, does  it  appeal  to  the' larger  and 
more  generous  emotions  1  The  poetry 
will  be  noble  too.  Is  the  philosophy 
broad  and  catholic,  admitting  all  the 
facts  and  generalising  them  with 
clearness  and  skill  1  We  have  a 
Shakspere  or  a  Goethe,  a  many- 
sided  man  and  an  all-seeing  poet.  It 
is  therefore  idle,  and  worse  than  idle, 
to  tell  us,  as  we  are  often  now  told, 
to  dismiss  all  doubtful  questions  and 
sing  only  of  what  we  see  and  know. 
We  cannot  do  it.  Our  view  of  these 
questions  comes  back  and  back  upon  us 
in  spite  of  ourselves.  We  are  taking 
sides  all  the  time  ;  and  the  quality 
and  influence  of  our  poetry  are  ruled 
by  the  side  we  take. 

There  are  two  schools,  if  I  may  call 
them  so,  in  modern  English  poetry, 
and  a  brief  contrast  between  them  will 
illustrate  what  I  say.  Tennyson  and 
the  two  Brownings  will  serve  as 
examples  of  one  of  the  schools,  Swin- 
burne, Rossetti,  and  Morris  of  the 
other.  Tennyson  and  the  Brownings 
take  one  view  of  life.  For  them  it 
has  a  moral  meaning  and  a  spiritual 
result.  It  is  ruled  to  an  end  by  infi- 
nite wisdom  and  goodness,  and  its  dis- 
tinct issue  is  the  prevalence  of  truth 
and  righteousness.  The  other  school 
leaves  all  these  matters  in  chaos.  It 
knows  nothing  about  them.  It  sings, 
and  sweetly  too,  but  it  sings  only  the 
facts  before  us  and  the  beauty  of  the 
eye  and  the  ear.  It  has  no  deity  ;  no 
life  but  the  present  ;  no  moral  pur- 
pose for  the  world  ;  no  over  arching 
law  of  unchangeable  truth  and  good- 
ness. 

Notice  now  the  results  of  this  dif- 
ference on  the  poetry  of  the  two 
schools  respectively.  The  point  of 
view  rules  the  whole  manner  of  their 
art.     It  affects  them  on  every  side. 

It  does  so  as  to  the  strength  of 
their  writing.  By  strength  I  mean 
their  power  over  the  emotions.  All 
poetry  worthy  of  the  name  has  that 
to  some  degree.  It  touches  the  ima- 
gination, and  the  feelings  through  the 


TWO  SCHOOLS  OF  MODERN  POETRY 


623 


imagination.      But  it  is  obvious  that 
the  degree  of  its  power  over  the  emo- 
tions will  depend,  in  part  at  least,  on 
the  kind   or  quality  of  the    emotion 
to  which  it  appeals.     Are  these  super- 
ficial, transitory,  non-essential,  in  hu- 
man life  ?     Are  they  the  emotions  of 
an  affluent  human  nature  or  the  sickly 
fanciesof  a  mere  literary  exquisite,  cold- 
blooded and  narrow-hearted  1  In  deal- 
ing with  these  last,  there  is  no  sphere 
for  strong  emotions  either  in  the  writer 
or  in  his  readers.   The  pose  of  a  figure, 
the  shape   of  a  robe,  the   colour  of  a 
curtain,  are  themes  for  play,  possibly 
exquisite  play  ;  but  we  must  go  deeper 
into  human  nature  before  we  can  stir 
the  mighty    tide   of    passion,    or  hear 
the  rolling  waters  as  they  break  ever- 
more against  the   barriers  of   human 
effort  and   destiny.      It  seems  to  need 
no  argument  to  show  that   a  literary 
theory  which  leaves  all  the  profound- 
est  relations   of  the  life  of  man  un- 
touched   must   involve  loss  of   power 
over  human  emotion.     If  you  would 
touch  the  human   heart  by  which  we 
live,  you  must  sing  of  what  the  hu- 
man heart  cares  for.     On  the  whole  it 
cares  for  a  point  of  view  which  will 
give  it  power  in   its    struggle  and  a 
rational  hope  for  this  result.     If  you 
have  anything  to  say  to  these — well, 
you  can  say  it,  and  we  will  read  what 
you  say,  nay,  we  will  praise  its  melody 
and  rhythm,  and  give  you  compliments 
if  you  deserve  it,  on  the  perfection  of 
your  literary  form  ;  but  you  have  not 
touched  us  in  the  depths  of  our  hearts. 
•Of   course,  a   skilful   singer  is  never 
wholly  without  power  over  our  emo-    I 
tions.     There  are   regions  of  human    ' 
feeling,  happily,  which  no  perversion 
in  our  theory  of  life  can  wholly  close 
against   him.     The    love  of    man  for 
woman  is  such  a  region ;  and  yet  even 
here  the  difference  between  one  who 
regai-ds   such   love   as    an    emotional    j 
luxuiy    merely,  and    sees    its    whole    | 
purpose   in   the  gratification  of  what    j 
Eossetti  calls    '  riotous  longing,'  and    | 
one  who  finds  in  it  the  starting-point    ! 
and  symbol  of  an  infinite  and  spiritual    i 


affection,  is  simply  enormous.     Enor- 
mous, I  mean,  as  to  power.     Contrast 
Tennyson's  song,  '  Come  into  the  Gar- 
den, Maude,'  with   all     its   depth  of 
tremulous  passion,  its  grasp  on  every 
film  of  our  resonant  nature,  its  subor- 
dination   of    all    natural    sights  and 
sounds  to  the  master  impulse  of  the 
hour,  contrast  this  with  the  sickly  ar- 
tificiality of  Eossetti  or  with  what  Mr. 
Huxleycalls  the  'sensual caterwauling' 
of  Swinburne.    Tennyson's  love  songs 
are   a  possession  for  life.     I  do  not 
know  who  is  greatly  affected  by  Swin- 
burne's animal  excitements  over   the 
physical  chorus  of  his  immoral  beauties, 
or  even  by  the  purely  sensuous  regrets 
of  Eossetti's  '  blessed  damozel,'  as  she 
looks   out  over  the  bars  of  heaven. 
No,    account  for  it  as  you   will,  the 
elimination   of  all  spiritual  elements 
from  love  leaves  it   poor  and  starved, 
a  mere  appeal  to  temporary  aspects  of 
our  being  in  which  the  animal  is  up- 
permost.    The  touch  of  an  invisible 
hand  is  necessary  to  the  excitement 
of   our  deepest   passion,  the  echo  of 
a  voice  from  beyond  the  outward  and 
visible.      I  am  told    that   the    know- 
nothing    school   of    thinkers    intend, 
when  they  have  completely  removed 
religion,  to  put  poetry  in  the  vacant 
place,  the  more  pity  that  they  should 
begin  by  depleting  poetry  of  her  rich- 
est power  in  the  region  of  the  feelings. 
I  can  scarcely  doubt  that  it  will  be 
admitted  as  matter  of  fact  that  the 
power  of  the  newer  school  of  poetry 
over  the  emotional  is  strikingly  less 
than  that  of  the  school  which  it  is  at- 
tempting to  supersede.     What  grand 
force  of  feeling  there  is  in  Tennyson 
and  the  Brownings,  both  husband  and 
wife  !     In  how   wide   an   orbit  their 
emotions   move,  an   orbit  vast  in  its 
sweep  and  transcending  little  regards. 
They  touch  us  at  a  thousand   jwints 
and  kindle  our  whole  nature.     Where 
is   the  power   by  which   they  do  it  ? 
Not  alone   in   their  pei-sonal   genius, 
though  I  think   highly  of   that.      But 
it  is  their  view  of  life  that  kindles  us. 
Mr.  Matthew  Arnold   calls  poetry  a 


G24 


TWO  SCHOOLS  OF  MODERN  POETRY. 


criticism  of  life,  by  no  means  a  com- 
plete detinition,  as  I  think,  though 
true  as  far  as  it  goes.  If  it  be  correct, 
very  mucli  as  to  the  character  of  the 
l)oetry  must  depend  on  the  point  of 
view  of  the  critic.  And  the  reason 
why  we  are  little  affected  by  so  much 
contemporary  poetry,  while  Tennyson 
and  those  who  follow  him  sway  us  at 
their  will,  is  that  the  latter  class  lay 
their  tinger  on  the  permanent  sources 
of  feeling  in  man  while  the  others 
touch  those  feelings  only  which  are 
evanescent  and  transitory. 

There  is  an  important  contrast,  also, 
between  the  two  schools  as  to  their 
power  of  reflective  thought.  Very 
much  of  the  best  modern  ])oetry  has 
been  distinguished  for  its  reflective 
character.  Wordsworth  especially, 
and  after  him  Coleridge  and  Southey, 
introduced  a  method  in  poetry  which 
has  been  fruitful  of  results.  It  may 
be  true — probably  it  is — that  they 
carried  their  reflective  mode  of  writ- 
ing so  far  as  to  clip  the  wings  of  their 
imagination,  and  to  infect  their  poetry 
excessively  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought.  But  their  main  idea  is 
fruitful  because  it  is  perpetually  true, 
and  that  idea  is  that  Nature  is  the 
manifestation  of  thought,  and  there- 
fore craves  interpretation  as  well  as 
descrij^tion.  They  construe  the  world 
as  a  picture  language,  and  strive  to 
read  its  riddles  to  others.  Rocks  and 
trees,  waters  and  winds,  the  infinite 
depths  of  the  sky,  and  the  '  surgy 
murmur  of  the  lonely  sea  '  have  mean- 
ing as  well  as  beauty,  a  message  and 
a  communion  for  the  thoughtful  mind 
and  the  sensitive  heart.  Tennyson 
and  the  Brownings  are  of  the  same 
faith.  They  find  everywhere  signs 
and  tokens,  they  meet  in  the  world 
of  nature,  as  they  do  in  that  of  man, 
rnind  and  spirit,  not  wholly  alien  from 
their  own.  It  is  the  surpassing  charm 
of  Tennyson  that  he  makes  all  the 
world  speak  to  us.  From  the  glow  of 
the  sunshine  to  the  flower  on  the 
crannied  wall,  he  finds,  as  Shakspere 
said  the  poet  ought  to  do — 


igu 

brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything. 

And  take  notice  that  this  habit  of 
looking  for  the  expression  of  thought 
in  Nature  tends  to  increase  vastly  the 
power  of  thought  in  the  poet  himself. 
Wordsworth  is  full  of  keen,  clear 
I  thinking.  So  is  Tennyson.  Mr.  Brown- 
ing is,  in  a  strictly  artistic  sense,  too 
full  of  it.  He  is  one  of  our  profound- 
est  and  most  abtruse  thinkers,  as  well 
as  a  specially  imaginative  poet.  But 
when  we  turn  to  the  immoral  school 
the  contrast  is  complete.  Music  they 
have,  a  sad  undertone  of  sweet  melan- 
choly, but  thought  is  conspicuous  by  its 
absence.  In  fact  they  tell  us  frankly 
that  they  have  nothing  to  say.  Oscar 
Wilde  begins  his  volume  of  poems  by* 
a  sonnet  in  which  he  laments  the  times 
on  which  he  has  fallen,  times  which 
do  not  know  their  own  mind,  and 
which  have  no  thought  to  give  us. 
Not  long  since  I  read  in  one  of  our 
reviews  an  essay  on  the  interpretation 
of  Nature,  in  which  it  was  not  difficult 
to  trace  the  hand  of  a  poet  of  this 
school,  the  whole  purpose  of  which 
was  to  show  that,  as  Nature  is  with- 
out mind,  and  therefore  without  mean- 
ing, the  idea  of  interpreting  Nature 
must  be  given  up,  and  we  must  be 
content  with  describing  her.  When 
we  remember  the  undoubted  natural 
powers  of  some  of  these  men,  of  Mr. 
Swinburne  for  instance,  the  utter 
poverty  of  thought  which  marks  their 
writings  is  something  terrible.  It 
seems  the  very  cretinism  or  idiocy  of 
poetic  thinking.  The  same  is  true 
in  but  a  slightly  less  degree  of  the 
other  members  of  the  school.  Not- 
withstanding all  they  can  do  to  write 
one  another  up,  as  unequalled  men  of 
genius,  their  poor  rags  of  thought  pro- 
claim their  pauperism.  The  writing 
up  goes  on,  by  the  way,  furiously.  Mr. 
Swinburne  reviews  Mr.  Rossetti's  last 
book  in  the  Athemeum,  and  tells  us 
that  now  at  last  the  trumpet  of  deli- 
verance has  sounded,  and  the  poetic 
Evangel  has  come.   Then  Mr.  Rossetti 


TWO  SCHOOLS  OF  MODERN  POETRY. 


625 


reviews  Mr.  Swinburne,  and  we  learn 
that  since  Shakspere  there  has  been 
no  such  dramatic  genius  as  that  dis- 
])layed  in  this  tragedy,  and  that  even 
Shakspere  liad  better  look  to  his 
laurels.  While  it  is  a  matter  of  our 
modern  time  one  can  find  patience  for 
all  this,  silly  though  it  be ;  but  when 
it  comes  to  disturbing  the  bones  of 
Shakspere,  one  is  inclined  to  take  up 
his  own  parable  and  say  : — 

Good  friend,  for  Jesus'  sake,  forbear. 

This  is  pretty  certain,  at  all  events, 
that  it  will  require  a  ripe  and  subtle 
insight  into  the  human  mind,  and  a 
delicate  dissection  of  life  and  charac- 
ter, of  which  we  see  few  signs  at  pre- 
sent, to  disturb  the  reign  of  him 

Who  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment 
Hath  built  himself  a  living  monument, 
And  so  sepulchred  in  such  pomp  doth  lie, 
That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  might  wish  to  die. 

Look  at  another  quality  of  good 
poetry,  its  power  to  awaken  and  to 
stimulate.  This  is  characteristic  in  a 
high  degree  of  the  best  poetic  utter- 
ances. They  are  like  '  the  breezy  call 
of  incense  breathing  morn '  to  us. 
They  are  the  very  voice  of  nature  in 
all  its  freshness  and  simple  beauty, 
like  the  hum  of  bees,  the  bloom  of 
flowers,  the  sweet  breath  of  spring,  the 
tinkling  of  waterfalls.  Or  if  they  cele- 
brate human  life  and  endeavour  they 
arouse  us  to  deeds  of  daring  or  aspi- 
rations after  the  honourable.  Chaucer 
is  the  venerable  father  of  our  poetry, 
and  of  him  I  can  never  think  but  in 
the  words  in  which  he  describes  the 
young  squire  : 

Embroided  was  he  as  it  were  a  mead, 
All  full  of  freshe  flowers  white  atul  rede. 
Singing  he  was  and  Hiiting  all  the  dav. 
He  was  as  fresh  as  is  the  mouth  of  May. 

The  same  is  true  of  Shakspere  and 
Spenser,  and  of  the  illustrious  men 
who  gathered  about  them  and  followed 
them.  To  read  their  pages  is  like  taking 
a  brisk  morning  walk.  Of  Milton, 
still  more  would  need  to  be  said.  There 
is  much,  of  course,  in  his  great  epic 
which  we  have  laid  aside  as  a  mode  of 


thought,  but  how  it  thrills  our  very 
souls  with  a  sense  of  dignity  and  ma- 
jesty, and  carries  us  above  our  ordi- 
nary selves.  In  this  respect,  also,  not 
only  Wordsworth  and  Ids  school,  but 
Tennyson  and  his,  stand  in  the  true 
succession.  So  did  Byron,  after  his 
fashion,  and  Shelley,  whose  life  as  well 
as  his  poetry  was  one  long  aspiration, 
as  he  has  himself  put  it : 

The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star. 
Of  the  night  for  the  morrow, 

The  longing  for  something  afar, 
From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow. 

Indeed,  till  quite  recently,  there  has 
been  no  break  in  the  ideal  and,  there- 
fore, in  the  stimulating  quality,  of  our 
poetry.  But  it  is  so  no  longer.  Take 
the  physical  school  as  your  guide,  and 
you  will  believe  that  the  purpose  of 
poetry  is  either  to  inflame  your  ani- 
mal appetite,  or  to  gratify  your  taste 
for  brie  Ji-brac,  or  to  practise  felicities 
of  language,  or  to  lull  you  to  sleep  in 
an  atmosphere  loaded  with  the  per- 
fume of  wax  lights  and  faint  with  the 
.sentiments  of  amorous  songs.  One 
turns  away  from  an  hour's  reading  of 
it  sated  and  all  but  nauseated,  as  from 
a  feast  of  over-luscious  dainties.  The 
man  in  us  is  quelled  and  slackened 
into  quiescence,  as  thovigh  by  a  dose  of 
opium.  It  is  a  perpetual  lotus  eating 
to  all  the  higher  powers  of  the  soul. 
Of  course,  I  speak  now  of  tendency  ; 
no  criticism  such  as  this  can  be  abso- 
lutely true.  It  is  fair  to  say,  also, 
that  Mr.  Morris  is  less  of  an  oflender 
in  this  direction  than  others  of  his 
school.  And  yet  of  them  all  it  is 
true.  A  gentle  languor,  a  sense  of 
acquiescence  in  the  inevitable,  a  feel- 
ing like  that  reflected  in  the  words  of 
the  intellectual  exquisite,  '  there's  no- 
thing new  and  nothing  true,  and  it 
doesn't  matter; '  this  is  what  we  carry 
away  in  place  of  the  stern  resolve  and 
impulse  to  resolute  endeavour  with 
which  Tennyson  filled  our  youth  and 
which  Browning  and  his  gifted  wife 
have  stimulated  our  manhood.  It 
is  notdirticult  tofind  the  cause.  Poetrv 


626 

hitherto  has  been  the  organ  and  the 
the  expression  of  a  faith  in  God,  or 
man,  or  both.  Now  it  is  the  organ  of 
an  absence  of  faith,  confessed  and  pro- 
claimed. Its  Evangel  is — yesterday  I 
was  nothing  ;  to  morrow,  for  aught  I 
can  tell,  1  shall  be  nothing  again,  and 
meanwhile  I  know  nothii)g,  except 
that  nothing  is  to  be  known.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  find  inspiration  in  a 
creed  like  that ;  we  need  not  wonder 
at  its  absence. 

Good  poetry,  again,  should  be  sen- 
8U0US.  It  should  delight  in  the  see 
ing  eye,  the  hearing  ear,  and  the 
stimulated  senses,  generally.  But  it  is 
necessary  to  keep  the  sensuous  ele- 
ment in  firm  control,  not  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  higher  life,  but  for  its  own 
sake  also.  As  soon  as  it  becomes 
jaded  and  overdone,  it  falls  into  mor- 
bidness. Milton's  '  L'Allegro  '  is  sen- 
suous. Shakspere  is  sensuous  in  rio- 
tous profusion.  Tennyson  is  exqui- 
sitely and  deliciously  sensuous.  But 
none  of  these  great  poets  are  sensual. 
Even  Chaucer  is  not,  though  he  is 
sometimes  coarse,  and  occasionally 
treads  on  the  verge  of  sensuality.  As 
dogmatism  is  puppyism  grown  up  (ac- 
cording to  Punch's  celebrated  defini- 
tion), so  sensuality  is  sensuousness 
run  to  seed.  The  senses,  if  you  please, 
are  subordinate.  That,  I  hope,  is  no 
new  truth  :  if  so,  all  the  great  think- 
ers in  the  world,  from  Thales  to — well, 
to  your  favourite  contemporary  au- 
thority— have  been  wrong.  But  in  the 
physical  school  of  poetry  the  senses, 
and  the  appetites  that  start  from  sense, 
are  crowned  and  reign  supreme.  If 
you  wish  to  know  what  I  mean,  open 
Mr.  Swinburne's  vigorous  pages  in 
which  he  glorifies  lust  and  blood  in  a 
manner  of  which,  to  do  them  justice, 
the  Eomans,  even  of  the  later  empire, 
would  have  been  ashamed.  Nor  is 
Eossetti  much  better.  He  does  not 
indeed,  as  Mr.  Swinburne  does,  eke 
out  his  poverty  of  thought  with  re- 
volting blasphemy,  and  with  a  besti- 
ality whose  very  excesses  go  far  to 
bring  about  their  own  cure,  but  the 


TWO  SCHOOLS  OF  MODERN  POETRY. 


undertone  of  his  writing  is  wholly  and 
uttei-ly  immoral  and  unideal.  Woman 
is  to  him,  as  she  is  to  Swinburne, 
simply  tlie  object  of  an  appetite  as 
purely  animal  as  hunger  or  thirst. 
He  is,  as  he  does  not  disguise,  immoral. 
I  ask  you  to  look  at  this  literary  phe- 
nomenon with  some  attention.  The 
loss  of  spiritual  faith  has  already  borne 
this  fruit  for  us  in  the  domain  of  poe- 
try. Our  modern  poetry  is  saying, 
as  there  is  no  light  for  us,  except  the 
dim  light  of  the  present,  let  us  throw 
away  moral  restraint.  Let  us  float 
on  the  tides  of  appetite  and  sail  before 
the  gale  of  passion.  A  way  with  the 
'  creeds  that  refuse  to  restrain.'  Let 
us  gather  and  crush  the  grape  of  en- 
joyment  Life  is  short,  let  it  be  merry. 

I  have  contended  in  these  pages  that 
the  relaxing  of  the  moral  bond  is  the 
logical  result  of  an  unspiritual  philo- 
sophy ;  I  now  call  attention  to  the 
fact  that  in  the  literary  i*epresenta- 
tives  of  this  school,  this  result  is  the 
first  and  most  conspicuous  of  actual 
developments,  and  when  I  read  the, 
to  me,  inane  folly  and  degrading  self- 
abandonment  of  some  writers  of  this 
school,  I  am  thankful  that  the  fruit 
has  so  quickly  ripened.  For  man  is 
not  an  animal  only,  he  is  a  rational 
nature ;  yes,  and  a  spiritual  also.  Be- 
cause he  is  so,  he  cannot  rest  in  the 
life  of  a  beast  or  a  demon.  And  when 
such  a  life  is  drawn  out  before  him  in 
all  its  naked  deformity,  the  midnight 
of  his  degradation  is  come,  and  the 
revolving  sphere  is  already  moving 
towards  the  dawn.  To  quote  words 
which,  even  here,  will  not,  I  hope,  bo 
thought  inappropriate,  '  the  Dayspring 
from  on  high  is  near  with  healing  in 
his  wings.' 

I  may  point  out  another  phase  of 
contrast  between  the  poetry  of  the 
school  of  Wordsworth  and  Tennyson, 
and  that  of  the  physical  school.  The 
poetry  of  belief  is,  of  course,  the  poe- 
try of  hope  ;  that  of  unbelief  is  with- 
out hope.  This  is  very  striking.  Our 
philosophical  agnostics,  to  do  them 
justice,  are  full  of  hope  at  any  rate, 


'garihaldi. 


627 


of  a  certain  sort.  They  see  an  fearthly 
paradise  in  the  future  preparing  for 
man.  Comte  is  sure  it  is  coming^ 
George  Henry  Lewes  is  elocjuent  about 
it.  Marian  Evans  sings  of  the  better 
days  and  the  nobler  natures  which 
will  follow  when  our  poor  race  has 
passed  away — though  even  in  her  the 
undertone  of  melancholy  is  distinctly 
iiudible  when  she  abandons  prose  and 
writes  poetry.  But  the  know-nothings 
of  the  poetic  school  are  quite  hope- 
less. They  have  never  done  telling 
us  of  the  efFeteness  of  the  past  and  the 
blackness  of  the  future.  The  days  of 
manhood  are  over,  they  say,  and  those 
of  puny  intellects  and  flaccid  wills 
are  here.  They  are  worse  than  Pan- 
dora ;  when  they  have  let  loose  on  us 
all  the  possible  ills  of  life,  they  do  not 
leave  even  hope  at  the-  bottom  of  the 
box.  There  is  something  amusing,  I 
admit,  in  the  partly  aflfected  semi- 
Byronic  despair  of  a  young  gentleman 
like  Mr.  Oscar  Wilde  ;  they  suggest, 
in  their  falsetto  tone,  that  the  creed 
which  they  express  has  not  penetrated 
very  deeply  into  the  convictions  of  the 
apostle  of  the  sunflower  and  the  lily. 
But  it  is  significant  that  he  has  no- 
thing better  to  give  us.  Tennyson 
had.  O  but  we  were  full  of  faith  and 
hope  in  the  dear  old  days  when  we 


tore  open  the  new  volume  and  read 
with  flashing  eyes  and  thrilling  heart 
the  invocation — 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 

Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,    embrace, 

Believing  where  we  cannot  prove  ; 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade  ; 

Thou  madest  Life  in  man  and  brute  ; 

Thou  madest  Death  and  lo,  thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  thou  hast  made. 

There  was  something  to  live  by  iu 
that,  and  something  to   work  by  too. 
We   saw  almost  as  with  the  outward 
eye,   the    one   far   oS"  divine  goal  to 
which  the  whole  creation  moves.   For 
my  part,   T  thank  Mr.  Tennyson,  and 
I  do  not  thank  the  unbelievers.     He 
,    made  me  a  richer,  better,  more  hopeful 
man,     I    do  not  find    that    they   do. 
And  on  the  whole  I    refuse  the  new 
!    wine,  for  I  say  the  old  is  better.     And 
I    as  it  is  fuller  of  flavour  and  strength, 
I    more    provocative    of    thought,    has 
I    greater  power  of  healthy  stimulation, 
i    is  healthily    sensuous   without   being 
sensual,  and  gives  me  a  hope  of  better 
days  for  man  on  earth,  and  of  a  larger 
life  to  come, '  when  beyond  these  voices 
i    there  is  peace,'  I  shall,    I  fancy,  con- 
tinue to  quaff  the  former  and  [richer 
i    vintage. 


GARIBALDI, 


Died  at  Caprera,  June  2nd,  1SS2. 


MEMORIAL  VEKSES  BY  A  CANADIAN. 


Dead  at  Caprera  !     So,  for  love  of  thee, 

All  people  that  are  free, 
In  this  supreme  hour  that  has  crowned  thy 
fame. 

Salute  an  honoured  name. 
O  Garibaldi  !     Star  of  Freedom,  risen 

From  battle-field  and  prison  ! 
From  Rome,  where  now  no  priescraft's  in- 
cense mars 

Her  Galileo's  stars  I 
From  Naples,  freed  by  thee,  and  chainless  still, 

Beneath  her  fire-ciowneil  bill  ; 
For  thee,  pure  Patriot,  true  Republican, 

King's  foe  and  friend  of  Man  ; 
Not  only  by  Italia's  sacred  streams 

Hast  quelled  the  evil  dreams. 
The  two-fold  nightmare  foul  of  priests  and 
kin  28 ; 

By  Tiber's  poisoned  springs, 


And  where  fair  Florence  gleams,  a  flower  and 
star, 

On  Arno's  breast  afar ; 
But  that  thy  brave  words  said,  thy  great 
deeds  done, 

Have  made  a  nation  one  ; 
Bade  scattered  interests,  creeds,  and  races  be 

United  Italy. 
So  we  of  the  three  kindred  peoples  sprung, 

Who  speak  an  English  tongue, 
Who,  loving  England,  hojw  one  day  to  see 

Uur  own  republic,  free, 
In  union  of  all  creeds  and  races  rise 

Beneath  Canadian  skies  ; 
Would  with  the  flower  wreaths  on  this  tomb 
of  thine 

One  spray  of  maple  twine. 

— C.  Pelhvm  Mulvany. 


628 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


SELECTED. 

THE    CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND.* 

AN    ADDRESS     DELIVERED    AT     BRIGHTON,    ENGLAND,    JAN.    30,    1882. 
BY   GOLDWIN   SMITH,    M.A. 


IN  the  long  night  of  Irish  history,  the 
single  gleam  of  light,  before  the  rise 
of  the  Liberal  party  in  England,  is  the 
administration  of  Cromwell,  the  truest 
and  grandest  of  Liberals,  though  he  was 
compelled  by  the  exigencies  of  his  posi- 
tion and  his  cause  to  hold  the  sword,  and 
held  not  the  sword  in  vain.  In  the  leg- 
islative union  of  Ireland  as  well  as  Scot- 
land with  England,  he  anticipated  by  a 
century  and  a  half  the  work  of  Pitt, 
without  the  corruption  to  which  Pitt 
was  driven,  and  which  has  left  a  lasting 
stain  on  the  transaction.  By  the  hand 
of  his  able  and  upright  son,  Henry,  he 
introduced  the  most  enlightened  mea- 
sures of  legal  and  general  reform.  With 
the  eye  of  a  true  statesman  he  saw  that, 
as  he  said,  Ireland  was  a  blank  paper, 
(jn  which  improvements  might  be  tried 
which  prejudice  would  not  suffer  to  be 
tried  in  England.  By  the  Legislative 
Union  he  would  have  put  an  end  to  the 
treatment  of  Ireland  as  a  foreign  nation, 
and  stifled  in  its  birth  the  diabolical  pol- 
icy of  killing  Ii-isli  manufactures  and 
trade.  It  is  almost  agonizing  to  think 
what  twenty  ur  even  ten  years  more  of 
the  Protector  might  have  done.  The 
science  of  history,  if  it  aspires  to  predic- 
tion, must  learn  to  foresee  the  appear- 
ance of  great  men  and  to  measure  the 
length  of  their  lives. 

In  times  to  come,  perhaps,  the  restor- 
ation of  the  Stuarts  will  be  kept  as  a 
national  fast.  They  failed  to  turn  out 
the  Cromwellian  landowners  in  Ireland, 
who,  after  some  tough  wx-estling,  held 
their  own,  and,   though   aliens   to   the 

*  To  bring  the  publication  of  this  address 
within  reasonable  space  in  The  Monthly, 
the  earlier  portion  of  it  has  been  omitted. 
lEd.  C.M.^ 


natives  in  race,  religion,  and  feeling, 
were  at  least  residents  and  improvers  of 
their  lands.  But  the  Stuarts  repealed 
the  Union,  thus  making  Ireland  again  a 
foreign  country  to  England,  and  giving 
the  signal  for  that  narrow-minded  and 
iniquitovis  persecution  of  Irish  trade, 
which  is  really  the  most  unredeemed 
part  of  this  evil  story,  for  wrong-doing 
which  arises  from  political  or  religious 
passion  may  be  to  some  extent  redeemed 
by  the  comparative  grandeur  of  the 
motives,  as  well  as  by  mutual  provoca- 
tion. The  one  chance  for  the  improve- 
ment of  Ireland  and  for  the  existence  of 
good  relations  between  the  two  countries 
was  the  growth  of  Irish  industry,  which 
lifis  not  failed,  even  at  this  late  hour,  to 
produce  its  effect,  but  in  its  greatest 
centres  has  done  much  to  allay  political 
discontent  and  to  weaken  the  forces  of 
disunion.  At  the  same  time,  Catholic 
Ireland,  removed  by  Repeal  from  the 
control  even  of  a  Cavalier  Parliament 
and  governed  absolutely  under  constitu- 
tional forms  by  the  viceroys  of  the 
Stuarts,  became  to  her  utter  bane  and 
ruin  the  privy  workshop  of  Stuart  con- 
spiracy, the  clandestine  recruiting  ground 
and  drill-yard  of  the  forces  by  which,  in 
conjunction  with  the  money  and  arms 
of  the  French  despot,  the  Stuarts  hoped 
to  root  out  Protestantism  and  liberty  in 
Great  Britain.  That  she  was  put  to 
this  use  was  her  misfortune  rather  than 
her  fault :  yet  the  historical  fact  re- 
mains. English  Protestantism  and  free- 
dom saw  an  Irish  army  in  the  service  of 
James  IL,  and  the  Jesuits  encamped  at 
their  gates  ;  they  saw  a  native  Irish  Par- 
liament, under  the  villainous  guidance 
of  Tyrconnell,  passing  sweeping  acts  of 
attainder  against  all    men    of    English. 


I 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


629 


blood  and  Protestant  religion  ;  the}'  saw 
the  Irish  fighting  side  by  side  with  the 
troops  of  the  Bourbon  tyrant  and  his 
fanatical  bishops  on  the  morrow  of  the 
Dragonnades  and  the  massacres  of  the 
Cevennes.  They,  and  liberty  with  them, 
were  saved  almost  by  miracle.  After 
their  victory,  they  dealt  out  a  cruel 
measure  of  penal  repression  to  the  re- 
ligion which  had  identified  itself  with  a 
crusade  of  reactionary  despots  against 
national  independence  and  human  free- 
dom. In  lands  where  the  Protestants, 
instead  of  being  victorious,  were  van- 
quished by  the  Catholic  powers,  their  lot 
was  not  merely  social  repression  and 
political  disfranchisement  ;  they  were 
butchered,  driven  into  exile,  sent  to  the 
galleys, or  burned  at  the  stake  ;  and  in 
their  persecution,  we  may  be  sure,  every 
Irish  priest  in  those  days  rejoiced.  The 
blame  of  all  that  Ireland  suffered  in  con- 
sequence of  the  attempt  of  the  Stuarts 
against  liberty  rests  mainly,  not  on  Eng- 
land, but  on  the  Stuarts  themselves,  on 
Louis  XIV.,  and  on  the  other  Catholics 
who  conspired  wish  them,  including  the 
unhappy  Catholics  of  Ireland. 

The  result,  however,  was  the  reduc- 
tion of  the  Celtic  Irish,  during  the  firgt 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  to  the 
condition  of  helots — religious,  political, 
and  social.  As  the  century  of  Voltaire 
and  Rousseau  wore  on,  religious  toler- 
ance, or,  to  speak  more  truly,  indiffer- 
ence, gained  ground  ;  and  the  fetters  of 
the  Catholics  were  gradually  loosened, 
the  sceptic  Chesterfield,  as  viceroy,  tak- 
ing a  leading  part  in  the  relaxation.  The 
Anglican  Bishops,  however,  through 
whom  the  English  Government  usually 
managed  the  coiiutrj,  struggled,  as  in 
England,  against  every  concession,  not 
only  to  the  Roman  Catholics,  but  to  the 
Presbyterians  of  the  North,  the  sinews 
of  the  Protestant  interest  as  well  as  the 
most  loyal  adherents  of  the  British 
Crown,  and  thereby  sowed  the  seeds  of 
revolt  in  Ireland,  besides  sending  across 
the  Atlantic  exiles  filled  with  the  bitter 
memory  of  persecution,  and  ready  to 
take  part  in  the  American  Revolution. 
It  is  difficult  to  read  with  patience  the 
history  of  Episcopal  government  when 
we  think  what  it  cost  the  nation,  and 
what  characters  for  the  most  part  were 
the  Bishops  by  whom  it  was  exercised. 
But  the  religious,  or  even  the  political 
question,  it  must  be  repeated,  was  the 
smallest  item  in  the  sum  of  evils.  The 
largest  items  were  those  connected  with 


the  land.  The  people  multiplied  with 
the  recklessness  which  always  attends 
degradation,  and  which  the  Catholic  re- 
ligion, if  it  does  not  encourage,  certainly 
does  nothing  to  prevent.  The  country 
is  a  grass  country,  unfitted,  much  of  it, 
for  the  growing  of  grain,  and  therefore 
not  capable  of  producing  a  large  amount 
of  food,  except  in  the  low  and  precari- 
ous form  of  the  potato.  There  was  no 
emigration,  for  the  Celt  at  least,  either 
to  Great  Britain  or  to  the  Colonies, 
though  the  Catholic  powers  made  Ireland 
their  recruiting  ground,  and  France 
especially  used  up  a  good  many  of  the 
young  men  in  her  Irish  brigade.  There 
were  no  manufactures  or  mines,  while 
upon  the  woollen  trade  and  Irish  trade 
in  general  the  malignant  jealousy  of 
English  commerce  inexorably  laid  its 
fell  embargo.  The  result  was,  what  it 
would  have  been  in  a  rabbit  warren, 
closely  paled  in,  and  visited  by  occa- 
sional droughts,  as  the  counterparts  of 
the  periodical  failures  of  the  potato.  It 
was  a  fearful  illustration  of  the  Malthu- 
sian  law  operating  in  its  naked  severity 
without  any  corrective  influence.  Mul- 
titudes perished  by  famine,  while  others, 
.upon  the  brink  of  famine,  lived  upon 
one  meal  a  day  of  potatoes  mixed  with 
seaweed.  Swift,  in  a  horribly  elaborate 
piece  of  pleasantry,  proposed  that  the 
peasants  should  kill  and  eat  their  own 
children.  But  the  land,  wretched  as 
was  the  subsistence  on  it,  was  the  sole 
livelihood  of  the  people.  Therefore 
they  clung  to  it  and  fought  for  it  with 
the  tenacity  of  despair.  Hence,  Irish 
agrarianism,  with  its  deadly  guerilla 
warfare,  its  secret  societies,  its  infernal 
cruelties,  its  hideous  annals  of  savagery 
and  crime.  The  landlords,  meanwhile, 
had  become  as  a  class  lost  to  duty  and 
worthless.  They  were  a  crew  of  spend- 
thrift, drunken,  duelling  profligates,  and 
at  the  same  time  incredibly  insolent  and 
tyrannical  in  their  behaviour  to  the 
poor.  Many  of  them  became  absentees, 
and  squandered  in  the  pleasure  cities  of 
England  the  rents  which  middlemen 
wrung  for  theui  out  of  a  famishing 
peasantry.  The  middlemen,  of  course, 
were  as  hard  as  a  millstone  ;  they  ground 
the  peasant  ruthlessly,  not  even  speaking 
a  kind  word  to  soften  extortion  ;  and 
thus  absenteeism  added  fresh  bitterness 
and  increased  horrors  to  agrarian  war. 
Agrarian  war  and  nothing  else,  or 
hardly  anything  else,  it  was,  and  is,  so 
far  as  the  people  were  or  are  concerned, 


G30 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


though  the  hxndlords  being  aliens  in 
race  and  in  religion,  the  conliict  has 
always  had,  and  still  retaiiis,  a  political 
and  religious  tinge.  There  was  a  politi- 
cal movement  going  on  at  the  same  time, 
but  this,  it  is  important  to  mark,  was 
not  among  the  people  of  tlie  oppressed, 
but  among  those  of  the  dominant  race. 
It  was  an  insurrection  of  tlie  Irish  Par- 
liament, a  Parliament  of  ascendency  and 
privilege,  against  the  legislative  control 
of  the  Parliament  of  Great  Britain,  and 
the  administrative  control  of  the  British 
Crown.  It  was  begun  by  the  spleen  of 
Swift,  who  hated  Ireland  and  despised 
her  people  with  all  his  cankered  heart, 
but  wanted  to  spite  the  Government, 
which  had  refused  to  make  an  obscene 
atheist  a  bishop.  A  colour  of  patriotism 
was  given  to  the  movement  by  the  insane 
trade  policy  whicli,  under  the  pressure 
of  the  Eritish  merchants,  the  Parliament 
of  Great  Britain  persisted  in  maintaining, 
by  the  abuses  of  the  Irish  pension  list, 
and  the  general  mismanagement  of  Irish 
affairs.  But  its  main  object  was  that  of 
a  selfish  and  corrupt  oligarchy,  which 
wanted  to  have  all  the  power  and  all  the 
plunder  in  its  own  hands.  If  the  politi- 
cal disabilities  of  the  Catholics  were 
relaxed,  it  was  not  because  privilege  had 
become  liberal  or  national,  but  because, 
severed  from  England  and  placed  in 
antagonism  to  her,  it  found  itself  too 
weak  to  stand  alone.  The  Castle  in  its 
worst  hour  could  not  be  more  ready  to 
give  bribes  than  the  Patriot  leaders  of 
the  Parliament  with  few  exceptions 
were  to  take  them.  Patriotism,  with 
most  of  these  men,  was  simply  an  instru- 
ment for  squeezing  patronage  out  of  the 
Government.  They  had  amongst  them, 
it  is  true,  a  lai'ge  measure  of  that  elo- 
quence, of  which  the  condition,  besides 
a  lively  imagination  and  a  copious  flow 
of  words,  is  freedom  from  the  restraint 
of  good  sense,  veracity,  and  self-respect. 
Grattan  was  the  best  of  them,  and  Grat- 
tan  talked  much  brilliant  nonsense. 
Their  debates  were  orgies  of  declamation, 
stimulated  by  the  wine  which  they 
drank  in  oceans,  breaking  out  into  the 
most  outrageous  personalities,  and  often 
ending  in  duels.  Everybody  got  drunk, 
everybody  was  in  debt,  even  the  highest 
functionary  of  the  law  was  a  duellist.  It 
is  easy  to  sympathise  with  the  wistful 
look  which  the  aspiring  youth  of  Ireland 
casts  at  the  empty  Parliament  House  on 
College  Green,  but  it  would  not  be  easy 
to  sympathise  with  any  desire  to 


those  Halls  again  with  the  ranting  and 
canting  place-hunters  of  the  Irish  Par- 
liament before  the  Union. 

The  American  Revolution,  and  the 
achievement  of  American  Independence, 
aided  like  everythine;  else  that  tended  td 
disruption  by  the  folly  of  the  British 
Parliament,  the  corruption  of  an  aristo- 
cratic Government,  and  the  interested 
bigotry  of  the  hierarchy,  brought  th^ 
nationalist  movement  in  Ireland  to  ^ 
head.  The  patriots  took  arms,  formed 
themselves  into  a  national  militia,  under 
the  name  of  Volunteers,  and  by  their 
menacing  attitude  extorted  from  Eng- 
land, depressed  by  defeat  in  the  Ameri- 
can war,  the  concession  of  legislative 
independence.  For  twenty  years  Ireland 
had  a  Parliament  of  her  own,  free  to 
legislate  at  its  will,  and  checked  only  in 
an  indirect  and  clandestine  way  by- 
Castle  management,  and  the  influence  of 
Government  in  elections.  The  net  up- 
shot of  the  experiment  was  not  the  reign, 
of  glory  and  felicity  seen  by  the  enrap- 
tured eye  of  Grattan,  but  the  rebellion, 
of  1798. 

The  rebellion  of  1798  began  not  among 
the  peasantry  of  the  Celtic  and  Catholic 
provinces,  but  among  the  rationalists 
and  free-thinkers  of  the  North,  who 
sympathised  with  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. The  Catholic  priesthood  of  Ire- 
land were  as  far  as  possible  from  sympa- 
thising with  the  French  Revolution, 
which,  in  their  eyes,  was  atheist.  The 
peasants  were  as  little  free-thiuking  as 
those  of  La  Vendee,  and  there  was  not 
in  them  enough  of  political  life  to  move 
them  to  a  political  revolution.  But  the 
political  agitation  in  the  North  set  the 
agrarian  agitation  in  the  rest  of  the 
island  blazing.  Then  all  the  elements 
of  discord  and  devilry,  the  hatred  of  race 
and  the  hatred  of  religion,  as  well  as  the 
sleepless  hostility  between  rack-renter 
and  rack-rented,  burst  forth,  much  as 
they  had  in  1641,  and  there  followed 
about  as  hideous  a  reign  of  all  that  is 
worst  in  man,  and  one  about  as  unre- 
deemed either  by  great  objects  or  great 
figures,  as  any  in  the  annals  of  evil. 
The  Orange  gentry  and  yeomanry,  in- 
cluding, no  doubt,  many  a  patriot  Vol- 
unteer, went  about  over  large  districts, 
flogging,  picketing,  pitch-capping,  and 
half-hanging  the  ever  detested  Catholic 
and  Celt.  It  is  useless  for  any  heroic 
advocate  of  flogging  and  i^itch-cappiug 
to  attempt  to  shake  the  testimony  of 
such  witnesses  as  Sir  Ralph  Abercromby 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


631 


and  Lord  Cornwallis  about  the  conduct 
of  these  men.  Nor  did  the  savage 
peasantry  fail  when  they  rose  to  perpe- 
trate the  nameless  atrocities  of  galley 
slaves  who  have  broken  their  chains. 
All  this  took  place,  be  it  observed,  not 
under  the  Union,  but  in  an  Ireland 
which  was  enjoying  legislative  independ- 
ence ;  and  though,  thanks  to  a  Liberal 
policy,  the  antagonisms  which  produced 
that  sanguinary  chaos  have  been  miti- 
gated, they  are  not  yet  extinct.  If 
Hoche  had  succeeded  in  landing,  as,  but 
for  the  merest  accidents  of  weather,  he 
certainly  would,  Ireland  might  have 
tried  for  a  few  years  the  fraternity  of 
French  liberators  ;  and  that  experience 
also  might  have  been  instructive. 

This  was  the  end  of  the  independent 
nationality  of  Ireland.  A  Parliament 
of  the  two  races  which  had  been  butcher- 
ing and  torturing  each  other  with  worse 
than  savage  fury,  a  Parliament  of  the 
half-hangers  and  the  half -hanged,  of  the 
pitch-cappers  and  the  pitch-capped, 
would  have  been  such  a  political  com- 
bination as  the  world  had  never  known. 
A  far  less  sagacious  eye  than  that  of  Pitt 
would  have  seen  the  necessity  of  the 
Union.  Pitt  is  commonly  taken  to  have 
been  a  very  strong  man.  A  man  of  high 
bearing  he  was,  and  in  a  certain  sense 
courageous,  but  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  he  was  very  strong.  Had  he 
been,  he  would  probably  have  carried 
out  the  Union  as  Cromwell  did  in  a 
straightforward  way,  as  a  measure  of 
plain  necessity  ;  he  would  not  have  de- 
scended to  corruption  in  order  to  pur- 
chase the  votes  of  a  more  than  venal 
oligarchy,  which,  had  it  been  handled 
with  determination,  would  not  have 
dared,  isolated  and  hated  as  it  was,  to 
lift  a  finger  against  the  Government. 
To  corruption  of  the  very  vilest  kind, 
prostituting  honours  as  well  as  misap- 
plying public  money,  Pitt  did  descend, 
ani  it  is  instructive  to  remember  that 
not  a  few  titles  styled  of  nobility  had 
their  origin  in  a  transaction  worse  than 
any  ordinary  swindling.* 

*  Of  the  character  of  Irish  politicians  before  the 
Union,  and  of  those  with  whom  Pitt  had  to  deal,  an 
illustration  is  given  by  Mr.  Massey,  in  his  '  History 
of  Ensrland,'  from  a  confidential  report  made  to  Pitt 
by  the  Irish  Government  on  the  state  of  parties  and 
interests  in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons. 

H.  H.,  son  in  law  to  Lord  A.,  and  broutfht  into 
Parliament  by  him.  Studies  the  law  ;  wishes  to  be 
a  Commissioner  of  barracks  or  in  some  similar 
place.    Would  go  into  orders  and  take  a  living. 

H.  D. ,  brother  to  Lord  C.  Applied  for  office  ;  but, 
as  no  specific  promise  could  be  made,   has  lately 


Not  only  with  corruption  was  the 
Union  tainted  but  with  breach  of  public 
faith.  The  fact  is  past  dispute  that  Pitt 
held  out  to  the  Catholics  hopes  amount- 
ing morally  to  a  promise  of  emancipation. 
He  wished  to  redeem  his  pledge.  Had 
he  been  allowed  to  do  so  then,  in  the 
accepted  hour,  and  with  the  grace  of  un- 
forced concession,  from  what  a  train  of 
calamities  might  the  Empire  have  been 
saved  !  George  III.  forbade,  and  Pitt 
lacked  resolution  to  overrule  the  Royal 
will  ;  in  truth,  the  fatal  flaw  in  his  own 
constitutional  title  to  the  Premiership, 
into  which  he  had  been  thrust  by  Royal 
intrigue,  was  enough  to  paralyse  him"  in 
any  conflict  with  the  King.  It  was  not 
the  fault  of  poor  old  George  III.  that 
he,  with  an  intellect  scarcely  equal  to 
the  lowest  oflice,  was  called  upon  to  till 
the  highest.  But  when  we  consider 
what  the  nation  paid  for  his  unfitness — 
when  we  put  together  the  results  of  the 
war  with  the  American  Colonies,  that 
with  the  French  Republic,  the  postpone- 
ment of  justice  to  the  Catholics  of  Ii'e- 
land,  and  the  obstruction  for  half  a  cen- 
tury of  all  reforms — we  shall  keenly 
realise  the  benefits  of  personal  Govern- 
ment and  feel  duly  grateful  to  those  who 
have  just  been  trying  to  revive  it. 

No  moral  validity  can  belong  to  a 
compact  eflfected  by  such  means  as  were 
employed  to  carry  the  Union.  So  much 
must  be  frankly  conceded  to  those  who 
demand  its  abrogation.  The  Union 
stands  now,  not  on  that  tainted  agree- 
ment, but  on  the  proof,  historical  and 
political,  of  its  necessity  ;  on  its  eighty 
years  of  prescription  ;  on  its  beneticial 
consequences  to  both  countries  ;  on  the 
evils  and  dangers  to  both  which  would 
be  entailed  by  its  repeal.  The  Act  of 
Union  is  an  old  parchment,  which  any- 
body is  free  to  tear  in  pieces.  The 
Union  is  a  vital  object,  to  be  upheld  and 


voted  in  opposition.  Easy  to  be  had  if  thought  ex- 
pedient.    A  silent,  gloomy  man. 

L.  M.,  refuse.s  to  accept  .£.500  per  annum  ;  states 
very  hi^h  pretensions  from  his  skill  in  House  of 
Commons  manaj;ement ;  expects  £1,000  per  annum. 
N.B.— Be  careful  uf  him. 

T.  N.,  has  been  in  the  armj'  and  is  now  on  half- 
pay,  wishes  a  troop  of  dragoons  on  full  pay.  States 
his  pretensions  to  be  fifteen  years'  service  in  Parlia- 
ment. N.B.— Would  prefer  office  to  military  pro- 
motion ;  but  already  has  and  has  long  had  a  pension. 
Character,  especially  on  the  side  of  truth,  not 
favourable. 

R.  P.,  independent  but  well  disposed  to  Govern- 
ment. His  four  sisters  have  pensions,  and  his  ob- 
ject is  a  living  for  his  brother. 

T.  P.,  brother  to  Lord  L.,  and  brought  in  by 
him  ;  a  captain  in  the  navy,  wishes  for  some  sine- 
cure employment. 


'632 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


defended  to  the  uttermost  by  those  who 
are  sincerely  convinced  of  its  value. 

The  story  has  been  traced  down  to 
the  time  of  the  Union.  So  far  it  is  a 
dark  story — about  as  dark  a  story  as  any 
in  human  annals.  But  let  us  once  more 
remind  ourselves  that  if  Ireland  had 
been  left  to  herself,  with  her  own  turb- 
ulent chiefs  and  brawling  clans  ;  with 
her  impulsive  excitable,  and,  when  ex- 
cited, fearfully  savage  people  ;  with  her 
economical  disadvantages  ;  with  the 
perils  of  her  geographical  relation  to  a 
more  powerful  neighbour  ;  amidst  the 
fierce  eddies  of  European  politics  and 
the  religious  wars  of  the  Reformation  ; 
there  miizht  have  been  a  story  not  less 
dark.  To  usurp  an  Irish  privilege, 
Tata's  Halls,  which  never  existed,  might 
have  seen  tragedies  of  their  own.  Eng- 
land, too,  during  those  six  centuries, 
had  her  tides  of  calamity.  We  cannot 
annul  the  past  ;  nor  is  the  present 
responsible  for  it.  No  living  English- 
man, no  father  or  grandfather — we 
might  also  say  no  great-grandfather — of 
any  living  Englishman  had  anything 
more  to  do  with  the  enactment  of  the 
penal  laws,  or  with  the  imposition  of 
restrictions  on  Irish  trade,  than  any 
living  Irishman  or  his  father  or  grand- 
father had  with  the  massacre  of  1641  or 
the  attempt  of  .James  II.  on  the  life  of 
liberty.  England  has  stood  long  enough 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes  before  every 
rhetorical  avenger  of  bygone  wrongs.  I 
take  my  stand  on  the  utmost  verge  of 
living  responsibility,  at  the  period  when, 
the  struggle  with  Napoleon  being  over, 
and  the  force  of  reaction  being  spent, 
the  English  people  themselves  began  to 
recover  their  liberties  and  to  exercise 
some  control  over  their  own  affairs.  1 
ask  what,  since  that  period,  has  been  the 
behaviour  of  England  to  Ireland.  Fif- 
teen or  twenty  years  ago  I  was  the  guest 
of  Guizot  at  Val  Richer,  where,  with- 
drawn in  the  evening  of  his  stormy  day 
from  political  strife  to  historical  studies 
and  to  the  domestic  happiness  of  which 
there  was  no  lovelier  picture  than  the 
old  statesman's  home,  he  looked  calmly 
forth  upon  a  world  in  the  turmoil  of 
revolution.  He  was  a  good  friend  to 
England,  but  no  Anglomaniac.  The 
disputes  about  Tahiti  and  the  Spanish 
marriages  must  have  left  their  trace  ; 
and  though  a  Protestant  he  was  so  much 
more  a  Conservative  statesman  than  a 
sectarian  as  to  be  inclined  to  support  the 
temporal  power    of    the    Pope.        We 


talked  of  Ireland,  and  M.  Guizot  said  : 
'  The  conduct  of  England  to  Ireland  for 
the  last  thirty  years  has  been  admirable.' 
I  reminded  him  that  there  was  still  one 
capital  grievance  to  be  redressed  ;  that 
the  State  Church  of  the  minority  must 
go  ;  with  that  reservation,  I  said  that  I, 
as  an  Englishman,  could,  with  a  clear 
conscience,  accept  the  compliment. 
'  Yes,'  he  replied,  '  the  State  Church  of 
the  minority  must  go,  but  otherwise,  I 
repeat  what  I  said  ;  the  conduct  of  Eng- 
land to  Ireland  for  the  last  thirty  years 
has  been  admirable.'  On  one  side  is  the 
hyperbolic  fury  of  the  Irish  orator,  with 
that  gift  of  foaming  rhetoric  which  is 
one  of  the  curses  of  his  country,  de- 
nouncing the  unparalleled,  the  inde- 
scribable, the  inconceivable  tyranny  of 
the  Government  which  has  just  passed 
the  Land  Act  ;  on  the  other  side  is  the 
deliberate  and  emphatic  judgment  of 
the  impartial  statesman.  I  say  that  the 
facts  of  history  are  on  the  side  of  the 
statesman. 

When,  after  its  long  depression,  the 
popular  party  in  this  country  raised 
its  head  what  was  the  first  measure 
which  it  carried  ?  It  was  Catholic 
Emancipation,  a  reform  which  enured 
mainly  to  the  benefit  of  Ireland.  Os- 
tensibly Catholic  Emancipation  was 
the  work  of  Tories,  but  it  was  forced 
upon  them  by  the  Liberal  movement, 
at  the  head  of  which,  in  his  latter 
days,  was  Canning.  This  was  be- 
fore the  reform  of  Parliament,  before 
the  electoral  liberties  of  Englishmen  had 
been  restored  to  them,  when  Liberalism 
had  just  awakened  and  begun  to  make 
its  influence  felt.  Of  Parliamentary  Re- 
form, of  Municipal  Reform,  all  the  sub- 
stantial benefits  were  extended  to  Ire- 
land ;  and  to  signalise  the  political 
equality  which  had  been  established, 
Irish  votes  in  the  House  of  Commons 
long  kept  in  power  a  Government  against 
which  there  was  a  majority  in  Great 
Britain.  The  Tithe  Commutation  Act 
was  again  pre-eminently  an  Irish  Re- 
form :  in  Ireland  alone  the  cruel  scan- 
dal of  tithes  collected  with  the  bayonet 
had  been  seen.  There  are  two  great 
questions  on  which  improvement  in  Ire- 
land has  greatly  outstripped  improve- 
ments in  the  other  two  kingdoms,  reli- 
gious equality  and  public  education. 
Ecclesiastical  privilege  in  Ireland  has 
been  abolished,  while  in  England  and 
Scotland  it  still  exists.  Long  before 
England,  at  least,  had  given  herself  any- 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


633 


thing  like  a  system  of  public  education, 
she  had  given  one  to  Ireland,  and  was 
maintaining  it,  not  out  of  local  rates, 
but  out  of  the  national  purse.  If  an 
Irish  Catholic  asserts  that,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  popular  education,  the  Union  has 
kept  his  country  back,  I  would  ask  him 
to  compare  her  state,  in  this  respect, 
with  that  of  Spain,  Portugal,  the  South 
of  Italy,  or  any  other  country  which  has 
been  under  the  control  of  the  Catholic 
clergy,  and  to  tell  us  the  result  of  the 
compariscm.  There  are  nations  in  Eu- 
rope which,  though  by  jirofession  Catho- 
lic, are  really  free- thinking,  and  ruled 
by  Governments  emancipated  from  the 
influence  of  the  priesthood  :  these  I  put 
out  of  the  question  ;  but  I  say  that 
among  communities  really  Catholic,  and 
subject  to  priestly  rule,  there  has  not 
been  one  which  in  regard  to  political 
and  religious  liberty,  or  in  regard  to 
popular  education,  would  bear  compari- 
son with  Ireland.  In  effecting  these  re- 
forms, the  English  people,  represented 
by  the  Liberal  party,  has  had  to  strug- 
gle against  the  obstructive  force  of  Tory 
reaction,  with  which  Irish  spleen  and 
impatience  are  now,  not  for  the  first 
time,  in  alliance.  It  has  had  also  to 
struggle  against  the  character  and  the 
conduct  of  the  Irish  representation  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  For  more  than 
one  session  the  Galway  contract  was 
enough  to  cast  a  spell  over  the  Irish 
members,  and  prevent  them  from  co- 
operating with  British  Liberals  in  any 
efforts  to  do  justice  to  their  country. 
Had  Irishmen  been  Scotchmen,  disestab- 
lishment would  not  have  been  put  off 
till  1869. 

Have  Irishmen  for  the  last  half-cen- 
tury had  any  real  ground  for  complaint 
on  the  score  of  national  equality  ]  Have 
not  the  civil,  the  military,  the  naval 
services  been  as  open  to  them  as  to  na- 
tives of  the  other  kingdoms  ?  Have  they 
^'  not   found  the  way  clear   to  high  com- 

mand and  to  high  honour  1  Is  not  the 
Indian  Civil  Service  full  of  Irishmen, 
while  their  kinsmen  are  yelling  with  joy 
over  everything  that  threatens  destruc- 
tion to  the  Indian  Empire  ?  Is  any  so- 
cial circle  closed  against  Irish  merit  and 
distinction  1  H  ave  any  commercial  re- 
strictions been  retained  on  Irish  trade  ? 
Have  not  the  markets  of  England,  be- 
yond comparison  been  the  best  in  the 
•world,  long  since  been  thrown  perfectly 
open  both  to  the  Irish  seller  and  the 
Irish  buyer  1  There  are  Irishmen  who 
6 


will  tell  you  that  it  is  British  jealousy 
of  Irish  trade  that  keejis  the  rock 
at  the  entrance  of  Cork  Harbour. 
In  fiscal  arrangements,  has  any  wrong 
been  wilfully  done  to  Ireland  ?  Has  she 
not,  on  the  contrary,  been  allowed  to 
plead  the  past  as  a  title  to  fiscal  conside- 
ration in  more  than  one  case  ?  Has  she 
not  her  full  proportion  of  represen- 
tatives for  her  population  ?  If  there  is 
anything  still  amiss  in  regard  to  her 
franchise,  are  not  English  Liberals  per- 
fectly willing  to  set  it  right  ]  Home 
Rule  is  a  separate  question.  Apart  from 
that,  where  is  the  Irish  grievance,  politi- 
cal, ecclesiastical,  social,  or  fiscal,  which 
the  English  people  have  not  redressed 
or  shown  themselves  ready,  nay,  eager, 
to  redress  ? 

When  Ireland  was  visited  by  famine, 
was  there  any  backwardness  in  coming 
to  her  relief]  Abuse  was  heaped  on 
England  by  Irish  animosity,  of  course, 
on  that  as  on  all  occasions,  but  it  was 
merited  neither  by  parsimony  nor  by 
coldness.  Not  only  was  the  public  purse 
opened,  but  private  associations  were 
formed  in  England,  and  embassies  of 
succour  were  sent.  Mr.  Sullivan,  the 
Home  Ruler,  says  in  his  '  New  Ireland ' : 
'  Foremost  in  this  blessed  work  were  the 
Society  of  Friends,  the  English  members 
of  that  body  co-operating  with  the  Cen- 
tral Committee  in  Dublin.  Amongst 
the  most  active  and  fearless  of  their  re- 
presentatives was  a  young  Yorkshire 
Quaker,  whose  name,  I  doubt  not,  is 
still  warmly  remembered  by  Connemara 
peasants.  He  drove  from  village  to  vil- 
lage, he  walked  bog  and  moor,  rowed 
the  lake  and  climbed  the  mountain, 
fought  death,  as  it  were,  hand  to  hand 
in  brave  resolution  to  save  the  people. 
His  correspondence  from  the  scene  of 
his  labours  would  constitute  in  itself  a 
graphic  memorial  of  the  Irish  famine. 
That  young  Yorkshire  Quaker  of  1847 
was  destined,  a  quarter  of  a  century 
later,  to  be  known  to  the  Empire  as  a 
Minister  of  the  Crown — the  Right  Hon. 
W.  E.  Forster,  M.P.'  This  is  Buckshot 
Forster,  who,  for  upholding  law  against 
plunder  and  conspiracy,  receives  daily 
threats  of  assassination,  besides  abuse 
which  would  be  exaggerated  if  it  were 
applied  to  Nero. 

No  Irishman,  who  has  undertaken  a 
good  work  in  Ireland,  has  had  reason  to 
say  that  English  hearts  were  of  stone  ; 
nor  has  religion  any  more  than  race 
stood  in  the  way.     The  Irish  Catholic 


634 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


Apostle  of  Temperance,  Father  Mathew, 
met  with  a  support  equally  enthusiastic 
on  both  s^des  of  St.  George's  Channel  ; 
and  in  his  last  illness,  as  we  are  told  by 
the  writer  just  quoted,  he  found  more 
solace  and  relief  under  the  tender 
care  and  atfectinnate  attentions  of  Pro- 
testant friends  in  Liverpool,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ratlibone,  than  amidst  the  balmy 
breezes,  the  vineyards,  and  the  orange 
groves  (.)f  Madeira. 

Then  as  to  the  Land  Question.  Irish- 
men speak  as  if  English  malice  had  im- 
posed landlordism  in  Ireland.  Are  there 
no  landlords  in  England  ?  In  Ireland, 
before  the  days  of  landlords  proper, 
were  there  not  tyrannical  and  coshering 
chiefs,  who  with  their  tails  of  maraud- 
ing followers  preyed  without  limit  upon 
the  people  ?  I  do  not  want  to  under- 
state the  evils  which  have  arisen  in  both 
countries  from  the  retention  of  primo- 
geniture and  entail.  The  case  has  been 
worse  in  Ireland  than  in  England,  be- 
cause the  feudal  system  was  more  alien 
and  still  more  nnsuited  economically  to 
that  country  than  to  this,  and  because, 
by  the  aggregation  of  landed  property, 
and  especially  by  the  union  of  Irish  with 
English  estates  in  the  hands  of  the  great 
families,  absenteeism  has  been  engen- 
dered and  increased.  Absenteeism  is  a 
great  evil.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  some 
of  the  best  managed  estates  are  those  of 
absentees  ;  but  good  management  does 
not  make  up  for  the  want  of  a  rural  chief, 
least  of  all  among  a  peasantry  so  personal 
in  their  feelings  and  attachments  as  the 
Irish.  We  ought  to  have  got  rid  of 
primogeniture  and  entail ;  this  was  the 
tirst  and  most  obvious  thing  to  be 
done,  before  entering  on  that  most 
questionable  and  perilous  kind  of  legis- 
lation which  threatens  the  foundations 
of  commercial  society,  by  interfering  re- 
trospectively with  contracts.  It  is  al- 
most laughable  to  see  a  feudal  rule  of 
succession  existing  by  the  side  of  agra- 
rian legislation  about  as  drastic  as  any 
since  the  time  of  the  Gracchi.  The  re- 
sponsibility for  this  does  not  rest  on  the 
IJnglish  people  ;  it  rests  on  territorial 
aristocracy,  the  yoke  of  which  tlie  Irish 
people,  instead  of  helping  the  English 
people  to  break,  are  now  doing  their  best 
to  rivet  on  both  nations.  But  what  has 
the  general  course  of  land  legislation 
been  ?  Has  it  not,  if  landlordism  is  an 
evil,  been  far  more  beneficial  to  Ireland 
than  to  England  ?  First,  there  was  the 
Encumbered  Estates  Act,  which  reliev- 


ed Ireland  of  a  spendthrift  and  indebted 
proprietary,  unable  to  do  its  duty  to  the 
people,  and  at  the  same  time  disentailed 
and  threw  into  a  free  market  a  vast 
amount  of  land,  the  mass  of  which  was 
bought  by  Irishmen.  A  cry  was  raised 
that  the  ledger  principle  was  being 
introduced,  instead  of  the  personal  and 
more  kindly  relation  between  landlord 
and  tenant.  No  legislator  can  secure 
to  any  countiy  the  benehts  of  two  op- 
posite systems  at  once  ;  but  Mr.  Sulli- 
van, while  he  does  not  deny  the  hard- 
ships sometimes  incident  to  strictness, 
emphatically  declares  that  the  establish- 
ment of  the  stricter  system  has  been 
socially,  as  well  as  economically,  one  of 
the  most  valuable  of  reforms.  '  It  is 
not  conducive,'  he  says,  '  to  a  manly  in- 
dependence that  the  occupier  should 
be  permanently  behindhand  with  hia 
rent,  that  is  to  say,  beholden  to  the 
favour  and  sufferance  of  his  lord.  Much 
of  the  subjection  and  slavishness  of  pea- 
sant life  in  the  old  Ireland  grew  out  of 
this  habitual  arrear,  and  one  must 
honestly  rejoice  if  it  be  changed  in  the 
new.'  A  few  years  ago  came  the  Irish 
Land  Act,  setting  aside  the  ledger  prin- 
ciple and  the  ordinary  principles  of  com- 
merce, to  give  the  Irish  tenant  a  security 
of  tenure  and  a  property  in  his  own  im- 
provements, which  the  English  tenant 
does  not  yet  possess.  And  now  we  have 
another  Land  Act,  not  only  giving  se- 
curity of  tenure  and  compensation  for 
improvements,  but  cancelling  existing 
contracts  in  every  case  where  they  are 
disadvantageous  to  the  tenant.  In 
America  such  a  measure  could  not  have 
been  passed,  because  there  is  an  article 
of  the  Constitution  forbidding  absolutely 
any  legislation  which  would  break  a  con- 
tract. 

It  is,  in  truth,  not  easy  to  defend  the 
Second  Land  Bill  on  any  grounds  but 
those  of  the  very  roughest  expediency, 
since  any  historical  claims  in  the  nature 
of  status  arising  out  of  the  history  of  the 
tenures  had  been  settled  by  the  former 
Land  Act,  which  placed  everything  dis- 
tinctly on  the  ground  of  contract,  and 
under  which  capital  had  been  largely 
invested  in  Irish  land  with  the  direct 
and  explicit  sanction  of  the  State.  Great 
risk  has  been  run  for  the  benetit  of  the 
Irish  peasantry  of  letting  in  agrarianism 
and  confiscation  wiih  a  flood.  Those  who 
are  not  S(jcialists  could  hardly  have  been 
reconciled  to  such  a  course  had  it  not 
been  for  the  failure  of  the  Irish  land- 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


G35 


■owners  as  a  class  to  perform  the  duties 
which  the  holdtrs  (f  every  kind  of  pro- 
perty must  perform,  to  render  it  capa- 
ble of  being  protected  by  the  State. 
With  regard,  then,  to  the  relations  be- 
tween landlord  and  tenant  in  Ireland, 
the  Imperial  Legislature  has  gone  as  far 
as  any  legislature  retaining  a  shadow  of 
respect  for  property  could  go.  There  are 
some  who  would  have  it  abolish  land- 
ownership  altogether,  on  the  ground 
that  the  land  was  the  gift  of  the  Creator 
to  humanity  at  large,  which  no  man  ought 
to  be  permitted  to  appropriate,  a  doc- 
trine which  would  render  it  incumbent 
on  the  Irish  farmer  at  once  to  share  his 
farm  with  the  lab(jurer,  to  whom,  at 
present,  he  is,  at  least,  as  much  of  a  lord 
as  the  land  owner  is  to  him.  But  it  is 
time  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that 
neither  the  relation  bstween  landlord 
and  tenant,  nor  anything  with  which  a 
legislature,  even  if  it  weie  composed  of 
Land  Leaguers,  could  deal,  is  the  main 
root  of  the  evil.  The  main  root  of  the 
evil  is  the  rapid  multiplication  of  the 
people  on  a  land  of  which  a  small  por- 
tion only  is  fit  for  growing  wheat,  espe- 
cially in  the  face  of  present  competition, 
of  which  a  large  portion  is  hardly  fit  for 
growing  grain  fif  any  kind,  and  the  re- 
sources of  which,  in  the  shape  of  mine- 
rals and  coal,  whatever  their  extent  (and 
as  regards  coal,  I  expect  exaggerated 
estimates  have  by  some  been  formed), 
have,  at  all  events,  not  yet  been  de- 
veloped. This  it  is  that  puts  up  the 
rents,  beciuse  the  people,  multiplying 
beyond  measiire,  bid  against  each  other 
desperately  for  the  land,  and  undertake 
to  pay  more  than  they  can  pi  issibly  make. 
The  Irish  peasants  have  rack-rented 
themselves.  Kill  off  every  landlord, 
in  a  few  years  the  sufiering  will  be  worse 
than  ever,  becaitse  the  rent  is  something 
to  come  and  go  on,  and  a  landlord,  if  he 
is  worth  anything,  acts  as  a  sort  of  pro- 
vident fund  in  bad  times.  If  the  Irish 
had  been  left  to  themselves,  and  there 
had  been  no  outlet  for  them,  the  result 
would  have  been  what  has  been  already 
describad.  They  would  have  perished 
like  rabbits  in  a  confined  warren.  Re- 
fuge has  been  found  for  more  than  two 
millions  of  them  in  England  and  her 
colonies,  for  three  times  that  number, 
at  least,  in  colonies  originally  founded 
by  England.  If,  then,  emiuraius,  who 
are  always  complaining  that  England 
has  robbed  them  of  their  country,  had 
been    pent  up    in    their   country,  what 


would  have  been  their  fate  ?  The  study 
of  Irish  history  must  lead  us  to  feel  great 
respect  for  the  Catholic  clergy,  who, 
through  centuries  of  darkness  and  dis- 
tress, were  the  guides,  comforters,  and 
teachers  of  tlieir  people,  and  have  un- 
questionably bt-en  successful  in  uphold- 
ing the  family,  and  those  laws  of  morality 
on  which  it  rests.  But  the  time  has 
come  when  they  must  teach  their  flocks 
thrift  and  prudence.  Far  be  it  from  me 
to  advocate  the  unnatural  restrictions 
placed  on  the  growth  of  population  in 
France,  .and  perhaps  elsewhere.  To  be 
fruitful,  multiply,  and  people  the  earth 
is  the  law  (jf  nature  and  of  moral  health. 
But  there  is  a  mean  between  French  re- 
pression and  a  hovel  swarming  with  the 
children  of  a  premature  marriage,  for 
whom  there  is  no  bread.  Peasant,  pro- 
prietorship is  a  powerful  incentive  to 
prudence,  if  we  could  only  feel  sure  that 
a  grass  country  like  Ireland  is  fitted  for 
small  farms.  Parliaments,  at  all  events, 
are  powerless  in  the  case  ;  a  Parliament 
on  College  Green  would  do  no  more 
than  a  Parliament  at  Westminster.  The 
only  possible  eftect  of  a  repeal  of  the 
Union  would  be  partly  to  close  the  Eng- 
lish labour-market  against  Irish  emi- 
grants. The  agrarian  difHculties  of  Ire- 
land would  have  had  tlieir  counterpart 
in  the  Hi^dilands,  when  population  ceas- 
ed to  be  kept  down  by  clan  wars,  if  the 
Highlands  had  not  been  depleted  by 
emigration,  and  at  the  same  time  trained 
to  thrift  by  Protestantism  and  its  schools. 
They  would  have  h.ad  their  c(Uinterpart 
in  NVales,  if  Wales  had  not  been  saved 
by  the  same  agencies,  and  at  the  same 
time  by  her  coal,  copper,  and  iron 
works. 

Roman  Catholic  countries  have  their 
characteristics.  In  things  spiritual,  it 
may  be,  they  are  foremost  ;  in  things 
economical  they  are  not.  Ireland  is 
Roman  Catliolic.  Irish  Roman  Catholi- 
cism, as  has  been  said,  is  one  of  the 
accidents  of  history,  but  it  is  not  the 
fault  of  the  English  Government. 

Let  Ireland  ^o — that  is  what  I  have 
beard  uttered  or  half-uttered  in  several 
quarters  during  the  last  six  months  !  Is 
the  voice  that  of  a  moral  misgiving  as 
to  the  rightecjusness  of  holding  li  eland 
in  the  Union  apparently  against  her 
will  I  If  it  is,  I  heartily  respect  it.  Is 
it  the  voice  of  despondency  or  disgust  ? 
If  it  is,  I  do  not  respect  it,  at  least  I 
submit  that  it  ought  not  to  be  heard.  I 
am  Aiiti-Inq  erialist  to  the  core.   I  would 


63t5 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


not  let  India  go,  because  she  would  now 
be  left  to  iuiarohy,  but  I  wisli  she  had 
never  been  ours.  1  wuuld  let  all  mili- 
tary dependencies  go  which  ;ire  not  really 
necessary  for  the  protection  of  our  trade. 
Rather  than  have  everlasting  enmity 
with  Spain,  I  would  consider  at  least 
whether  Gibraltar  luight  not  be  ex- 
changed for  Ceuta.  On  all  adult  colonies 
1  would  bestow  nationality  instead  of 
keep  ng  them  in  a  state  of  dependency, 
which  is  enfeebling,  debasing,  and  cor- 
rupting to  them,  while  it  brings  to  the 
mother  country  no  real  power,  no  com- 
mercial privilege,  no  benefit  whatever.  I 
am  Anti-Imperialist,  1  repeat,  to  the  core, 
and  firmly  convinced  that  political  Unions 
not  dictated  by  nature  are  condemned 
by  true  wisdom,  and  can  be  sources  of 
nothing  but  discord,  unhappiness,  and 
weakness.  To  let  Ireland  go  in  peace, 
after  what  has  happened,  would  be  diffi- 
cult. It  is  one  thing  never  to  have  been 
married,  another  to  be  divorced.  For 
some  time  at  all  events,  the  relation 
would  be  one  not  of  mere  independence, 
but  of  enmity.  Still,  if  we  do  not  feel 
sure  that  it  is  good  for  Ireland  to  be  in 
the  Union,  and  if  she  wants  to  be  re- 
leased, in  Heaven's  name  let  her  go.  I 
will  drop  the  first  condition,  and  say, 
even  though  you  do  feel  sure  that  it  is 
good  for  Ireland  to  be  in  the  Union,  if 
the  deliberate  wish  of  the  whole  or  any- 
thing like  the  whole  of  her  people  is 
separation,  separated  let  her  be. 

But  first  let  us  be  well  advised  as  to 
the  fact.  The  disunionists  say  that  their 
voice  is  the  voice  of  the  Irish  people. 
That  it  is  not  the  voice  of  the  whole 
Irish  people  is  certain.  Ulster  is  for  the 
Union  ;  and  though  the  nationalists 
choose  to  leave  her  out  of  sight,  they 
would  find  when  they  came  to  deal  with 
her  that  she  counted  for  a  good  deal. 
Even  in  the  three  Celtic  and  Catholic 
provinces  there  is  a  Unionist  element, 
strong  when  reckoned  by  weight,  though 
not  when  reckoned  by  tale,  stronger 
perhaps  even  when  reckoned  by  tale 
at  a  period  of  social  terrorism,  of  which 
the  Irish  are  sadly  susceptible,  than 
may  appear.  There  is,  it  may  safely  be 
said,  a  far  larger  Union  party  in  Ireland 
than  there  was  in  the  Southern  States 
when  the  Americans  took  arms  to  put 
down  secession.  Great  Britain  owes  a 
duty  to  the  Irish  Unionists,  and  if  sepa- 
ration took  place,  and  they  were  oppress- 
ed by  the  majority  in  Ireland,  she  would 


have  to   intervene,  with  arms  if  neces- 
sary, for  their  protection. 

The   political   movement    wears   just 
now  an  appearance  of  strength,  because 
it  has  connected  itself  with  the  agrarian 
movement.     The    agrarian    movement, 
appealing  not  merely  to  the  sentiments 
or  passions  of  the  peasantry,  but  to  their 
pockets    and    their  bellies,    has   always 
been  really  strong.      It  lias  always  been 
going  on  with  more  or  less  violence,  tak- 
ing the  form  of  a  low,  smouldering  civil 
war  between  classes  waged  on  the  i^art 
of  the  peasantry  by  means  of  secret  so- 
cieties, and  marked  by  outrage  not  only 
of  the  fiercest  and  most  bloody,  but  of 
the  most  hideous  and  fiendish  kind — of 
the    kind   that   ranks   the   perpetrators 
with  the  Red  Indian.     It  has  continued 
to  rage,  notwithstanding    all  tlie  mea- 
sures of  improvement,  political  or  reli- 
gious, the  authors  of  which  have  been 
disapjjointed    by   the    results,    because 
they  did   not  see  that  the  central  evil 
had  not  been  touched.      It  has  generat- 
ed   among    the    peasantry   a    perverse 
morality,  which  not  only  condones  but 
applauds   agrarian    crime,    and    baffles . 
justice  by  silencing  witnesses  and  mak- 
ing the  juryman  an  accomplice.     Its  in- 
tensity is  also   proved   by   the   mutual 
fidelity  which  it  produces  among  the  con- 
spirators, whereas  of  the  political  Fenians 
it  has  been  said   that   where  three   of 
them  meet  there  is  a  spy.     Nothing  in 
the  annals  of  class  war  exceeds  the  his- 
t(jry  of  the  agrarian  war  in  Ireland.     It 
has  been  the  parent  of  a  black  heroism 
and  a  lurid  romance.  Among  the  papera 
of  Sir  Robert  Peel,  about  the  date  when 
he  was  wavering  on  the  Catholic  ques- 
tion, I  found  a  story  of  agrarian  murder 
which  may  well  have  impressed  his  mind. 
Whiteboys  came  to  the  house  of  a  mid- 
dleman or  a  tithe  proctor  at  night.   The 
man  was  in  a  room  on  the  ground  floor. 
In  a  room  above  were  his  wife  and  their 
little  girl.  The  woman  heard  the  White- 
boys  enter,  and  said  to  the  little  girl, 
'  Child,   these  men   have   come    to   kill 
your  father,  and  when  they  have  killed 
him,   they  will  come  up  here  and  kill 
me.    I  will  put  you  in  that  closet  where 
there  is   a   hole   in  the   door,   through 
which  you  can  look,  and  I  will  stir  up 
the  fire  that  there  may  be  light  for  you 
to  see.     Keep  quiet,  do  not  say  a  word, 
but  look  well  at  the  men  and  swear  to 
them  when  you  see  them  in  court.'  The 
Whiteboys  having  killed  the  man  came 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


G37 


up  and  killed  the  woman  ;  tlie  littlo  girl 
looked  on  in  silence  through  the  hole  in 
the  closet  door,  swore  to  the  mnnlerers 
in  court,  and  they  were  hanged  upon 
her  evidence. 

The  agrarian  movement,  I  repeat,  is, 
and  always  has  been,  strong.  Would 
that  we  were  certainly  at  the  end  of 
it  yet,  that  there  was  no  likelihood  of 
another  struggle  for  whatever  may  re- 
main of  the  rent,  which,  as  the  proprie- 
tor will  be  more  than  ever  a  stranger, 
will,  I  fear,  be  regarded  by  the  farmers 
more  than  ever  as  a  tax  paid  to  aliens. 
But  the  political  movement  since  Catho- 
lic Emancipation,  at  all  events,  has  not 
been  strong,  and  has  always,  at  bottom, 
been  losing  force,  as  the  political  griev- 
ances were  successively  removed,  though 
its  apparent  activity  and  its  liveliness 
have  been  increased  by  the  spread  of 
popular  education,  by  the  development 
of  the  popular  press,  by  the  revolution- 
ary agitation  in  Europe,  and  by  the 
other  circumstances,  including  tele- 
graphic communication,  which  have 
stimulated  excitement,  kindled  dema- 
gogic ambition,  and  rendered  the  atmos- 
phere more  electric  in  the  political  world 
at  large.  O'Connell,  triumphant  on  the 
question  of  Catholic  Emancipation,  fail- 
ed ignominiously  when  he  took  up  Re- 
peal. The  rising  under  Smith  O'Brien 
in  1848  ended  farcically,  though  all  the 
spirits  of  revolution  were  abroad.  That 
in  18(57  ended  more  farcically  still.  Some 
of  the  leaders  on  those  occasions,  such 
as  D' Arcy  McGee  and  Gavan  Duffy,  after- 
wards became  loyal  citizens  of  the  em- 
pire. In  the  political  part  of  the  pre- 
sent agitation  there  is  not  an  ounce  of 
military  force.  Nothing  can  make  it 
formidable  but  our  ov»  n  party  divisions, 
which  cut  the  sinews  of  Government, 
and  the  hybrid  character  of  our  institu- 
tions, which  in  conflict  with  a  public 
peril  put  forth  neither  the  force  of  a  real 
monarchy  nor  the  force  of  a  republic. 
One  hour  of  the  Commonwealth  would 
bring  this  conflict  to  an  end.  Great 
causes  produce  great  men  ;  the  only  ap- 
proach to  a  great  man  ever  produced  by 
the  political  movement  in  Ireland  is 
O'Connell,  in  whom,  after  all,  there  was 
a  sinister  element  of  falseliood.  The 
men  of  1848,  though  they  had  among 
them  talent  as  well  as  genuine  enthu- 
siasm, were  by  no  means  great  in  them- 
selves. Yet  they  were  great  in  compari- 
son with  their  successors.  Dynamite, 
vitriol,  infernal  machines,  together  with 


slanderous  and  almost  delirious  al)U8e 
poured  upon  the  whole  English  people, 
as  well  as  upon  ministers  and  members 
of  Parliament,  who  have  just  been  de- 
voting their  whole  energies  to  the  good 
of  Ireland,  a'-e  not  signs  of  strength  but 
of  irritated  weakness.  Instead  of  ex- 
torting concession  they  ovight  to  confirm 
the  community  in  its  determination  not 
to  yield.  Let  us  give  ear  to  any  demand, 
however  unwelcome,  which  is  urged  in 
the  accents  of  reason  ;  but  not  to  ma- 
lignity in  a  state  of  frenzy.  Malignity 
in  a  state  of  frenzy  knows  no  more  what 
is  for  its  own  good  than  it  knows  what 
is  for  ours.  The  political  movement  in 
fact  would  probably  have  died,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  rise  of  Feniani.«m  in  the 
United  States.  It  is  from  the  United 
States,  not  from  Ireland  herself,  that 
almost  the  whole  of  the  money  for  re- 
bellion is  drawn.  We  cannot  help  ad- 
miring the  love  with  which  the  heart  of 
the  Irish  emigrant  glows  for  his  mother 
country  ;  unselfish  sentiment  does  ho- 
nour to  a  race  even  though  it  may  be 
misguided.  But  observation  and  in- 
quiry have  satisfied  me  that  the  Irish 
character  in  America,  as  well  as  at  home, 
while  strong  in  afi'ection  is  weak  in  in- 
dei^endence,  and  that  many  of  these 
people  subscribe  to  Fenianism  under 
pressure,  and,  if  they  were  left  to  them- 
selves, would  be  glad  to  keep  their  hard 
earned  money  in  their  pockets.  They 
pay  under  threat  of  social  Boyfotting. 
That  among  the  leaders  there  are  sincere 
enthusiasts  need  not  be  denied  ,  but 
there  are  also  men  who  live  by  the  trade, 
and  who  get  up  sensations  to  keep  the 
money  flowing.  1  have  little  doubt  that 
much  of  the  dynamite  and  infernal  ma- 
chine diablerie  is  devised  with  this  ob- 
ject. Twice  the  American  Fenians  have 
invaded  Canada.  The  first  time  they 
came  with  some  old  soldiers  of  the  Civil 
War,  and  gained  a  slight  advantage  in  a 
skirmish  with  a  raw  volunteer  regiment, 
but  on  the  approach  of  regulars  they  at 
once  recrossed  the  line.  The  second 
time  they  came  with  a  lot  of  loafers, 
whom  they  had  hire<l  at  a  dollar  a  day, 
and  retired  in  a  great  hurry  before  the 
Canadian  Militia  could  get  near  them. 
Both  enterprises  were  crazy  in  their  con- 
ception, and  the  second  at  all  events  was 
comic  in  its  result.  Some  of  the  money 
is  subscribed  by  low  American  poli- 
ticians, buying  the  Irish  vote,  to  whose 
electoral  exigencies  we  are  hardly  bound 
to  sacrifice  our  Union.    From  this  (}uar- 


638 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


ter  probably  come  the  largest  nominal 
subscriptions,  though  I  am  credibly  as- 
sured that  they  are  not  always  more 
than  nominal.  Among  the  native  Ameri- 
cans generally,  I  say  with  contidence, 
that  there  is  not  tlie  slightest  sympathy 
with  Fenianism.  From  them,  Mr.  Par- 
nell,  when  he  visited  the  States,  called 
forth  no  response.  Secession  has  greatly 
modified  the  traditional  sentiment  of 
the  Americans  on  the  subject  of  re- 
bellion, and  taught  them  to  confine  their 
sympathy  to  insurrections  which  are 
justified  by  hopeless  wrong.  They  know 
that  so  far  from  being  an  obdurate  ty- 
rant the  Parliament  of  Great  Britain  is 
doing  all  in  its  power  for  Ireland.  Nor 
do  they  owe  any  political  gratitude  to 
the  Irish,  who,  while  their  labour  has 
been  inestimable  and  indispensable, 
have  in  politics  been  always  by  their  un- 
lucky star  ranged  on  the  wrong  side, 
have  formed  the  rank  and  file  of  corrup- 
tion, and  worst  of  all,  the  main  support 
of  Slavery.  Citizens  of  New  York  have 
not  yet  forgotten  the  Irish  rising  in  the 
midst  of  the  Civil  War,  and  the  savage 
atrocities  which  were  then  committed  on 
hapless  negroes  in  their  streets,  any 
more  than  the  Irish  have  forgotten  the 
stern  severity  witli  which  when  the  com- 
munity had  gathered  its  forces  the  in- 
surrection was  put  down.  The  people 
of  the  United  States  allow  the  Fenians 
to  talk  ;  they  allow  everybody  to  talk  ; 
perfect  freedom  of  meeting  and  of  speech 
is  their  settled  principle  ;  they  will  not 
adopt  at  the  instance  of  a  foreign  Gov- 
ernment repressive  measures  which  they 
never  adjpt  for  themselves.  But  de- 
pend upon  it,  if  Fenianism  attempts  to 
break  the  law  of  the  Republic,  the  law 
will  be  enforced  with  a  firm  hand  and 
with  the  cordial  approbation  of  the  peo- 
ple. If  you  ever  see  anything  f^uoted 
from  New  York  journals  which  seems  to 
contradict  what  I  have  said,  remember 
that  New  York  journals  have  Irish  sub- 
scribers, and  that  discretion,  sometimes 
the  better  part  of  valour  in  war,  may 
also  be  sometimes  the  better  part  of 
independence  in  the  press. 

Who  does  not  now  rejoice  that  we 
have  kept  peace  and  amity  with  Ameri- 
ca /  Who  wishes  now  that  the  councils 
of  Toryism  and  the  Southern  Club  had 
prevailed  ?  What  would  be  our  position 
with  Ireland  in  a  flame,  if  the  Ameri- 
cans, instead  of  being,  as  they  are, 
full  of  kind  feeling  towards  the  old 
country,  were  burning  with  unappeased 


resentment,  eager  to  pour  money  into 
Fenian  cofiers,  and  ready  to  connive  at 
Fenian  enterprises  ?  I  understand  why 
a  Tory  wishes  to  estrange  us  from  the 
Republic,  though  he  is  much  mistaken 
if  he  thinks  that  American  Republicans 
are  propagandists,  and  shrinks  from 
close  relations  with  them  on  that  ac- 
count :  they  are,  I  should  say,  if  any- 
thing, too  little  propagandist,  and  too 
well  content  that  they  should  have  what 
they  deem  the  paragon  of  Constitutions 
to  themselves.  But  how  can  there  be  a 
difference  of  opinion  among  Liberals  as 
to  the  relations  which  ought  to  exist  be- 
tween the  Old  England  and  the  New  ? 
Is  not  the  foundation  of  the  New  Eng- 
gland  the  grandest  of  all  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  (Jld  \  Are  not  our  Anaeri- 
can  kinsmen  propagating  over  that 
Continent,  to  the  honour  and  glory  of 
their  mother  country,  not  her  race  and 
language  only,  but  her  political  char- 
acter, her  leading  institutions,  her 
modes  of  thought  ?  The  last  evil  mem- 
ories of  the  old  quarrel  between  the  two 
branches  of  our  race  are  now  in  the 
grave  of  the  past  ;  their  knell  was  the 
sound  of  the  cannon  saluting  the  British 
flag  at  Yorktown.  The  two  Englands 
are  in  heart  one  again,  and  they  are 
being  daily  drawn  closer  to  each  other 
by  commerce,  by  literature,  by  social 
intercourse,  by  all  the  agencies  which 
are  J  apidlj^  bridging  over  the  Atlantic. 
I  was  in  the  United  States  in  the  midst 
of  the  late  civil  war,  and  incensed  as 
the  people  were  and  had  good  cause  for 
being,  by  the  depredations  of  the  Ala- 
bama,  and  still  more  by  the  language  of 
British  journals,  I  could  even  then  see 
love  of  the  old  country  at  the  bottom  of 
their  hearts.  They  felt  unkindness 
from  her,  as  they  would  have  felt  it 
from  no  other  nation.  With  other 
c  mntries  you  may  have  diplomatic  con- 
nections, more  or  less  cordial,  more  or 
less  stable,  which,  formed  by  interest, 
will  by  the  first  divergence  of  interests 
be  dissolved.  With  the  Americans  you 
can  have  friendship,  and,  trust  me, 
hearty  friendship,  friendship  which  will 
prove  its  value,  not  only  in  your  prosper- 
ous hour,  but  at  your  need.  They  are 
said  to  be  ruled  by  the  dollar.  Com- 
merce is  the  game  of  life,  which  they 
play  with  eagerness,  often  with  more 
eagerness  than  they  ought  ;  but,  unless 
I  greatly  misread  them,  no  people  on 
earth  are  more  governed  by  sentiment 
than  they  are.     If   their   sentiment   in- 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


G39 


eludes  national  pride,  so  does  ours,  and 
interference  with  them  on  their  own 
Continent — the  Continent  of  which  they 
are  and  must  be  the  tutelary  power— 
offends  them,  as  similar  interference  by 
them  in  our  proper  sphere  of  action 
would  ofi'end  us.  They  have  no  busi- 
ness to  be  meddling  here,  and  Great 
Britain  has  no  business  to  be  meddling 
there.  Her  political  meddlings  with 
America  from  first  to  last  are  a  record 
of  disaster.  Seize  then  the  advantage 
offered  in  a  propitious  hour.  Grasp 
frankly  and  firmly  the  hand  of  the  Eng- 
lish Republic,  the  child  and  the  repre- 
sentative of  your  own  glorious  though 
shortlived  Commonwealth.  Instead  of 
viewing  her  high  fortunes  with  a  jeahjus 
eye,  and  weakly  trying  to  mar  them, 
accept  them,  accept  her  power  and  her 
greatness  as  your  own.  Do  this  de- 
cisively and  do  it  now.  Halt  not  be- 
tween two  policies,  one  of  friendship, 
the  other  of  antagonism,  missing  the 
fruits  of  both.  Abandon  the  vain  pro- 
ject of  building  up  on  the  American 
Continent  an  anti-American  Emiiire. 
Nature  has  put  her  ban  upon  it  ;  it  will 
surely  prove  abortive  ;  it  will  bring 
knighthoods  and  perhaps  gain  to  a  few 
colonial  politicians ;  to  the  British 
people  both  here  and  in  North  America 
it  will  bring  nothing  but  evil.  Once  for 
all  have  done  with  it,  and  with  ail  the 
waste  that  it  entails.  Take  in  place  of 
it  a  real  and  lasting  accession  of  strength, 
a  support  which  will  not  fail.  In  this 
world  of  rivalry,  intrigue,  treachery 
among  nations  and  Governments,  se- 
cure to  England,  as  now  you  may,  one 
hearty  and  true  ally. 

In  saying  that  the  political  movement 
is  weak,  I  do  not  mean  to  deny  that 
there  is  widespread  disaffection  in  Ire- 
land, or  to  say  that  the  disaffection  is 
not  dangerous ;  it  undoubtedly  adds 
venom  to  the  agrarian  ai,'itation.  It  has 
produced  a  national  literature  of  Fenian- 
ism,  in  which  all  the  heroes  of  history, 
oratory,  and  poetry  are  rebels,  and 
which  forms  one  of  the  worst  features  of 
the  situation.  Had  royalty  in  times 
past  dane  its  gracious  duty  bj'  spendinu" 
part  of  the  year  in  Ireland,  the  state  of 
feeling  among  the  people  would  have 
been  far  less  bad.  This  is  an  uncourtly 
remark,  but  it  is  true ;  its  truth  has 
been  affirmed  by  every  Irish  friend  of 
the  Union  without  exception  to  whom  I 
have  spoken  on  the  subject,  and  most 
emphatically  by  thoae   who    understood 


Ireland  best.  The  political  attachments 
of  the  Irishman  are  still  personal  :  he 
has  not  yet  been  trained  either  in  his 
own  country  or  in  the  United  States  to 
the  love  of  principles  and  institutions: 
his  instincts  are  still  those  of  the  clans- 
man whose  heart  craves  for  a  chief. 
Royalty  might  have  been  his  chief  :  but 
thrice  only,  and  for  a  very  short  time  on 
each  occasion,  have  the  Irish  people 
seen  their  Sovereign  since  the  Battle  of 
the  Boyne.  Queen  Victoria  has  been 
in  Ireland  three  times.  The  void  left  in 
Irish  sentiment  has  been  filled,  as  it  was 
sure  to  be,  by  other  idols.  Yet  when 
Royalty  did  come  it  was  received  with 
an  enthusiasm  which  ought  to  have 
made  the  path  of  duty  pleasant  ;  and 
certainly  the  Phoenix  Park  is  not  the 
most  repulsive  place  of  exile.  Excuses 
may  be  framed  for  the  neglect  of  Ire- 
land by  Briti-sh  sovereigns,  but  there  is 
a  strong  feeling  among  the  people  of 
England  that  the  duties  of  the  highest 
place,  like  the  duties  of  other  places, 
ought  to  be  done.  Of  course  nobody 
advises  Royalty  now  to  visit  Ireland — 
the  motive  would  be  apparent  :  it  is  too 
late.  We  must  be  thankful  for  the  good 
that  has  been  done  by  the  (li!S[)lays  of 
Royal  courtesy  and  sympathy  in  the 
case  of  the  United  States. 

It  has  unhappily  been  necessary  to 
employ  what  is  called  coercion.  All 
Liberals  deplore  it  ;  but  the  name  is 
misplaced.  Coercion,  in  reality,  it  is 
not  ;  it  is  the  removal  of  coercion  ;  it  is 
the  reuKJval  of  the  coercion  exercised  by 
a  terrorist  organisation,  inflicting  at  its 
lawless  will  penalties  compared  with 
which  a  short  imprisonment  is  trifling, 
for  the  purpose  of  preventing  debtors 
from  paying  just  debts,  which  they  were 
able  to  pay,  and  the  whole  people  from 
availing  themselves  of  the  boon  which 
was  proffered  them  by  Parliament,  and 
of  which  they  did,  by  tens  of  thousands, 
eagerly  avail  themselves  as  soon  as  the 
obstruction  was  removed .  To  get  j  nstice 
done  to  the  Irish  people  on  the  land 
question  was  not  the  object  of  the  lead- 
ers ;  their  object  was  to  prevent  justice 
from  being  done  ;  they  wanted  to  keep 
agrarian  discontent  alive,  in  order  that 
it  mi<zht  furnish  fuel  to  the  fire  of  politi- 
cal revolution.  They  were  seeking  what 
could  be  attained  only  through  civil 
war  ;  they  were  acting  in  open  alliance 
with  the  avowed  enemies  of  the  country 
in  America  ;  and  from  those  enemies,  I 
repeat,    not   from    Ireland   itself,   their 


640 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


fond  was  mainly  derived.  If  ever  the 
community  was  warranted  in  taking 
measures  of  self-defence,  it  was  war- 
ranted in  this  case.  After  all,  nothing 
has  been  done  beyond  the  temporary 
withdrawal  of  the  leading  conspirators 
from  the  scene,  if  indeed  they  can  be 
said  to  have  been  withdrawn  from  the 
scene,  while  they  are  left,  as  unfortu- 
nately they  are,  in  the  heart  of  the  agi- 
tation, instead  of  being  taken  out  of  the 
island.  This  was  no  very  extreme  or 
atrocious  measure  when  society  was 
openly  threatened  with  civil  war.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  Government 
has  done  nothing  unconstitutional ;  it 
has  used  the  powers  which  it  was  consti- 
tutionally authorised  and  enjoined  by 
Parliament  to  use  in  tlie  emergency 
which  Parliament  undoubtedly  had  in 
view.  So  long  as  the  executive  simply 
obeys  the  Legislature,  its  action  is  in 
accordance  with  the  Constitution.  The 
arrests  are  called  a  scandal  to  Liberalism ; 
a  grief  and  a  deep  grief  to  Liberalism 
they  are,  a  scandal  they  are  not.  A 
Government  is  not  bound  to  allow  itself 
to  be  overturned  because  it  is  founded 
on  freedom  and  j  ustice.  The  Americans 
did  not  think  that  the  popular  character 
of  their  institutions  was  any  reason  why 
they  should  shrink  from  upholding  them 
against  rebellion.  There  is,  and  prob- 
ably will,  for  some  time  to  come,  be 
work  for  robust  Liberalism  m  this  un- 
settled world.  The  policeman  cannot 
yet  throw  down  his  truncheon.  If 
people  will  not  of  themselves  respect  the 
laws  which  the  community  makes,  they 
must  be  compelled  to  respect  them.  The 
use  of  force  will  involve  no  breach  of 
principle  so  long  as  the  sole  object  is  to 
make  citizens  obey  the  law,  and  so  long 
as  discussion  of  the  law,  with  a  view  to 
its  constitutional  amendment,  remains 
free.  The  second  of  these  conditions, 
as  well  as  the  first,  has  been  observed  in 
the  present  case.  There  has  been  no  in- 
terference with  freedom  of  discussion, 
or  even  with  constitutional  agitation. 
Nothing  has  been  put  down  except  in- 
citements to  breaches  of  the  law,  to 
violence,  and  to  rebellion.  The  Act  of 
Union  is  like  any  other  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment ;  it  must  stand  upon  its  merits, 
and  if  it  is  proved  to  be  pernicious,  it 
must  fall.  People  ought  to  be  and  are 
at  liberty  to  argue  or  agitate  peacefully 
in  favour  of  its  repeal  or  alteration  ; 
but  they  are  not,  nor  while  civil  Govern- 
ment exists  will  they  be,  at  liberty  to 


levy  civil  war.  An  attempt  to  levy  civil 
war  may  be  justifiable  and  meritorious 
in  case  of  misgovernment,  for  which 
there  is  no  other  remedy  ;  but  those  who 
make  the  attempt  must  be  prepared  for 
resistance  on  the  part  of  the  Govern- 
ment and  those  who  think  that  the  Gov- 
ernment is  worthy  of  being  upheld.  If 
the  Ministry  and  the  friends  of  the 
Union  were  capable  of  the  fiendish 
Machiavellism  with  which  they  are 
charged  by  Irish  passion,  instead  of 
doing  all  in  their  power  to  prevent  an 
outbreak,  they  would  allow  it  to  take 
place  ;  for  nothing  can  be  more  certain 
than  that  an  appearance  of  the  League 
in  the  field,  such  as  would  warrant  the 
Government  in  using  troops  against  it, 
would  immediately  be  followed  by  its 
final  overthrow.  At  one  moment  it 
seemed  as  if  suspension  of  trial  by  jury 
would  be  necessary  in  agrarian  cases.  If 
it  ever  is  necessary,  there  will  be  no 
breach  of  principle  in  resorting  to  it, 
provided  that  a  fair  tribunal,  such  as  a 
commission  of  Assize  composed  of  men 
of  character  and  station  with  a  judge  as 
president,  not  martial  law,  is  instituted 
in  its  place.  The  object  of  trial  by 
jury  is  to  protect  life  and  property  ;  if 
it  ceases  to  do  this,  its  usefulness  and 
its  sacredness  for  the  time  are  gone.  It 
is  in  fact  already  suspended  when  con- 
viction becomes  impossible,  and  when 
robbery  and  murder  stalk  with  impunity 
through  the  land. 

Fenianism,  on  the  present  occasion, 
besides  terrorism  and  Boycotting,  and 
agrarian  murder,  and  maiming  of  cattle, 
and  infernal  machines,  and  carding,  has 
found  another  and,  it  must  be  owned, 
powerful  engine  of  annoyance.  Parlia- 
mentary Obstructiou.  That,  too,  will 
have  to  be  put  down,  and  put  down  with 
a  firm  hand,  whatever  alteration  of  forms 
or  abridgment  of  liberty  of  speech  the 
process  may  involve.  This  is  not  the 
cause  of  Great  Britain  alone.  Obstruc- 
tion threatens  the  integrity,  nay,  the 
existence  of  Parliamentary  institutions, 
in  all  countries.  How  is  the  machine 
to  act  anywhere  if  a  small  minority  like 
the  Parnellites  are  always  to  have  the 
power  of  stopping  the  wheels  ?  The 
privilege  of  speech  is  given  for  the  fur- 
therance of  deliberation  ;  it  is  forfeited 
by  those  who  abuse  it,  and  avow  their 
intention  of  abusing  it,  for  the  hindrance 
of  deliberation.  It  is  better,  no  doubt, 
always  to  strike  the  guilty  than  to  cur- 
tail general  liberties  ;    but  few  will  de- 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


G41 


plore  a  certain  reduction  of  that  redun- 
dancy of  speech  which  is  swamping  the 
national  councils.  Some  would  be  glad 
if  the  minute-glass  could  be  added  to 
the  Cloture.  There  seems  reason  to  fear 
that  in  the  impending  conflict  Revolu- 
tion, using  obstruction  as  its  engine, 
may  receive  the  covert  aid  of  Reaction. 
The  Party  system  is  on  its  trial.  If 
faction  prevails,  so  far  as  to  make  the 
professed  upholders  of  order,  at  a  mo- 
ment of  great  public  peril,  league  them- 
selves with  disunion  against  union,  with 
rebellion  against  national  government, 
with  the  subverters  against  the  defenders 
of  the  dignity  and  life  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  death-warrant  of  the  sys- 
tem is  signed.  The  Conservatives  have, 
during  the  last  thirty  years,  been  under- 
going a  training  which  was  not  likely  to 
increase  their  loyalty  to  Parliamentary 
institutions,  but  the  training  has  not 
been  shared  by  the  English  people.  An 
attempt  of  the  Tory  party  to  weaken  and 
embarrass  Government  on  this  occasion 
would  be  more  than  unpatriotic,  when 
we  consider  that  the  Tory  party  is  that 
of  the  landlords,  and  when  we  also  con- 
sider what  a  desperate  client  Irish  land- 
lordism is,  and  how  it  has  deserted  its 
own  cause.  Prompt  and  united  action 
on  the  part  of  the  landlords  at  the  out- 
set might,  as  the  best  judges  say,  have 
dissipated  the  storm.  Bat  they  threw 
themselves  helplessly  on  the  Govern- 
ment. They  seemed  to  think  only  of 
their  hunting,  like  the  doomed  King  of 
France  on  the  eve  of  the  Revolution. 

No  Irishman  who  listens  to  his  reason, 
and  not  to  his  resentment,  can  doubt 
that  the  same  hands  which  have  given 
Disestablishment  and  the  Land  Act  are 
ready  to  give  any  feasible  and  rational 
measure  of  Home  Rule.  Those  who 
hold,  as  I  do,  that  central  institutions 
ought  to  be  based  on  local  institutions, 
and  that  a  large  measure  of  legislative 
power  on  local  questions  ought  to  be 
given  to  local  councils,  subject  always  to 
the  supreme  authority  of  the  great  coun- 
cil of  the  nation,  would  be  ready  to  go 
conaiderable  lengths  in  that  direction. 
No  doubt  there  are  many  Irish  matters, 
as  well  as  many  Scotch  matters,  which 
might  well  be  dealt  with  in  the  country 
to  which  they  belong.  There  is  no  use 
in  dragging  everything  to  Westminster . 
1  would  go  so  far  as  to  place  public  edu- 
cation among  local  questions,  ridding  the 
central  parliament  thereby  of  the  religi- 
ous difficulties   which    that    subject  in- 


volves. If  Munster  and  Connaught  did 
not  decide  right  at  first,  perhapa  they 
would  in  the  end,  and  they  would  then 
be  satisfied  with  the  decision.  But 
legislative  union  on  national  questions 
must  be  preserved.  Of  all  the  plans 
proposed,  the  worst  is  that  of  two  inde- 
pendent legislatures  under  the  same 
crown.  Under  the  constitutional  system 
the  legislature  is  the  government  ;  two 
legislatures  would  be  two  governments, 
which  might,  and  in  the  temper  in 
which  they  would  set  out  almost  cer- 
tainly would,  take  diflerent  courses  on 
all  subjects,  including  peace  and  war. 
The  crown,  instead  of  a  golden  link,  as 
some  of  the  Home  Rulers  have  called 
it,  would  be  a  dog  collar,  coupling  two 
unwilling  partners,  and  it  would  give 
way  under  the  first  serious  strain.  Tax- 
ation, as  well  as  supreme  legislation,  for 
any  but  strictly  local  objects,  must  be 
left  in  the  national  parliament  because 
everything  follows  the  power  of  the 
purse. 

What  would  Ireland,  separated  from 
England  and  Scotland,  be  1  Who  can 
give  anything  like  a  definite  answer  to 
that  question?  No  Home  Ruler  whose 
writings  or  speeches  [  have  ever  seen. 
We  can  understand  a  patriot  being  will- 
ing to  encounter  the  evils  of  civil  war 
and  revolution,  if  he  deems  the  govern- 
ment intolerable,  and  if  he  also  sees  his 
way  to  something  better  beyond.  But 
who  can  wish  to  rush  through  civil  war 
to  chaos  ?  What  would  be  the  form  of 
government  ?  What  object  on  the  mor- 
row of  the  revolution  could  the  victors 
present  to  the  alleLiiance  of  the  Irish 
people  ?  No  such  thing  as  a  national 
government  of  Ireland  ever  existed.  Be- 
fore the  Norman  invasion,  there  was 
perhaps  a  tendency  to  unification,  but 
there  was  nothing  more.  There  is  no 
royal  house,  there  is  no  name  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  The  Fenians  per- 
haps aim  at  an  Irish  Republic,  but  the 
mass  of  the  peasantry  in  the  three  Celtic 
and  Catholic  provinces  is  unripe  for  Re- 
publican institutions,  and  would  proba- 
bly feel  no  attachment  to  them.  A 
series  of  ephemeral  dictators,  pulled 
down  in  rapid  succession  by  the  jeal- 
ousy of  rivals,  would  most  likely  be 
the  outcome  of  that  experiment.  But 
the  Fenians  as  revolutionists  and  free- 
thinkers would  find  themselves  opposed 
at  the  outset  by  the  priesthood  and  all 
whom  the  priesthood  leads.  Both  sec- 
tions would  have  an  antagonist  in  Pro- 


G42 


THE  CONDUCT  OF  ENGLAND  TO  IRELAND. 


testant  Ulster,  who  has  more  than  once 
shown  herself,  with  her  Scottish  force, 
physical  and  moral,  able  to  cope  with 
the  rest  of  the  island.'  It  Ulster  were 
hard  jjressed  in  the  struggle,  she  would 
stretch  her  hands  to  Scotland  and  Eng- 
land for  aid,  which  would  as  certainly 
be  given.  Irish  disunionists  hardly 
realize  the  fact  that,  after  the  separation, 
England  would  have  b(jth  legally  and 
practically  all  the  freedom  of  action  per- 
taining to  a  foreign  power.  Fear  of  the 
Irish  vote  would  fetter  her  leaders  no 
more.  She  would  be  at  liberty  if  she 
was  provoked  to  close  or  restrict  her 
markets  for  Irish  products  and  for  Irish 
labour.  She  would  be  at  liberty  to  set 
limits  to  Irish  immigration,  and  thus  to 
relieve  herself  of  the  political  danger  to 
which  she  is  in  increasing  measure  ex- 
posed from  the  formation  of  great  Irish 
settlements  in  this  country.  She  would 
be  at  libertj'  to  press  any  demands  she 
pleased,  and,  if  they  were  rejected,  to 
enforce  them  with  her  arms.  In  truth, 
of  the  inducements  to  separation  not 
the  least  are  upon  her  side.  There  are 
some  who  say,  half  in  earnest,  let  Ire- 
land go,  leave  her  to  her  own  anarchic 
force,  let  her  try  what  independence  is, 
let  her  pass  through  a  few  years  of  em- 
broilment and  confusion  :  she  will  then 
be  glad  to  return  to  the  Union,  and 
satisfied  to  remain  quietly  in  it  for  the 
future.  The  policy  would  be  cruel,  but 
it  is  not  certain  that  it  would  be  un- 
wise. 

Ireland  has  a  distinct  boundary,  but 
she  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  any  other 
element  of  a  separate  nationality.  Eng- 
lish is  already  the  language  of  almost  all, 
and  will  soon  be  that  of  all,  her  people. 
In  race,  religion,  political  character, 
there  is  as  little  unity  as  there  can  well 
be  among  any  population  shut  in  by  the 
same  seas.  In  respect  of  language,  at 
any  rate,  Wales  is  more  a  country  by 
itself  than  Ireland,  and  the  Welsh 
Princes  belong  to  a  less  remote  period 
of  history  than  the  Irish  Kings.  The 
very  leader  of  the  Nationalists  on  this 
occasion  is  English  in  name  and  blood. 

Be  not  weary  of  well-doing.  Remem- 
ber, in  half  a  century  of  popular  govern- 
ment, how  much  has  been  effected,  what 
a  mountain  of  abuses,  restrictions, 
monopolies,  wrongs,  and  absurdities 
has  been  cleared  away.  In  face  of  what 
difficulties  has  this  been  achieved  !  what 
prophecies  of  ruin  have  all  along  been 
uttered  by   reaction    or    timidity,    and 


how  one  affer  another  have  those  pro- 
phecies been  belied  !  In  the  case  of 
England  and  Scotland,  the  fruits  of  a 
Liberal  policy  are  visible  in  a  wealthier, 
a  happier,  a  better,  a  more  united,  and 
a  more  loyal  people.  In  the  case  of 
Ireland  they  are  not  yet  so  clearly 
visible  ;  yet  they  are  there.  The  Ire- 
land of  1882,  though  not  what  we  should 
wish  her  to  be,  is  a  very  different  Ireland 
from  that  of  the  last  century  or  of  the 
first  quarter  of  thapresent.  Catholic  ex- 
clusion, the  penal  code,  the  State  Church 
of  the  minority  are  gone  ;  in  their  place 
reign  elective  government,  religious 
liberty,  equality  before  the  law.  A  sys- 
tem of  public  education,  founded  on 
perfect  toleration  of  all  creeds,  and 
inferior  perhaps  to  none  in  excellence, 
has  been  established.  The  Land  Law 
has  been  reformed  and  again  re- 
formed on  principles  of  exceptional 
liberality  to  the  tenant.  Wealth  has  in- 
creased, notwithstanding  all  the  hind- 
rances put  in  the  way  of  its  growth  by 
turbulence  ;  the  deposits  both  in  the 
savings'  banks  and  in  the  ordinary  banks 
bear  witness  to  the  fact.  Pauperism 
has  greatly  declined.  Outrage,  on  the 
average,  has  declined  also,  though  we 
happen  just  now  to  be  in  a  crisis  of  it. 
Under  the  happy  influence  of  equal  jus- 
tice, religious  rancour  has  notably 
abated  ;  the  change  has  been  most  re- 
markable in  this  respect  since  I  first  saw 
Ireland.  Influential  classes,  which  in- 
justice in  former  days  put  on  the  side  of 
revolution,  are  now  at  heart  ranged  on 
the  side  of  order  and  the  Union,  though 
social  terrorism  may  prevent  them  from, 
giving  it  their  open  support.  The  gar- 
rison of  Ascendency,  political,  ecclesias- 
tical, and  territorial,  has  step  by  step 
been  disbanded  ;  an  operation  fraught 
with  danger,  because  those  who  are  de- 
prived of  privilege  are  always  prone  in 
their  wrath  to  swell  the  ranks  of  dis- 
affection, which  yet  has  been  accom- 
plished with  success.  If  the  results  of 
political,  religious,  and  educational  re- 
form seem  disappointing,  it  is,  as  1  have 
said  before,  because  the  main  question 
is  not  the  franchise,  or  the  Church,  or 
the  public  school,  but  the  land.  With 
that  question  a  Liberal  Parliament  and 
a  Liberal  Government  are  now  strug- 
gling ;  while  its  inherent  difliculties  are 
increased  by  Tory  reaction  on  the  one 
side  and  by  Fenian  revolution  on  the 
other.  Of  all  the  tasks  imposed  by  the 
accumulated  errors  and  wrongs  of  ages, 


LOTUS. 


645 


this  was  the  most  arduous  and  the  most 
perilous.  Yet  hope  begins  to  dawn  up- 
on the  effort.  Only  let  the  nation  stand 
firmly  against  Tory  and  Fenian  alike, 
and  against  both  united,  if  they  mean  to 
conspire,  in  support  of  the  leaders  whonx 
it  has  chosen,  and  to  whose  hands  it  has 
committed  this  momentous  work.  If 
separation  even  now  were  to  take  place, 
what  has  been  done  would  not  have  been 
done  in  vain.  Ireland  would  go  forth 
an  honour  to  England,  not  a  scandal  and 
a  reproach,  as  she  would  have  been  if 
their  connection  had  been  severed  sixty 
years  ago.  If  any  one  doubts  it,  I  chal- 
lenge him  once  more  to  compare  the 
state  of  Ireland  with  that  of  any  other 
Roman  Catholic  country  in  the  world. 
But  of  separation  let  there  be  no 
thought  ;  none  at  least  till  Parliament 
has  done  its  utmost  with  the  Land 
Question  and  failed.  Let  us  hope,  as  it 
is  reasonable  to  hope,  that  where  so 
much  has  been  accomplished,  the  last 
and  crowning  enterprise  will  not  mis- 
carry. Settle  the  Land  Question,  and 
that  which  alone  lends  strength  to  poli- 
tical discontent,  to  conspiracy,  to  dis- 
union, will  be  gone.       Passion  will  not 


subside  in  an  hour,  but  it  will  subside, 
and  good  feeling  will  take  its  place.  The- 
day  may  come  when  there  will  be  no 
more  talk  of  England  and  >Scotland  gov- 
erning Ireland  well  or  ill,  because  Ire- 
land, in  partnership  with  England  and 
Scotland,  will  be  governing  herself,  and 
contributing  her  share  to  the  common 
greatness  and  the  common  progress  ; 
when  the  Union  will  be  ratified  not  only 
by  necessity,  but  by  free  conviction  and 
good  will  ;  when  the  march  of  wealth 
and  prosperity  will  no  more  be  arrested 
by  discord,  but  the  resources  of  the 
Island  will  be  developed  in  peace,  and 
the  villas  of  opulence  perhaps  will  stud 
the  lovely  shores,  where  now  the  as- 
sassin prowls  and  property  cannot  sleep- 
secure  ;  when  the  long  series  of  Liberal 
triumphs  will  be  crowned  by  the  sight 
of  an  Ireland  no  longer  distracted,  dis- 
affected, and  reproachful,  no  longer 
brooding  over  the  wrongs  and  sufferings 
of  the  past,  but  resting  peacefully, 
happily,  and  in  unforced  union  at  her 
consort's  side.  The  life  of  a  nation  is 
long,  and  though  by  us  this  consumma- 
tion may  not  be  witnessed,  it  may  be- 
witr.essed  by  our  children. 


LOTUS 


TTTHEREFORE  awake  so  long, 

VV     Wide-eyed,  laden  with  care]  ' 

Not  all  battle  is  life, 
But  a  little  respite  and  peace 
May  fold  us  round  as  a  fleece 
Soft-woven  for  all  men's  wear. 
Sleep  then,  mindless  of  strife  ; 
Slumber,  dreamless  of  wrong  ; — 
Hearken  my  slumber  song, 
Falling  asleep. 

Drowsily  all  noon  long 
The  warm  wind  rustles  the  grass 
Hushedly,  lulling  thy  brain, 
Burthened  with  murmur  of  bees, 
And  numberless  whispers,  and  ease ; 
Dream-clouds  gather  and  pass, 
Of  painless  remembrance  of  pain  ; 
Havened  from  rumour  of  wrong. 
Dreams  are  thy  slumber-song. 
Fallen  asleep. 

— CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  M.A.,  CHATHAM,  X.B. 


•644 


ROUND  THE  TABLE. 


EOUE^D    THE    TABLE. 


REVERENCE. 

IS  the  faculty  of  Reverence  dying  out 
altogether  ?  and  if  not,  what  will 
the  next  few  generations  reverence  ?  I 
start  with  the  postulate  that,  unless  the 
man  of  the  future  is  to  be  an  egotistical 
prig,  he  will  always  see  something  be- 
yond his  powers  of  attainment  for  which 
he  will  be  filled  with  veneration  and 
which  he  will,  in  the  true  spirit  of  the 
word,  worship.  What  will  that  be  ? 
Now  I  imagine  it  must  be  conceded  that 
the  customary  forms  of  reverence  are 
very  generally  falling  into  disuse,  and 
that  already  the  inhabitants  of  the  North 
American  Continent  may  claim  to  be 
about  the  most  irreverent  people  that 
ever  lived  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  I 
do  not  merely,  or  even  briefly,  allude  to 
Chicago  newspapers,  with  their  theolog- 
ical and  biblical /aceiifp.,  headed  'Sunday 
Salad,' — nor  to  the  chaste  views  of  a 
Guiteau  on  the  (apparently  to  him)  kin- 
dred subjects  of  inspiration  and  insan- 
ity,— neither  will  I  lay  stress  on  the 
buffooneries  of  an  IngersoU,— all  of  which 
are  merely  casually-prominent  instances 
of  the  underlying  faculty  for  profanity 
which  displays  itself  in  almost  every 
grade  of  American  Society. 

But  I  do  wish  to  point  out  the  essen- 
tially similar  spirit  in  which  the  {soi  di- 
sant)  religious  classes  treat  all  holy  to- 
pics. 'Bien  n''est  sacre  pour  un — revival- 
ist.' To  omit  hackneyed  instances 
drawn  from  the  jocular  moods  of  Tal- 
mage  or  the  flowery  moments  of  a 
JBeecher's  eloquence,  I  remember  a  reli- 
gious itinerant  lecturer  (lying  at  the  time 
under  a  charge  of  immoral  conduct) 
telegraphing  to  a  meeting  which  he  was 
to  address,  that  they  should  fill  up  the 
time  until  his  accidentally-delayed  arri- 
val by  singing  'Hold  the  Fort,  for  lam 
coming  ! '  It  was  probably  reserved 
for  those  in  outer  darkness  (such  as  my- 
self) to  detect  any  blasphemous  tendency 
in  that  Ego.  Again,  1  have  heard  Meth- 
odist delegates  relate  the  most  excruci- 
atingly funny  anecdotes,  turning  on 
incidents  in  pulpit  or  Sunday  school  and 
■on  the  deepest  mysteries  of  the  Christian 


faith  ;  some,  indeed,  so  comic  that  I 
have  regretted  ever  since  not  being  a 
class-leader  so  that  I  could  add  to  my 
reputation  for  humour  by  relating  them 
to  my  friends.  But  what  shall  we  say 
to  the  following  item,  copied  from  the 
New  York  Times  ? — premising  that  Mr. 
Pentecost  appears  to  be  a  highly  popular 
trainer  of  Sunday-school  teachers.  He 
relates  that  he  'once  met  a  lady  with  a 
clouded  brow  and  anxious  look.  He 
asked  her  what  was  the  trouble  .  .  . 
"Six  different  cooks  in  five  days,  Mr. 
Pentecost  !"  "Why  do  you  not  go  to 
Jesus  with  your  troubles  ?"  he  asked.  .  . 
The  next  time  they  met  she  told  him 
she  had  folio  A'ed  his  advice  and  that 
almost  immediately  just  the  person  she 
wanted  had  come  to  her  for  employment 
— the  best  cook  she  had  ever  had.' 

What  is  this  but  to  turn  the  Deity 
into  a  high-class  Registry  office  for  ser- 
vants ?  Could  a  more  degraded  notion 
of  the  function  of  prayer  be  conceived 
by  a  pagan,  requesting  his  block -god  to 
appease  the  cravings  of  an  insatiable 
belly?  Could  not  Mr.  Pentecost  have 
hinted  that  the  lady's  prayers  might  have 
been  directed  towards  obtaining  a  com- 
mand over  her  appetites  or  the  temper 
which  (not  improbably)  had  something  to 
do  with  the  exodus  of  the  six  infuriated 
cooks  ?  What  sort  of  defenders  of 
Christian  reverence  against  the  attacks 
of  Agnostics  and  Infidels,  can  be  expect- 
ed from  such  training  as  this  ? 

I  have  left  myself  no  room  to  answer 
the  question  1  put  at  the  commencement 
of  this  note.  But  I  may  briefly  indicate 
my  ©pinion  that  it  is  from  the  side  of 
scientific  research  that  we  can  alone 
await  any  revival  of  the  true  reverential 
spirit.  Our  veneration  will  be  rekindled 
as,  one  by  one,  the  secrets  of  Nature 
unfold  themselves  ; — as  we  grasp  truth 
after  truth,  the  Eternal  Procession  of 
Law,  of  which  these  ever-widening 
circles  of  discovery  form  so  infinitesimal 
a  portion,  will  grow  upon  our  imagina- 
tions with  a  dominating  power,  and  our 
respect  and  reverence  will  at  once  attach 
themselves  to  the  Central  Thought  which 
inspires  the  universe  and  to  these  lum- 


ROUND  THE  TABLE. 


645- 


inous  minds  that  unravel  its  mysteries 
for  our  comprehension. 

F.  R. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

With  permission,  and  in  all  due  cour- 
tesy, I  hope,  to  the  writer  of  the  scho- 
larly and  highly  interesting  article  in 
the  last  number  of  this  magazine,  I  will 
make  a  few  and  slight  remarks  on  the 
play. 

First,  of  the  character  of  Juliet,  the 
central  point  of  the  piece.  Shakes- 
peare's rule  is  '  to  show  virtue  her  own 
feature,  scorn  her  own  image,'  that  is  the 
object  of  scorn,  evil  of  any  kind.  We 
are  told  that  *  for  the  fates  of  the  two 
lovers  we  have  poetic  justification  in  the 
deception  practised  by  the  one,  and  in 
the  imprudent  haste  of  the  other. '  The 
deception  is  of  course  Juliet's,  and  to- 
wards her  father  and  mother  ;  decep- 
tion in  her  clandestine  marriage  ;  in  her 
admitting  by  stealth  into  her  father's 
house  his  hereditary  enemy  with  hands 
red  with  the  blood  of  her  father's  cher- 
ished kinsman  ;  in  her  flying  to  Friar 
Laurence  for  counsel  under  pretence  of 
shrift  ;  in  her  profession,  on  her  return, 
that  she  '  repents  the  sin  of  disobedient 
opposition  and  beseeches  pardon,'  with 
the  potion  in  her  pocket  ;  and  in  the  su- 
preme deception  of  all,  the  taking  on 
herself  all  the  appearances  of  death. 
The  '  imprudent  haste  '  must  be  meant 
for  Romeo's.  But  the  haste  is  not  his 
but  Juliet's.  It  is  she  and  not  he  who 
proposes  immediate  marriage,  and  says, 
'  'tis  twenty  years  till  then. '  The  wh(jle 
blame  then  lies  with  Juliet,  deception 
and  haste  both.  So  that  her  fate  was 
doubly  deserved.  With  submission, 
Juliet  was  no  child.  Lady  Capulet  tells 
us  that  '  younger  ladies  of  esteem  are 
made  already  mothers'  and  that  she 
herself  was  Juliet's  mother,  at  Juliet's 
age.  She  is,  in  fact,  a  full  blown,  pas- 
sionate, resolute  woman,  from  the  first  ; 
she  shows  not  a  trace  of  childishness. 
The  play  is  said  truly  to  be  '  steeped  in 
passion  ; '  Juliet  is  '  thrilled  through 
and  through  with  passion,'  sensual  pas- 
sion, past  doubt.  That  Mrs.  Jameson 
should  call  Juliet's  soliloquy  a  '  Hymn 
to  Night '  calls  up  wonderment  not  un- 
mixed with  merriment.  It  is  an  invo- 
cation to  Night  for  the  opportunities 
which  darkness  offers.  I  should  only 
have  to  reproduce  it  here,  in  full,   but 


upon  that  I  cannot  venture.  Read  the 
four  lines  <jf  Brooke  at  the  end  of  the 
article.  We  are  asked,  '  what  more  can 
be  required  ? '  What  more  indeed  ? 
Later  in  the  play,  Juliet's  character 
takes  (m  new  qualities.  She  exhibits 
wonderful  intrepidity  in  swallowing  the 
draught,  beset,  as  she  is,  with  horrible 
visions.  For  a  young  girl — woman  all 
the  same — it  is  a  frightful  ordeal.  Her 
suicide  is  heroic,  if  hercjism  it  is.  It  is 
truly  tragic,  and  proves  the  physical 
courage  which  such  an  act  demands.. 
And  this,  at  least,  is  purified  from  all 
passionate  dross  :  there  can  be  no  pas- 
sion towards  the  dead.  Nor  could  there 
be  greater  fidelity,  of  its  kind,  to  the 
memory  of  her  love.  Shakespeare,  I 
think,  can  hardly  be  acquitted  of  a 
strange  inconsistency  in  making  Juliet 
speak  of  a  '  maiden  blush  bepainting 
her  cheek  '  of  being  '  too  quickly  won,' 
and  of  '  this  bud  of  love '  which  '  by 
summer's  ripening  breath,  may  prove  a 
beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet,' 
and  in  almost  the  same  moment  urging, 
yes,  urging — an  instant  marriage. 
There  is  also  inconsistency  in  Mercutio's- 
character.  He  has  two  very  diverse 
styles  of  speaking,  one  which  gives  birth 
to  the  fine  Queen  Mab  speech,  and  to 
what  follows,  which  is  even  grave  ;  the 
other,  which  revels  in  the  antic  and  fan- 
tastic manner  by  which  he  is  not  known^ 
appearing  only  towards  the  close  of  his 
stage-career. 

Nothing  could  well  be  finer  than  the 
speech  with  which  Friar  Laurence  in- 
troduces himself  ;  it  is  sui  generis.  Hfr 
is  sonorous  throughout,  and  of  an  im- 
posing presence,  and  the  Prince  '  has. 
still  known  him  for  a  holy  man,'  but, 
he  is,  in  fact,  a  mischievous  and  fatal 
schemer.  He  should  surely  have  been 
unfrocked  for  performing  such  a  mar- 
riage, and  he  is  wholly  answerable  for 
its  shocking  results  and  for  the  catastro- 
phe. No  such  highly  critical  and  des- 
perate stratagem  as  that  of  the  potion 
was  necessary.  Forty-five  hours,  or 
thereabouts,  were  to  pass  between 
Juliet's  interview  with  him,  and  the 
time  fixed  fur  the  marriage  with  Paris. 
Romeo,  summoned  in  all  haste,  could 
have  been  in  Verona  in  six  hours  ;  from. 
Mantua  where  he  was,  the  distance  is 
only  twenty  five  miles.  The  friar  him- 
self speaks  of  his  intention  to  conceal 
Juliet  in  his  cell.  Why  not  do  so  at 
once  ?  Or  she  could  have  returned 
home  and  allaying  all  suspicion   (as  in- 


646 


A  FRAGMENT. 


deed  she  did  by  false  pretences)  could 
have  esca2:)ed  with  Romeo  under  cover 
of  night.  But  we  were  to  have  the  seem- 
ing death,  the  vault,  the  da^iger  and  the 
bowl,  and  we  have  got  them.  Alas,  for 
the  Juliets  who  rely  upon  the  Friar 
Laurences  ! 

There  is  also  a  confusion  of  days  and 
hours.  Juliet  was  to  drink  the  potion 
•on  Wednesday  night,  but  the  marriage 
is  hastened  by  Capulet's  impetuosity, 
and  she  does,  in  reality,  take  the  draught 
on  Tuesday  night.  This  would  throw 
the  whole  of  the  friar's  machinery  out 
of  gear,  and  Juliet  would  wake  twenty- 


four  h«ur3  before  he  would  come  to  the 
vault,  as  he  tells  us  himself  '  at  the  pre- 
fixed hour." 

What  wonder  if  we  are  dazzled  by  the 
exquisite  beauties  which  Shakespeare 
flashes  in  our  eyes  ?  What  wonder  if 
we  are  blind  to  what  is  naked  enough  to 
the  eye  which  probes  beneath  the  sur- 
face ?  What  is  the  conventional,  tradi- 
tional, stage  Juliet,  and  what  is  the  real 
one  ?  What  is  filial  piety  ?  Pshaw  ! 
Was  she  not  the  '  true  and  faithful 
Juliet,'  to  whom  '  a  statue  of  pure  gold  ' 
should  be  raised  ? 

D.  F. 


A   FRAGMENT. 


BY    *  SERANUS,'    OTTAWA. 


A  YELLOW  moon  shines 
On  the  inturned  breast  of  Nuphar, 
She  the  golden  river-lily ; 
On  the  wedding-ring  of  the  bride 
Glowing  with  love,  adoring  in  happy  pride  ; 
On  the  hair  above  the  brows  of  innocent  childhood 
On  the  rustling  corn  fjir  away  in  a  meadow  ; 
On  the  gleaming  coin  which  fell  in  the  shadow  ; 
On  the  cloth  of  gold  of  a  king ; 
On  the  tender  midnight  blossoming 
Of  briar-bud  and  rose. 


A  wan  white  moon  shines 

On  a  lily  they  took  from  the  river 

Larger  and  whiter  than  all  the  rest, 

Trampled  and  soiled  is  its  delicate  breast ; 

On  the  satin  and  snowy  robe 

She  will  wear  on  the  morrow, 

Who  will  loathe  to  be  called  a  wife, 

What  sorrow  is  like  to  her  sorrow  1 

On  the  stiffening,  straggling  gray  white  locks 

Of  the  old  man  murdered  ; 

On  the  pale  ones  who  long  for  bread  ; 

On  the  silver  snake  round  the  arm  of  a  woman 

Who  longs  in  her  soul  to  be  dead  ; 

On  the  shroud  of  a  young  new  mother  and  babe  ; 

On  the  shedding  of  blossoms  and  tears 

O'er  the  mound  and  the  marble. 


YOUNG  PF.OPLE. 


647 


YOUIl^G    PEOPLE. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LIFE. 

Go  forth  to  the  battle  of  life  mj'  boy- 
Go  while  it  is  called  to-day  ; 
For  the  years  go  out  and  the  years  come  in, 
Regardless  of  those  wlio  may  lose  or  win, 
Of  those  who  may  work  or  play. 

And  the  troops  march  steadily  on,  my  boy, 

To  the  army  gone  before  ; 
You  may  hear  the  sound  of  their  falling 

feet 
Going  down  to  the  rirer  where  two  worlds 
meet  ; 
They  go  to  return  no  more. 

There's  a  place  for  yon  in  the  ranks,  my  boy 

And  duty,  too,  assigned  ; 
Step  into  the  front  with  a  cheerful  face  ; 
Be  quick  or  another  may  take  your  place. 

And  you  may  be  left  behind. 

There's  a  work  to  be  done  by  the  way,  my 
boy. 
That  you  never  can  tread  again  ; 
Work  for  the  loftiest,  lowliest  men  ; 
Work  for  the  plough,  plane,   spindle  and 
pen  ; 
Work  for  the  hands  and  the  brain. 

Temptations  will  wait  by  the  way,  my  boy. 

Temptations  without  and  within  ; 
And  spirits  of  evil  with  roV;es  as  fair 
As  those  which  the  angels  in  heaven  might 
wear. 
Will  lure  you  to  deadly  sin. 

Then  put  on  the  armour  of  God,  my  boy. 

In  the  beautiful  days  of  youth  ; 
Put  on  the  helmet,  and  breastplate,  and 

shield. 
And  the  sword  that  the  feeblest  arm  may 
wield, 
In  the  cause  of  right  and  truth. 

And  go  to  the  battle  of  life,  my  boy. 
With  the  peace  of  the  gospel  shod  ; 

And  before  high  heaven  do  the  best  you 
can 

For  the  reward  and  the  good  of  man, 
For  the  kingdom  and  crown  of  God. 

THE   ELECTRIC   LIGHT. 

Do  you  understand  the  difference  be- 
tween   a   currant    and   an    undulation  ? 


Suppose  two  boys  had  a  long,  slender 
iron  tube,  such  as  a  gas  pipe  ;  and  while 
one  boy  stood  at  one  end  and  held  a 
whistle  in  the  tube,  the  other  should 
stand  at  the  other  end  and  blow  through 
strongly  enough  to  sound  the  whistle. 
This  would  be  an  instance  of  a  '  current.' 
The  air  already  in  the  tube  would  move 
along  as  the  boy  blew,  and  pass  through 
the  whistle  ;  and  at  last  some  of  the  very 
air  from  his  mouth  would  reach  the 
wliistle  and  make  the  sound.  Speaking- 
tubes  in  houses  are  fitted  with  whistles 
which  are  sounded  in  this  way.  But 
suppose  the  boy  at  one  end  struck  the 
tube  with  a  stc  ne  or  hammer  and  the 
boy  at  the  other  end  listened  and  heard 
the  sound  of  the  blow  travelling  along 
the  iron.  This  would  be  an  instance  of 
'  undulation.'  The  particles  of  the  iron 
would  not  mdve  along  the  tube,  but 
they  would  send  the  sound  from  one  to 
another.  When  a  person  talks  through 
a  speaking-tube  the  sound  goes  by  un- 
dulations. Wise  men  now  say  that  they 
do  not  think  that  there  is  really  any 
current  in  electricity  ;  its  wonders  are 
performed  by  undulations,  or  in  some 
other  mj'sterious  way  ;  but  they  often 
call  it  a  '  fluid  '  and  a  '  current.' 

When  this  '  current '  flows  along  a 
wire  which  is  long  enough  to  conduct  it 
freely,  all  is  dark  and  still.  You  can- 
not tell,  by  looking  or  listening,  whether 
or  not  it  is  running.  But  if  there  is  a 
break  in  the  wire,  yet  the  two  ends  are 
very  close  together,  and  are  fitted  with 
two  charcoal  points,  the  wave  in  leaping 
the  gap  will  heat  the  charcoal  points 
until  they  glow  with  brilliant  light.  Or 
if  the  force  is  caused  to  flow,  at  the 
break  in  the  wire,  through  a  sort  of 
bridge  formed  of  a  thin  strip  of  carbon 
or  platinum  wire,  or  some  substance 
which  wall  not  allow  it  to  flow  freely,  it 
will  heat  this  little  bridge  to  shine  and 
glow  like  red  hot  iron. 

Thus,  there  are  two  ways  of  making  a 
lamp  to  be  supplied  by  electricity  in- 
stead of  oil.  One  way  is  to  make  two 
points  from  the  very  best,  hardest,  pur- 
est carbon,  and  conduct  the  electricity 
through  these,   placing  them   close  to- 


64,8 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


gether,  and  letting  the  electricity  leap 
from  one  to  the  other.  But  there  is  no 
carbon  so  hard  that  it  will  not  slowly- 
bum  up  in  such  a  fierce  heat  as  that  elec- 
tricity produces.  Therefore  you  must 
have  some  sort  of  clockwork  machinery 
or  other  device  which  will  push  the 
points  toward  each  other  as  fast  as  they 
are  consumed.  A  lamp  of  this  kind  is 
called  an  '  arc  '  lamp.  The  objection  to 
it  is  that  the  points  will  joggle  a  little 
while  they  are  burning  away  and  the 
clockwork  is  bringing  them  nearer  ;  or 
a  little  more  will  burn  off  at  one  instant 
than  at  another  ;  and  every  time  there 
is  the  least  irregularity,  the  blaze 
flickers.  The  other  way  is  to  provide  a 
little  bridge  to  conduct  the  undulations 
across  the  gap  ;  this  is  called  the  '  incan- 
descent '  kind  of  lamp.  But  how  shall 
this  bridge  be  saved  from  burning  up  ] 
By  enclosing  in  it  a  glass  globe,  and 
pumping  all  the  air  out  of  the  globe  by 
an  airpump.  The  bridge  can  not  be 
burned  if  there  is  no  air  around  it,  if  it 
is  in  a  vacuum.  Oxygen  from  the  air,  or 
some  other  source,  is  necessary  to  a  fire, 
the  objection  to  this  way  is  that  the  ap- 
paratus is  rather  complex  and  costly. 
Arc  lamps  generally  have  a  glass  globe 
around  them,  but  it  is  only  to  protect 
them  and  to  keep  sparks  from  falling 
about.  It  is  not  a  hermetically-sealed 
exhausted  globe.  The  globe  of  an  in- 
candescent lamp  is  small  and  is  perfectly 
air-tight. 

The  lamps  seen  in  city  streets  and 
parks  and  in  large  halls  and  stores,  and 
which  flicker  somewhat,  are  arc  lamps. 
Incandescent  lamps  are  much  smaller  ; 
they  resemble  gas-burners  sealed  up  in 
little  glass  bulbs,  and  they  are  better  for 
parlours  and  chambers. 


A    SHETLAND     SKIPPER. 

ALONG  time  ago,  when  I  was  quite 
a  little  boy,  I  remember  riding  with 
my  father  on  one  of  his  medical  visits  to  his 
many  patients  in  our  native  island.  We 
stopped  at  the  door  of  a  miserable  cabin, 
through  the  gaping  rifts  of  which  the 
fierce  north  wind  blew  keenly  upon  the 
poor  sufferer  within.  The  cottage  had 
only  one  room  ;  and,  as  we  were  about 
to  raise  the  latch  and  enter,  we  heard 
the  voice  of  the  Free  Church  minister, 
who  was  praying  by  the  bedside  of  a 
dying  man.  We  waited  until  the  oflice 
was  over,  and  then  my  father  went  into 


the  cabin.  A  gray  ami  weather-beaten 
face  looked  up  and  brightened  a  little, 
in  greeting  the  friend  whose  coming  had 
so  often  relieved  the  agony  of  a  long  ill- 
ness. 

'  It  will  sune  be  ower,  noo,  doctor,' 
he  said.  '  I  feel  nae  pain,  and  I  ken 
what's  coming.'  He  stopped,  and  his 
eyes  wandered  to  where  his  four  boys 
sat  round  the  dim  peat  fire,  where  sat, 
too,  the  weeping  wife  and  mother,  so 
soon  to  be  a  widow. 

My  father  beckoned  to  the  eldest  boy,, 
who  came  to  the  bedside,  trying  hard  to 
restrain  the  sobs  that  would  burst  out, 
notwithstanding  all  his  efforts.  No 
words  were  spoken  as  the  father's  wast- 
ed, trembling  fingers  clasped  the  sun- 
burnt hand  of  his  eldest  son.  No 
words,  but  there  was  a  world  of  anxious,, 
pleading  love  in  the  poor  wan  face.  At 
last,  the  father  said, — 

*  Tak'  care  o'  mither,  Davie,  my  boy  : 
she'll  sune  hae  naebody  but  thee  to  de- 
pend upon.' 

'  I  will,  fayther,'  was  the  sobbing 
answer. 

'  And  mind  be  gude  ta  the  bairns, 
puir  things.' 

Again,  the  earnest  heartfelt  reply, 
and  then  my  father  led  the  lad  away 
from  the  bedside.  He  seemed  now,  for 
the  first  time,  to  remember  that  I  was 
present  ;  and,  thinking  no  doubt  that 
the  scene  was  not  one  forme  to  witness,. 
he  sent  me  away  to  a  neighbouring  cot- 
tage, there  to  await  his  coming.  In 
about  an  hour,  he  rejoined  me  with  our 
ponies  ;  and  I  could  read  easily  enough, 
in  his  grave  face  and  glistening  eyes, 
that  the  long  struggle  was  ended,  and 
that  poor  Willie  Anderson  at  last  re- 
leased from  his  sufferings.  We  rode 
silently  homeward,  and  there  was  none 
of  that  merry,  pleasant  talk  that  so  often 
enlivened  our  long  rides  over  the  rugged 
hiUs  and  dreary  moorland. 

And  now,  those  four  poor  boys  were 
fatherless,  and  had  to  earn  their  own 
support,  as  well  as  that  of  their  widowed 
mother.  The  neighbours  were  kind  and 
friendly,  as  iiatives  of  those  islands  al- 
ways are  ;  but  a  succession  of  bad  sea- 
sons had  left  most  of  them  with  little 
enough  for  their  own  families,  and  the 
assistance  they  could  afford  to  others 
was  very  small.  The  boys  would  have 
been  glad  to  work,  but  there  was  no 
work  for  them  to  do,  and  therefore  no 
wages  to  be  earned.  Stout,  manly  little 
fellows  they  were,  all  four  of  them  in- 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


649 


ured  to  a  rough  life  from  infancy,  the 
eldest  just  fifteen,  the  youngest  nearly 
ten.  The  other  two  were  twins,  and, 
when  their  father  died,  were  rather  more 
than  thirteen  years  old. 

Davie,  the  eldest  lad,  who  rightly 
considered  himself  the  chief  prop  and 
pillar  of  his  house,  had  many  an  anxious 
hour  in  thinking  how  he  was  to  provide 
food  and  clothing  for  his  hungry,  grow- 
ing brothers,  and  for  his  invalid  mother. 
At  the  very  door  of  his  little  cabin  lay 
stretched  the  ever-bountiful  sea,  and  to 
it  the  fisherman's  boy  turned  as  to  a 
never-grudging  mother.  Davie  was 
still  too  young  for  the  deep-sea  fishmg, 
but  he  thought  that,  if  he  could  get  a 
boat,  some  good  might  be  done  nearer 
home.  His  three  younger  brothers 
■would  form  his  crew,  and  there  was 
some  of  his  father's  fishing-lines  remain- 
ing, which  would  furnish  at  least  a  por- 
tioa  of  their  equipment.  But  to  get  a 
boat  was  the  great  difliculty.  There 
were  none  to  be  had  on  hire,  and  the 
fisher-folk  around  the  place  who  owned 
skiflfs  had  need  of  them  for  their  own 
purposes.  Davie  could  often  get  a  seat 
in  some  of  his  neighbours'  boats,  but,  as 
he  was  only  a  youngster,  his  share  was 
a  small  one.  Moreover,  he  knew  that, 
'^hile  he  was  away  at  sea,  his  three 
brothers  were  at  home,  idle,  and  prob- 
ably in  mischief.  He  felt  that  he  must 
have  them  with  him,  or  stay  at  home. 

There  was  a  small  boat  that  had  long 
been  lying  in  the  factor's  yard,  supposed 
to  be  now  unfit  for  farther  service. 
Davie  cast  his  longing  eyes  upon  this 
weather-worn  craft,  and  thought  that, 
if  he  were  allowed  to  try,  and  could  get 
hold  of  some  sheet-tin,  old  canvas,  tar, 
and  a  lot  of  "  scrupper  "  nails,  he  might 
l^ossibly  be  able  to  make  the  old  boat 
so  far  seaworthy  as  to  answer  his  pur- 
pose. She  would  never  be  anything 
but  leaky,  of  course  ;  but,  if  she  could 
be  got  to  float  at  all,  a  little  extra  bail- 
ing would  be  of  small  account.  So  he 
took  heart  and  spoke  to  his  kind  land- 
lord, obtaining  a  ready  assent  to  his 
plan.  More  than  that,  the  factor  gave 
him  all  the  repairing  materials  that 
were  required,  out  of  his  ov,n  stores, 
and  lent  him  the  tools  needed  for  his 
operations.  Such  welcome  help  gave 
much  encouragement  to  the  young  boat- 
builder,  and  to  work  he  went  with  all  his 
heart  and  both  his  hands.  Many  a 
patch  was  put  on  the  sun-riven  planks  of 
the  old  boat.  Canvas  and  sheet-tin  were 
7 


nailed  over  the  worst  places,  and  smaller 
cracks  were  carefully  caulked.  Finally, 
a  plentiful  coat  of  tar  was  daubed  out- 
side and  inside  ;  and,  when  the  pit<ih 
was  well  dried,  the  boat  looked  fit  once 
more  to  float  in  salt  water.  The  factor, 
pleased  with  Davie's  energy  and  perse- 
verance, made  him  a  present  of  some  old 
oars,  which  he  contrived  to  reshape  and 
cut  down  to  a  proper  size  for  his  juve- 
nile crew.  At  last,  the  boat  was  re- 
launched, and  Davie  was  probably  as 
proud  of  his  crazy  craft  as  ever  Nelson 
was  of  the  Victory.  She  only  needed 
to  be  baled  out  once  in  every  half-hour, 
and  Davie  would  far  rather  have  submit- 
ted to  one  of  his  '  men  '  being  kept  con- 
stantly 'at  the  pumps,' than  have  been 
without  his  boat.  So  to  sea  went  those 
brave  lads,  never  doubting  that  fortune 
would  favour  them.  Davie  already  knew 
some  of  the  rocky  spots  where  big  gray 
cod  did  love  to  congregate,  and,  when 
the  '  keelings '  were  from  home,  he 
sought  them  in  other  places.  The  sea 
Avas  as  wide  for  him  as  for  others,  and 
no  fisheiy  boards  or  trespass  laws  hin- 
dered him  from  going  where  he  listed  and 
fishing  where  he  had  a  mind.  The  boys 
were  M'onderfully  lucky,  but  not  more  so 
perhaps  than  their  industry  and  i^er- 
severan^e  deserved. 

Davie  was  as  thrifty  as  he  was  indus- 
trious, and  soun  began  to  accumulate  a 
tiny  fund,  even  after  buying  many  little 
comforts  for  his  sick  mother.  He  be- 
gan to  grow  discontented  with  the  crazy 
tub  which  he  had  cobbled  with  such  ex- 
ceeding care,  and  thought  that,  if  he 
had  a  taut,  sound  little  boat,  he  could 
easily  venture  further  out  to  sea,  and 
visit  better  fishing-grounds.  At  length 
after  a  year  of  patient,  hard  work  in 
their  old  boat,  the  boys  were  able  to  go 
to  their  friend,  the  factor,  with  their 
little  store,  and  ask  him  to  help  them  in 
purchasing  a  better  ship.  Davie  had 
thirty 'five  shillings  in  the  common  purse, 
and  a  like  sum  advanced  by  the  factor 
enabled  him  to  buy  a  stout  little  boat, 
not  new,  but  sound  and  seaworthy.  She 
was  only  a  very  little  larger  than  their 
old  skiS",  but  she  was  water-tight  and 
staunch  ;  so  the  youthful  fishers  had  no 
fear  in  venturing  as  far  out  to  sea  as 
other  seamen  would  have  done  in  a  boat 
of  similar  dimensions.  Luck  followed 
the  boys  in  their  craft ;  and,  in  a  very 
little  time,  they  were  able  to  purchase 
a  mast  and  rigging  and  a  sail  about  the 
size  of  a  large   table-cloth.     This  was  a 


G50 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


proceeding  of  which  older  and  more  ex-    } 
l^erienced  mariners  were  inclined  to  dis-    j 
approve  ;    but  it    was    soon   seen   that    , 
Davie  could  handle  his  boat  when  under    ^ 
sail  with  no  little  skill,  while  his  bro-    ; 
ther  Willie,  one   of  the   twins,  proved 
himself  equally  adept  in  managing  the 
halyards.     The  boys  prospered  greatly 
in  this   new   venture;    and,    in  a  few 
months'  time,  they  had  paid  for  their 
boat,  and  she  was  all  their  own. 

One  day  in  the  late  autumn,  all  the 
boats  had  been  out  to  sea,  and  the  An- 
derson boys  had  of  coui'se  gone  with  the 
rest.  The  morning  had  been  fine  ;  but, 
as  the  day  advanced,  the  wind  rose,  and 
soon  blew  half  a  gale  from  N.N.E.  One 
by  one,  the  boats  came  back,  the  crew 
of  the  last  to  arrive  having  a  hard  pull 
before  reaching  shore,  and  none  of  the 
fishermen  noticed  that  Davie  and  his 
brothers  were  missing  from  their  num- 
ber. The  wind  was  blowing  dead  out 
the  ^vick  or  bay ;  and  harder  and  harder 
it  blew  as  the  evening  shadows  fell  upon 
the  dark  and  angry  water.  A  solitarj', 
sable -clad  figure  was  standing  upon  the 
rocky  beach,  and  a  pair  of  wistful  eyes 
Avere  gazing  out  to  sea,  looking  in  vain 
for  the  little  skiflF  that  should  have  been 
the  first  to  come  to  land  on  such  a  stormy 
day.  But  still  the  boat  came  not  :  and 
the  widowed  mother  turned  from  the 
seashore,  and  sought  the  house  of  the 
friendly  factor.  He  was  in  his  office, 
busy  with  his  books,  and  looked  up  as  a 
timid  voice  spoke  to  him  across  the 
counter  : — 

*  If  ye  plase,  sir,  my  boys  are  no  come 
hame,  and"  the  weather  is  ill  for  them  to 
be  upo'the  sea.' 

'  Your  boys  at  the  sea,  and  not  home 
yet  ! '  cried  the  factor  in  astonishment. 

'  Aye,  sir,  it's  ower  true  ;  and  I'm  sair 
feared  that  without  help,  they'll  no  be 
able  to  win  the  shore  in  sic  a  night.' 

Out  ran  the  kind-hearted  factor, 
staying  only  to  take  his  telescope  w^ith 
him  ;  and  on  the  beach  he  found  a  knot 
of  neighbours  gathered,  for  the  word  had 
now  gone  round  that  the  Anderson  boj's 
had  not  returned.  They  were  gazing 
intently  out  to  sea  ;  and  as  the  factor 
joined  them,  an  old  skipper  said, — 

'  The  boys  can  never  row  the  wick  in 
sic  weather  as  this  :  see  the  spindrift  is 
flying  ower  the  watter. ' 

'  1  kenna  weel  whaur  the  bairns  can 
hae  gane,'  said  another  fisherman. 
*  They  were  na  ony where  near  us.' 


'  Na,'  replied  the  first  speaker.  '  Da- 
vie tauld  me  that  he  was  going  to  try 
the  f rammer  scurs  this  mornin',  and  I 
advised  him  no,  for  I  thought  it  wad 
blaw  before  night.  But  see  !  What's, 
yon  out  by  the  K'iv  ?  Surely,  it's  a  boat 
and  it  maun  be  them  ! ' 

'  Aye,  there's  nae  doubt,  yon's  a  boat  \' 
cried  a  second  skipper.  '  Try  if  ye  can 
mak  her  oot  wi'  the  glass,  Mr.  S .' 

'It's  they,  sure  enough,'  said  the  fac- 
tor, after  a  moment's  glance  through  his 
telescope.  '  But  what  can  they  be 
thinking  of  in  rowing  up  under  the  clifi"s- 
out  yonder  ? ' 

'  They're  trying  to  get  under  the  lee 
o'  the  banks,'  replied  the  old  skipper. 
'  Pair  bairns,  they  kenna  weel  whaur 
they're  going !  The  tide  will  sweep 
them  round  the  point,  if  they  come  ony- 
where  near  hand.' 

'  It  will,  indeed,'  said  the  factor,  shut- 
ting up  his  glass  in  agony  of  apprehen- 
sion. '  The  boys  must  have  thought 
that  we  couldn't  see,  and  had  forgotten 
them,  as — may  God  forgive  us  all — we 
have  too  long  done.' 

'  Lads,'  cried  a  stout,  bold-faced  skip- 
per who  had  not  before  spoken,  'we 
mauna  see  the  widow's  bairns  drooned 
before  our  very  een.  Wha's  wi'  me  ta 
gang  out  yonder  and  save  them  1  My 
boat  is  lying  low  on  the  beach  ;  and  un* 
der  the  double  reefs,  we'll  rin  out  the 
wick  in  twa  or  three  minutes.' 

There  was  a  score  of  ready  respon9e& 
to  this  appeal,  and  the  men  ran  down 
the  beach  to  where  the  boat  was  lying. 
A  minute  more  and  she  was  afloat,  while 
willing  hands  threw  in  the  ballast,  and 
carried  down  the  mast  and  sail. 

'Haste  ye!  Haste  ye,  my  lads!' 
cried  the  skipper  ;  and  the  boat  was  al- 
ready pushing  oft'  from  the  shore,  when 
a  cry  from  the  higher  ground  above  the 
beach  arrested  them. 

'  Stop  there  !  The  bairns  are  making: 
sail  !     Stop  Bob  !     It's  nae  use  now. ' 

It  was  indeed  true.  The  boys  had 
pulled  well  up  under  the  cliff",  and  had 
then  quickly  raised  their  mast,  set  their 
close-reefed  sail,  and  were  now  speeding 
away  across  the  stormy  wick.  There 
was  little  need  of  conjecture  as  to  their 
object.  Every  one  of  the  skilled  sea- 
men who  were  standing  on  the  beach 
knew  that  the  boy  skipper  was  doing 
what  each  one  of  them  would  have  done 
in  a  like  ca^e,  in  their  far  larger  and  bet- 
ter-appointed  boats.     And   they  knew 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


Col 


too,  that  what  might  have  been  to  them 
a  matter  of  choice  was  one  of  stern  ne- 
cessity to  the  poor  little  boys. 

It  was  evident  that  Davie,  despairing 
of  help  from  the  shore,  had  striven  to 
pull  lip  under  the  shelter  of  the  cliffs  as 
far  to  windward  as  the  feeble  strength 
of  his  brothers  would  allow.  He  had 
then  made  sail  on  his  boat  to  run  across 
the  wick,  and  seek  safety  in  the  shel- 
tered harbour  of  Balta  Sound.  It  was 
his  only  chance,  and  he  had  seized  it 
with  accustomed  boldness  and  decision . 
If  they  were  driven  to  leeward,  and 
failed  to  fetch  the  narrow  entrance 
called  the  North  Sound,  no  earthly  help 
could  save  them  from  instant  death  ; 
while  between  them  and  the  haven  of 
safety  there  were  still  two  miles  or  more 
of  tempestuous  sea.  Few  words  were 
spoken  by  the  anxious  watchers  on  the 
beach  as  they  watched  the  little  skiff  go 
flying  on  her  way.  The  practised  eyes 
of  those  veteran  fishers  could  tell  them, 
even  at  so  great  a  distance,  that  Davie 
was  fighting  out  his  hard  battle  for  his 
life  right  manfully  and  well.  A  single 
mistake  or  moment's  panic,  and  four 
young  lives  would  be  quenched  forever 
in  the  angry  waves  ;  but  the  yoiuig  skip- 
per had  come  of  a  race  that  knows  no 
fear  of  mother  Ocean,  even  in  her  wild- 
est moods,  and  he  threw  no  single 
chance  away.  Again  and  again,  often 
twice  and  thrice  in  a  minute,  he  was 
seen  to  run  his  boat's  head  to  windward, 
and  shake  his  close-reefed  sail  in  the 
teeth  of  the  tierce  north-easter,  as  black 
squalls  swept  down  from  the  heights  of 
Saxavord,  driving  the  spindrift  flying 
in  clouds  before  them.  Then,  as  the 
gusts  blew  over,  the  helm  was  put  up, 
and  a  course  steered  for  the  sheltering 
sound.  Every  movement  was  eagerly 
watched  on  the  beach,  where  the  num- 
ber of  spectators  was  constantly  increas- 
ing. The  men  stood  in  a  grouj)  toge- 
ther, marking  with  stern  and  quiet  ap- 
proval the  daring  courage  of  the  father- 
less lads  ;  while  the  women  were  wring- 
ing their  hands  and  weeping  silently,  as 
they  witnessed  what  to  them  appeared 
a  hopeless  effort.  Not  a  word  was  said 
until  the  little  boat  had  gained  fully 
half  her  way  across  the  wick,  still  beat- 
ing on  like  a  weary  bird,  seeking  some 
friendly  shelter.  Then,  the  old  skipper 
spoke  : — 

'  The  bairn  has  got  his  fayther's  cast 
wi'  the  helm  ;  and  he'll  do  it  right 
enough  noo,  if  sheet  and  tack  hand  gude. 


I  think  ye  said  his  rigging  was  new,  Mr. 
S ?  ' 

'  Yes,  yes,'  replied  the  factor,  '  new 
less  than  a  week  ago.  His  old  tackle 
was  so  worn  that  I  made  him  take  a 
fresh  outfit.     Thank  God  for  it  !  ' 

On  sped  the  little  boat  over  the  fast- 
darkening  water  ;  and,  as  she  neared 
the  laud,  she  was  almost  hid  from  sight 
by  the  breaking  waves.  A  few  cable- 
lengths  further,  and  they  would  be  safe, 
when  a  fierce  blast  swept  down  from  the 
high  cliffs  above,  and  the  skiff  disap- 
peared in  a  mist  of  rain  and  spray.  It 
was  a  moment  of  agonizing  doubt  and 
dread,  and  every  breath  was  tightly 
held  ;  but  the  squall  blew  quickly  over, 
and  the  boat  was  seen  again  in  the  verj^ 
entrance  of  the  sound.  A  minute  more 
and  she  shot  into  smooth  water  under 
the  rocks,  and  disappeared  behind  the 
sheltering  point.  An  English  crowd 
would  have  cheered,  but  the  children  of 
the  Norsemen  are  quiet  and  undemon- 
strative folk.  They  turned  from  the  sea- 
shore and  sought  their  several  homes,  in 
silence,  but  wdth  glad  and  thankful 
hearts. 

I  had  been  riding  '  north  the  hill,' 
that  day  and  was  hurrying  homeward, 
when  I  heard  from  a  passing  fisherman 
that  the  Anderson  boys  were  missing.  I 
rode  down  to  the  beach,  and  witnessed 
with  others  their  sore  peril  and  gallant 
escape.  When  we  knew  that  they  were 
safe,  I  went  on  my  way  through  the  fast- 
fading  light  taking  a  rocky  path  that  led 
homeward  by  the  seashore.  I  had 
climbed  the  rugged  road,  and  was  urg- 
ing my  pony  to  his  speed  on  the  smoother 
ground  that  slopes  toward  Balta  Sound, 
when  I  saw  a  little  figure  come  trotting 
up  the  hill  as  fast  as  his  small,  bare  feet 
would  carry  him.  His  shoes  were  flung 
over  his  back,  his  ragged  sou'-wester 
was  in  his  hand,  and  he  seemed  in  hot- 
test haste.  When  we  met,  I  recognized 
Magnie  Anderson,  the  youngest  of  the 
four  boys  ;  and  as  he  was  hurrying  past 
with  a  shy  salute,  I  stopped  him  to  en- 
quire where  his  brothers  were, 

'  They're  coming  behint  wi'  the  fish, 
sir,'  he  replied.  '  We  had  ill  weather 
at  the  S3a,  and  Davie  thocht  mither  wad 
be  feared,  so  he  telld  me  ta  rin  on  and 
tell  her  we  were  saf .' 

That  day's  adventure  was  the  making 
of  Davie  and  his  brothers.  The  next 
morning,  the  skipper  who  had  been  first 
to  volunteer  a  rescue  sought  the  factor's 
counting-house,  and  begged  that  Davie 


652 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


might  be  enrolled  among  his  crew  for 
next  season's  fishing. 

'He's  only  a  boy,  it's  true,'  he  said, 
'  but  he  showed  us  yestereen  that  he 
could  do  a  man's  work,  and  he's  weel 
worth  a  man's  wage.' 

So  Davie  went  with  his  friend  to  the 
■"  haaf,'  or  deep-sea  fishing,  in  the  follow- 
ing spring  ;  and,  before  he  was  twenty- 
one,  he  was  himself  skipper  of  a  boat, 
and  one  of  the  most  successful  fisher- 
men in  the  North  Isles.  One  of  the 
twins  got  a  berth  in  the  Lady  SaJtoun 
a  trading  packet  sailing  from  the  port  of 
Lerwick  ;  and  the  other  shipped  as  a 
half-share  hand,  on  a  smack  engaged  in 
the  Faroe  fishing.  Both  rose  rapidly, 
and  were  master-mariners  wlien  I  last 
heard  of  them.  Magnie  stayed  at  home 
with  his  mother  in  the  snug  little  cot- 
tage which  Davie's  industry  enabled 
them  to  take  ;  and,  in  course  of  time, 
he,  too,  went  to  the  haaf  fishing,  seek- 
ing, like  his  brothers,  his  bread  upon 
those  waters  which  hardy  Norsemen  in 
all  ages  have  regarded  as  their  own  heri- 
tage. 


POMP'S     TEMPERANCE    SOCIETY 
OF  ONE  MEMBER. 

BY   REV.    EDWARD   A   RAXD. 

'  What  de  parson  say  am  bery  true, 
and  bery  important. ' 

'  Well,  what  did  he  say,  Julius  ?  Here 
eber  since  you  came  home  from  meetin' 
I've  \  een  wantin'  fur  to  hear,  and  all  ye 
say  am,  "  It's  bery  true  and  bery  'por- 
tant.'" 

'  Jest  so,  Libsby  '  (Elizabeth  was  Ju- 
lius' wife).  '  Well,  he  said  "we  all  need- 
ed fur  to  jine  de  temp'rance  army.  Hab 
a  home  in  some  orgen'zation,"  he  said, 
and  he  said  "we  hab  tree  here.  Dat 
might  seem  nulf,  but  I  hab  anuder  to 
propose.'" 

'  Anuder,'  exclaimed  Libsby,  with  eyes 
open  and  hands  up.  '  A  new  one  wid 
all  dose  we  hab  ] ' 

*  Yes,  Libsby,  dat's  what  he  said,  and 
he  was  bery  sensible.'  Then  Julius 
stopped  as  if  to  enjoy  a  season  of  medi- 
tation. 

Libsby  stole  behind  Julius  and  began 
to  examine  the  back  of  his  head,  then 
the  right  side,  at  last  circling  him  alto- 
gether. 

'  What  am  de  matter,  Libsby  1 ' 

'Why,  I've  been  waitin'  fur  to  hear 


bout  what  de  parson  said,  and  you  got 
no  furder  den  dat  new  fing,  and  I  want 
to  see  if  dere  ain't  a  crack  in  your  head, 
and  all  yer  eber  knowed,  if  it  hab  run 
out.' 

'  Yah,  yah,  Libsby  !  Dat's  a  good  one. 
Well,  de  parson  said  he  would  prerpose 
a  temp'rance  society  ob  one.  He  wanted 
a  heaj)  ob  temp'rance  societies  ob  one — 
jest  one  in  it,  you  know,  and  dat  one 
feeling  as  if  de  whole  weight  ob  de  cause 
came  upon  his  back.  Den  he  said  dere 
would  be  no  strife  'bout  de  oflices,  fur 
one  would  fill  'em,  and  no  fuss  'bout 
which  one  would  do  de  work,  fur  one 
would  'tend  to  it.  Dat's  what  he  said, 
Pomp  V  and  Julius  appealed  to  a  young 
coloured  companion. 

'  Yes,  it  was  dat  he  said.' 

'  Well,'  said  Libsby,  '  I'se  gwine  fur 
to  jine  de  new  temp'rance  society  ob  one. 
I  nebber  did  hab  an  office,  and  now  1 
can  hab  'em  all.    And  you'll  jine.  Pomp  ? ' 

Yes,  Pomp  said  he  would  join.  Pomp 
was  the  son  of  a  neighbour,  and  he  hap- 
pened to  be  calling  on  Julius  and  Eliza- 
beth. Poor  fellow,  if  any  one  knew  that 
something  needed  to  be  done  for  tem- 
perance, it  was  he.  There  was  Pomp's 
father,  Abram,  a  kindly- natured  man 
when  sober,  but  rum  was  a  whip  start- 
ing up  all  the  mad,  cursed  elements  in 
his  nature.  Julius  now  went  on  '  'lus- 
tratin' '  what  was  meant  by  a  temperance 
society  of  one. 

'  Is  dere  a  poor  inebrate  anyway 
roan'  ?  Begin  right  off  and  haul  him 
out  of  de  gutter  yerself.  Here's  a  man 
sellin'  liquor.  Go  and  talk  to  him  yer- 
self. Here  are  tracts  to  be  distrib'ted  ; 
hand  dem  roun'  yerself.  Dere's  prayin' 
to  be  done.  "  Creak  the  hinges  ob  yer 
own  knees,"  said  de  parson.  O  de  par- 
son waspowful  to-night.  He  jes'  waked 
up  and  trabbeled  right  straight  along.' 

Pomp  soon  went  to  his  miserable,  un- 
happy home.  Mother  dead,  sister  dead, 
he  wondered  if  they  thought  of  him 
away  up  where  the  stars  were  shining 
like  bright  eyes  of  faces  that  had  veiled 
the  remainder  of  their  loveliness,  and 
were  looking  down.  Were  they  the 
peaceful,  loving  eyes  of  mother  and  sis- 
ter 1  If  not,  did  the  dead  ones  know  ? 
Yes,  Pomp,  they  know.  They  think  of 
you,  pity  you,  and  love  you. 

So  Pomp  trudged  on.  His  thoughts 
then  came  back  to  earth  and  he  began 
to  think  of  the  parson's  words  at  the 
meeting  that  night.  '  A  temp'rance  so- 
ciety ob  one  to  act  as  if  de  whole  cause 


YOUNG  PEOPLE. 


G5r> 


was  on  de  back  ob  de  individual.  Yes, 
that  wag  it,  as  if  de  whole  cause  was  on 
de  back.  I  jine  that  society  now,'  was 
Pomp's  fervent  assertion. 

The  next  day  Pomp's  father  surprised 
him  by  saying  that  he  was  going  to  work. 
He  had  obtained  a  job  at  '  the  corner,' 
and  was  going  there  at  once. 

'  I  will  come  back  in  time  for  supper, 
Pomp,'  said  Abram. 

But  he  did  not  come.  '  Where  am 
he  ? '  was  Pomp's  inquiry,  as  the  sun  set 
in  one  sky,  and  in  the  opposite  appeared 
the  moon,  a  round,  yellow  pumpkin 
rolling  along  the  slope  of  the  eastern 
hUls. 

'  No  oder  way,'  said  Pomp  sorrow- 
fully, '  no  oder  way  dan  to  hunt  my  poor 
old  fader  up.  1  must  go  myself  ;  I 
b'long  to  de  temp'rance  society  ob  one.' 

It  was  a  sad  walk  to  the  '  corner. ' 
Did  those  above  look  down  that  night 
and  see  Pomp  hurrying  along  the  lonely 
road  ?  Just  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
old  grocery  at  the  '  corner,'  there  by  the 
light  of  the  big  lantern  at  the  door,  he 
saw  his  father  staggering  on  the  thresh- 
old. Pomp  sprang  for  him.  Some  one 
inside  the  door  slowly  opened  it  to  let 
Abram  in.  This  obliging  door-keeper 
was  an  old  white  soaker,  Mose  Atherton. 
Pomp  saw  him  at  once,  and  pushed  for- 
ward, but  Mose  shoved  him  back.  He 
raised  his  clenched  fist  also,  and  aimed 
a  furious  blow  at  Pomp,  but  the  boy 
was  agile  as  a  monkey,  and  quickly 
slipped  aside.  The  fist  that  Mose  had 
raised  came  with  terrible  force  against 
the  side  of  the  door,  bruising  his  knuck- 
les and  setting  him  to  howling.  Pomp 
now  saw  his  opportunity  to  make  ano- 
ther effort.  These  words  were  ringing 
in  his  ears  :  '  A  temp'rance  society  ob 
one,  de  whole  weight  ob  de  cause  on  de 
back.'  Abram  stooped  just  then,  and 
Pomp,  carrying  out  an  idea  that  flashed 
into  his  mind,  gave  a  leep,  and  planted 
*  de  whole  weight  ob  de  cause'  on  Ab- 
ram's  back.  Abram  made  one  more 
drunken  lunge,  and  into  the  store  he 
went,  load  and  all,  at  the  same  time 
running  heavily  against  IMose  Atherton 
and  tipping  him  over.  Mose  was  wrath- 
ful enough  to  slice  Pomp  up,  biit  Pomp's 
father  was  large  and  stalwart,  while 
Mose  was  of  smaller  build,  and  not  quite 
certain  whether  Abram  woi\ld  take  his 
side. 

'  Fader,'  whispered  Pomp,  dropping 
from  Abram's  back,  *  dis  no  place  for 
ye — les  go.' 


'  He  has  jest  insulted  me,  Abram.  T 
demand  satisfaction,'  was  the  angry  howl 
of  Mose. 

Abram  was  now  realizing  the  condi- 
tion of  things,  and  a  brutal, half  drunk- 
en madness  flashed  out  of  his  eyes. 

'  Come  home  !  Come  home  !  '  cried 
Pomp,  and  the  tears  began  to  run  down 
the  poor  black  boy's  cheeks. 

'  What's  dat  V  asked  Abram  suddenly, 
noticing  an  object  on  the  floor.  Pomp 
looked  down.  He  saw  a  photograph 
that  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment  had 
fallen  out  of  his  pocket — it  was  a  picture 
of  the  little  sister,  that  had  been  poorly 
taken  by  some  travelling  artist,  and  was 
now  only  a  diity,  begrimed  relic. 

What  was  it  that  moved  Pomp  to  talk 
as  he  did,  when  he  had  picked  it  up,  and 
what  moved  Abram  to  listen  ] 

'  See  heer,  don't  you  'member,  don't 
you  know  when  she  died  you  said  you 
would  drink  no  more  ?  Don't  you  know 
fader,  you  stood  and  cried  when  we  put 
de  forget-me-nots  into  her  dead  hands, 
den  you  said  once  more  yon  was  gwine 
never  fur  to  drink  !  Don't  you  'mem- 
ber ]  '  pleaded  Pomp,  holding  up  the 
dirty  little  picture,  '  Don't  you  'mem- 
ber ?  ' 

O,  who  is  it  that  comes  and  stands  by 
us  in  such  critical  moments,  speaking 
and  moving  through  us  ?  Was  not  God 
talking  through  a  poor  boy's  tears  that 
night  ? 

Abram  was  crying.  Pomp  led  him 
gently  out  of  the  store,  Mose  Atherton 
offering  no  resistance. 

When  they  reached  home  Abram  ask- 
ed, '  Where's  dat  pledge  ? ' 

'  I  haven't  any,  fader.' 

*  Where's  dat  pledge  ? '  , 
'  I  haven't  any.' 

Abram  still  called  for  it.  Could  he 
mean  the  picture  ? 

'  Yes,'  he  said,  sobbing. 

'  But  dere's  no  pledge  on  dis.' 

*  Write  one.' 

Could  Pomp  ?  But  then,  was  not  he 
the  temperance  society,  officers  and  all, 
and  was  not  he  the  .«iecretary  ?  Pomp 
scrawled  upon  the  back  of  the  picture, 
'  I  promis'  not  fur  to  drink.'  Under- 
neath went  a  name  :  '  Abram.'  Beneath 
that  went  another  :  '  Pomp.' 

'  Dat  will  'courage  him,'  said  the 
secretary. 

Abram  wanted  something  else.  He 
began  to  look  up  reverently. 

'  Want  a  prayer,  fader  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Pomp,  jest  say  a  prayer. ' 


654 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


How  could  he,  before  his  father  ? 
But,  then,  was  he  not  chaplain  as  well 
as  secretary  of  the  society  !  So  he  knelt 
and  begged  God  to  keep  his  poor  father. 

I  can  easily  imagine,  that  night,  that 


behind    the   golden  stars   there    was  a 
greater  joy  than  ever. 

So  much  for  a  '  temperance  society  ob 
one.' — ChihYch  and  Home. 


BOOK   EEYIEWS. 


A  New  Chapter  added  to  Political  Econ- 
omy of  a  pamphlet  by  Mr.  T.  Gax- 
BRAITH,  Port  Hope.  Hunter,  Rose  & 
Co.,  publishers,  Toronto. 

The  author  contends  that  no  writer  on 
political  economy  has  ever  defined  or 
fully  explained  the  uses  of  the  fixed  cap- 
ital ;  so  that  as  regards  Cauada  defective 
bank  legislation  deprives  industries  of 
at  least  a  hundred  million  dollars  capital 
It  is  proposed  to  recover  this  capital  by 
the  establishment  of  a  bank  that  will 
discount  a  mortgage  as  existing  bauks 
discount  promissory  notes — by  an  issue. 
A  mortgage,  being  capital  to  the  extent 
that  it  is  security,  furnishes  at  hand  the 
means  to  do  the  business.  Let  A.  and 
B.  be  owners  of  unencumbered  property 
of  equal  value.  A.,  the  manufacturer, 
bargains  for  a  cash  account  with  the 
bank  for  say  1 10, 000.  B. ,  having  retired 
from  business  and  not  requiring  to  raise 
money  on  his  property,  may,  if  he 
chooses,  purchase  stock  of  the  bank  for 
$10,000,  which  pays  a  good  dividend. 
The  bank  buys  A.'s  mortgage  with  its 
issue,  and  B.'s  mortgage  with  its  stock 
at  par — the  capital  of  B.  's  mortgage  is 
u.sed  to  discount  such  mortgages  as  that 
of  A.  Balances  with  existing  banks 
would  daily  be  settled  in  gold. 

The  loan  societies  have  imported  near- 
ly forty  million  dollars  which  have  been 
used  in  discounting  mortgages  ;  that 
much  money  should  have  given  more 
than  a  hundred  million  dollars  of  accom- 
modation to  Canadian  industries.  The 
author  contends  that  a  bank  of  the  char- 
acter he  proposes  would  supersede  alto- 
gether high  tariff  legislation  and  more 
eflfectually  protect  domestic  industries, 


by  reducing  the  rate  of  interest  at  least 
one-half. 

Dorothy,  "a  Story  in  Elegiac  Verse.  Bos- 
ton :  Roberts  Brothers.  Toronto  : 
Willing  &  Williamson. 

Our  readers  will  remember  Arthur 
Hugh  Clough's  quasi-epic  hexameter 
poem,  '  The  Bothie  of  Toberrjavuolich.' 
It,  and  the  more  varied  and  lighter 
poem  '  Amours  de  Voyage,'  have  a  cer- 
tain charm  wanting  to  most  other 
quasi-epic,  serio-comic  poems.  There 
is  much  depth  and  suggestiveness  of 
thought  in  both  ;  long  passages  of  pithy, 
vigorous  verse  recur  to  one's  memory, 
there  is  often  a  really  bright  realistic 
force  of  description  of  Highland  scen- 
ery and  manners.  Matthew  Arnold 
has  said  in  his  '  Essays  on  Criticism,' 
that  the  former  of  the  above  named 
poems  by  Clough  is  the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  the  Homeric  measure  in  Eng- 
lish verse.  Yet,  except  with  a  few 
scholars  or  thinkers,  Clough's  poems 
have  never  attained  even  a  hearing  from 
the  public. 

Now,  '  Dorothy'  (who  is  also  called 
Dolly  in  the  poem)  seems  to  us  wanting 
in  almost  all  the  qualities  above  named 
as  belonging  to  the  poetry  of  Clough. 
The  motif  of  *  Dorothy'  is  to  protest 
against  the  conventional  and  artificial 
woman.  Dorothy  is  a  farmer's  servant  ; 
we  are  introduced  to  her  doing  duty  as 
a  ploughman  ;  every  minute  detail  of 
the  coarseness  of  complexion,  the  rough- 
ness of  skin,  the  masculine  muaciiiarity 
of  the  limbs,  even  to  the  coarse  stockings 
and  shoes  studded  with  nails  '  like  a 
horse  shoe  ;  '  which  would  result  from 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


this,  to  our  ideas,  rough,  repulsive  and 
<mfeminine  occupation,  is  described. 
There  may  be  such  'plough-women,'  just 
as  there  are  in  Lancashire  female  drudges 
who  crawl  on  all  fours  in  coal  galleries, 
and  here  in  Toronto  girls  old  enough  to 
know  better,  who  infest  dissecting  rooms 
and  attend  anatomical  demonstrations. 
But  we  hold  the  unsexed  woman,  in  any 
and  all  of  these  cases,  at  least  no  fit  sub- 
ject for  poetry. 

Some  of  us  cherish  the  hope  that,  in 
the  course  of  human  progress,  the  con- 
ditions of  woman's  work,  whether  as  ser- 
vant or  factory  girl,  will  be  so  much 
altered  that  all  shall  hold  equal  social 
standing  with  their  mistresses, that  then, 
when  the  lion  shall  lie  down  with  the 
lamb,  the  young  lady  of  the  household 
and  the  young  lady  who  condescends  to 
preside  in  the  kitchen,  shall  play  duetts 
at  the  same  grand-piano.  But  this,  like 
all  great  changes,  must  happen  by  slow 
process  of  evolution,  to  which,  as  in 
all  cases,  a  liberal  allowance  of  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  years  is  essential. 
■Change  does  not  come  by  catastrophe, 
as  the  older  geologists  vainly  said,  and 
•what  change  can  be  more  catastrophic 
than  to  introduce  into  cultivated  society, 
and  a  first  class  marriage,  with  full  appro- 
bation of  the  fortunate  bridegroom's  re- 
latives, a  coarse,  strapping  wench  with 
rough  red  arms,  '  legs  like  a  ploughboy,' 
and  shoes  like  a  horse  ? 

The  poetical  form  into  which  'Dorothy' 
is  thrown  does  not  make  up  for  the 
failure  of  the  heroine  to  interest  us. 
There  are  some  good  passages  and 
smooth  lines, but  the  general eflect  of  the 
the  alternate  hexameter  and  pentameter 
seems  to  us  infinitely  more  monotonous, 
heavy  in  its  movement,  and  unsuited  to 
our  language  than  even  the  hexameter 
alone.  Still  to  those  who  can  follow  the 
flow  of  the  poem,  the  story  will  be  in- 
teresting ;  it  is  told  with  some  narrative 
and  poetic  power,  and  we  hope  that 
when  the  author  comes  before  the  pub- 
lic again,  it  will  be  with  a  heroine  less 
like  a  ploughman,  and  in  a  metre  less 
like  a  clog-dance. 

Thomis  Carlyle.  A  History  of  the  First 
Forty  Years  of  Kis  Life,  1795-1835. 
By  James  Anthony  Froude,  M.  A., 
with  portrait  and  illustrations.  Two 
vols,  in  one.  New  York  :  Harper  & 
Brothers,  1882. 

We  are  persuaded  that  this  delightful 


book  will  prove  the  most  valuable  bio- 
graphy since  Boswell's  opus  magnum. 
Unlike  Bos  well,  Mr.  Froude  has  studi- 
ously kept  himself  out  of  view.  His 
part  of  the  book  is  indeed  admirably 
done,  it  gives  a  connecting  framework 
to  the  letters  of  IJarlyle  and  his  friends, 
which,  with  many  precious  extracts 
from  Carlyle's  diary,  tell  the  story  for 
themselves.  As  in  our  beloved  Boe- 
well,  there  is  abundant  cansvrie,  chit- 
chat and  anecdote, with  vivid  portraiture 
of  men  and  women,  great  and  small, 
and  the  central  figure  of  each  biography 
is  prejudiced,  impatient  of  contradiction 
and  impediment,  earnest,  pious,  and 
generous  hearted,  he  yet  forms  judg- 
ments very  often  which  true  from  one 
point  of  view,  require  large  allowance 
and  supplement. 

We  are  mistaken  if  the  letters  in 
these  volumes  do  not  very  greatly  in- 
crease the  world's  estimate  of  Thomas 
Carlyle.  Those  to  all  the  members  of 
his  own  family  show  the  largest-hearted 
aifection  ;  they  tell,  in  simple,  un- 
studied form,  with  now  and  then  a 
flash  of  the  spirit  inseparable  from  all 
that  Carlyle  wrote,  the  story  of  that 
great  and  noble,  yet  humble  life. 

Carlyle  has  been  assailed  on  two 
points  on  which  much  light  is  thrown 
in  Mr.  Fronde's  work  :  his  treatment  of 
his  wife,  and  his  religious  views.  As 
to  the  first  the  outcry  has  come  to  a 
great  extent  from  '  the  shrieking  sister- 
hood '  and  their  sympathizers,  who  feel 
aggrieved  at  the  keen  sarcasm  with 
which  the  Seer  of  Chelsea  treated  their 
claims  to  suflVage.  Carlyle  did  not 
knowingly  neglect  his  wife,  whom  he 
loved,  as  few  men  love,  from  the  be- 
ginning to  the  end  of  their  married  life. 
Her  ill  health  from  the  solitary  life  at 
Craigenputtoch  was  the  result  of  inevi- 
table circumstances.  How  many  a  la- 
bourer's wife,  how  many  a  poor  clerk's 
wife,  has  to  bear  more  solitude,  infinite- 
ly more  hard  work,  her  health  suffering 
in  consequence  ?  And  would  Carlyle's 
wife  have  chosen  to  have  her  husband 
at  her  apron  strings,  or  toiling  on  the 
farm,  to  the  world's  loss  of  all  that  he 
has  given  it  ?  There  is  much  weak  and 
puling  sentimentality  in  this  cry  about 
Carlyle's  '  neglect  : '  it  has  been  able  to 
make  use  of  what  perhaps  had  better 
not  have  been  made  public,  the  morbid 
self-accusations  after  his  wife's  death  of 
Carlyle  himself.  On  the  other  point, 
Carlyle's   religion,   a  most   satisfactory 


G56 


BOOK  REVIEWS. 


account  is  given  in  these  volumes.  A 
Hrm  believer  in  God,  in  Providence,  in 
prayer,  and  human  responsibility,  ven- 
erating the  true  spirit  of  Christianity 
and  the  Bible,  Carlyle  rejected  what 
only  the  out- worn  theory  of  verbal  in- 
spiration requires  any  one  to  believe, 
and  the  priestly  and  ecclesiastical  reac- 
tion, '  the  spectral  nightmares  of  Pusey- 
ism,'  were  of  course  abhorrent  to  his 
soul.  No  better  book  than  this  can  be  re- 
commended, of  all  that  have  come  under 
our  notice  of  late  years,  for  the  earnest 
and  thoughtful  study  of  man  and  woman. 


An  Etymological  Didiomtry  of  the  Eng- 
lish Language,  arranged  on  an  His- 
tbrical  Basis,  by  the  Rev.  Walter 
Skeat,  M. a.,  Professor  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  in  the  University  of  Cambridge. 
London  and  New  York  :  Macmillan 
&  Co  ;  Toronto  :    Willing  &  William- 


As  an  aid  of  the  highest  character  to 
the  scientihc  study  of  English  Etymol- 
ogy, the  student  of  tlie  language  will  find 
no  work  so  valuable  as  this  new  '  Etymo- 
logical Dictionary'  of  Prof,  Skeat,  of 
Cambridge.  In  a  late  number  we  made 
the  announcement  that  a  cheap  popular 
edition  of  the  work,  which  has  just  been 
completed,  had  appeared.  This  is  now 
before  us,  and  as  a  work  of  reference  on 
the  history  of  the  language,  and  an  ex- 
haustive treatise  on  the  derivation  of 
the  words  composing  our  English  tongue, 
there  is  no  book  we  should  with  more 
insistence  urge  our  readers  to  supply 
themselves  with  than  this  erudite  lexi- 
con of  Prof.  Skeat,  With  the  modesty 
of  a  true  scholar  its  author  ofiers  his  work 
as  a  preliminary  and  provisional  text- 
book in  a  field  which  the  great  work 
projected  by  the  English  Philological 
Society  may  be  expected  more  amply 
and  authoritatively  to  occupy.  But  his 
work,  we  feel  confident,  will  serve  more 
than  a  tentative  purpose,  for  its  author 
has  a  world-wide  reputation  as  a  Com- 
parative Philologist,  and  his  lexicon  is 
the  fruit  of  so  many  years  of  learned  and 
laborious  toil  that  neither  is  likely  to  be 
seriously  displaced  by  projects  that  may 
subsequently  appear  of  a  more  ambitious 
character.  However  this  may  be,  the 
present  value  of  Prof.  Skeat's  work  can 
scarcely  be  over-estimated,  for  it  brings 
before  the  student  a  greater  store  of 
learning  in  regard  to  the  origin,  history, 
and  development  of   the  language  than 


is  anywhere  else  accessible,  and  that  at 
a  price  which  has  an  infinitesimal  relation 
to   the  years  of  labour  spent   upon  it. 
The  work,  it  is  proper  to  say,  is  not  a 
pronouncing  or  even  a  defining  lexicon, 
save,   in  regard  to  the  latter,  as  it  is 
necessary  to  identify  the  word  and  show 
its  parts  of  speech.       The  dictionary  is 
essentially  an   Etymological    one,  and,, 
though  mainly  illustrative  of  the  Eng- 
lish language,  yet  the  author,  by  pursu- 
ing the  comparative  method  of  inquiry 
and  exhibiting  the  relation  of  English  to' 
cognate  tongues,  has  thrown  a  flood  of 
light  upon  Latin  and  Greek,  as  well  as 
upon  the  more  important  related  words 
in  the  various  Scandinavian  and  Teutonic 
languages.       The  author's  explanations 
of  the  difficulties  he  met  with  in  the  in- 
vestigation   of  his   subject   will   be   in- 
teresting to  many  students  of  the  lexi- 
con.      The  most  of  these  seem  to  have 
arisen  from  what  Prof.  Skeat  speaks  of 
as  the  outrageous  carelessness  of  early 
writers    in   spelling   Anglo-Saxon,    and 
from  the  fancifulness  and  guess-work  of 
modern  sciolists  in  attempting  to  trace- 
the    origin    and    derivation    of    words.  . 
The  disregard  of  the  vowel  sounds  and 
the  principles  of  phonetics,  it  is  shown, 
have  been  a  fruitfvil  cause  of  these  blun- 
ders on  the  part  of    pre-scientific  Ety- 
mologists.      Prof.    Skeat's    scholarship 
and  his  marvellous  industry  save  him,, 
of  course,  from  the  mistakes  which  these 
lexicographers  fell  into  ;  and  no  feature 
will  be  more  marked  in  a  study  of  this 
author's  lexicon  than  the  pains  he  has 
taken   to   verify  his   quotations   and  to 
test  accuracy  whenever  he  cites  old  forms 
or  foreign  words  from  which  any  Eng- 
lish word  is  derived  or  with  which  it  is 
connected.      The  labour  he  has  given  to 
this  hunting  up  and  verifying  the  earliest 
form  and  use,  in  chronological  periods, 
of  every  word  under  review  in  the  vol- 
ume, will  strike  every  one  who  examines, 
it  ;  and  the  work  should  therefore  prove 
a  helpful  and  interesting  study  to  every 
enthusiastic  student  of  philology.       Be- 
sides the  contents  of  the  lexicon  proper, 
the  compiler    has   added  many  appen- 
dices of  great  value,  such  as  those  that 
contain  lists  of    Aryan  roots,  of  sound- 
shif tings,  of    homonyms,    of    doublets, 
prefixes,  suffixes,  etc.       But  we  cannot 
at  present  take  up  more  space  with  an 
account   of    this    exceedingly    valuable 
work  of  Prof.  Skeat.       It  should,  how- 
ever, be  in  the  library  of  every  student 
of  the  languasre. 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


esi 


BEIC-A-BRAC. 


Do  you  know  of  St.  Giles-onthe-Greeii, 
Which  the  moon  gilds  with  bright  silver  sheen, 

Where  the  clock  from  the  towers 

Chimes  gladly  the  hours 
For  matins,  or  vespers  at  e'en  ? 

Do  you  know  of  its  tun-eted  towers, 
That  peep  from  their  green  shaded  bowers, 

And  the  ivy  that  climbs 

To  the  belfry,  that  chimes 
The  come  and  the  go  of  the  hours  ? 

Did  you  never  once  feel  the  desire 
To  kneel  in  the  transept  or  choir. 

Or  sit  still  and  gaze 

At  the  sun's  dying  rays 
That  gild  the  gray  cross  on  its  spire  ? 

We  will  go  when  the  bright  silver  sheen 
Of  the  moonbeams  shines  softly  at  e'en. 

Through  the  gloom  we  will  steal 

At  the  altar  we'll  kneel, 
And  we'll  pray  at  St.  Giles-on-the-Green. 


B.  W.  Roger-Tayler. 


King's  College, 
Windsor,  N.  S. 


I  wish  to  communicate  a  good  story 
of  the  late  Lord  Lynedoch.  The  old 
man  loved  a  good  Scotch  evening,  and 
used  to  get  his  parish  minister  to  sit  up 
with  him  drinking  toddy.  One  Satur- 
day night  they  sat  till  very  late.  The 
clergyman,  thinking  of  his  next  day's 
labours,  attempted  several  times  to  de- 
part but  was  always  restrained  by  the 
iuportunities  of  Lord  Lynedoch  and  his 
repeated  '  Anither  glass,  and  then — min- 
ister,' spoken  with  the  good  old  accent. 
Next  day  the  minister  grimly  set  the 
great  hour-glass  of  the  pulpit  conspicu- 
ously before  him,  lohile  His  Lordship, 
without  noticing,  went  off  to  sleep  and 
woke  at  the  usual  time  for  departure  ; 
what  was  his  surprise,  however,  when 
the  preacher  with  an  almost  impercept- 
ible twinkle  under  his  brows  said  gravely 
aad  slowly,  at  the  same  time  turning  the 
hour-glass  upside  down  :  '  Anither  glass, 
and  then—  my  laird.' — W.  D.  L. 

First  boy  in  the  class  stand  up,  '  What 
is  the  emblem  of  England,  Ireland,  and 
Scotland  1  '  The  Rose,  Shamrock,  and 
Thistle,  sir.'  Correct.    Second  boy  stand 


up—'  Who  would  fight  for  the  Rose  ? ' 
'  An  Englishman,  sir.'  Correct.  Third 
boy,stand  up — '  Who  would  fight  for  the 
Shamrock  V  'An  Irishman,  sir.'  Cor- 
rect. Next  boy—'  Who  would  fight  for 
the  Thistle  ? '   Bouldie  M'Cravfs  Oaddie, 


Scene — A  tailor's  shop.  Customer  : 
'  Mun,  George,  ye've  made  this  waist- 
coat o'  mine  far  ower  wide.'  Tailor  : 
'  Weel,  Tammas,  efter  the  dinner  I  saw 
ye  tak'  tither  day  I  thocht  ye  wud  sin 
requiie  it  a'.' 

Another  poet  comes  forward  and  says, 
'  And  I  hear  the  hiss  of  a  scorching  kiss.' 
Some  evening  her  father  will  come  in, 
and  the  poet  will  hear  the  click  of  a 
scorching  kick,  but  he  will  fail  to  record 
the  fact  in  verse. 

A  woman  accidentally  went  to  church 
with  two  bonnets  on  her  head — one  stuck 
inside  the  other — and  the  other  women 
in  the  congregation  almost  died  of  envy. 
They  thought  it  was  a  new  kind  of  bon- 
net, and  too  sweet  for  anything. 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Dunlop  parish, 
in  Ayrshire,  that  one  morning  long  ago, 
in  the  gray  dawn,  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Brown  was  walking  over  Dunlop  Hill 
when  he  was  svirprised  to  see  the  deil  in 
the  form  of  a  headless  horse  galloping 
round  him.  Instantly  he  fell  on  his 
knees  and  prayed  fervently,  when  Nick, 
uttering  an  unearthly  '  nicher,'  which 
made  the  ground  tremble,  vanished  in  a 
'  flaucht  o'  tire.' 

A  Highland  man  residing  in  Glasgow 
was  called  upon  by  an  acquaintance  who 
had  been  a  short  time  in  England,  and 
who  had  returned  to  Glasgow  in  search 
of  employment.  The  Highlander  refer- 
red to  gave  his  old  friend  a  warm  wel- 
come, and  in  order  to  show  how  willing 
he  was  to  give  him  sleeping  accommoda- 
tion said—*  Yes,  Mr.  Macpherson,  I  wid 
poot  raysel'  far  more  aboot  for  you  than 
I  wid  for  any  of  my  own  relashiuns  ;  and 
mind  you  this  (he  added),  I'm  just  one 
of  those  men  who  wid  poot  mysel'  aboot 
for  no  mortal  man  whateffer  ! ' 


()oS 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


'  Are  yon  dry,  Pat  ? '  was  a  question 
asked  under  the  broiling  sun  in  the 
Royal  Show  Yard  at  Derby  last  month  : 
'  are  ye  dry  ? '  '  Dry's  not  the  word  ; 
shake  me,  and  ye'll  see  the  dust  comin' 
out  o'  me  mouth. ' 

Conversation  is  a  serious  thing  with 
some  people.  One  of  this  kind  on 
board  a  train  was  asked  a  very  simple 
question  by  a  fellow-passenger.  She 
made  a  deprecating  gesture,  and  replied, 
'  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  I  am  only  going 
to  the  next  station,  and  it's  not  worth 
while  to  begin  a  conversation.' 

A  Good  Substitute. — Scene — Church 
door— Antient(to  enquiring  parishioner): 
'  Wis't  the  beadle  ye  were  waitin'  to 
see  ? '  Enquiring  Parishioneer  :  '  Aye, 
it  wis  jist  him  I  wanted.'  Antient  : 
'  Man,  he's  away  for  his  holidays  the 
noo,  but  the  minister  has  promised  to 
dae  his  wark  for  him  the  time  he's  aff.' 

'  Mother,'  said  a  fair-haired  urchin, 
'  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Sunday-school  ; 
I  want  to  go  fishin'.'  '  But  the  fish 
won't  bite  on  Sunday,  my  son.  Tliey're 
good,  and  go  to  their  Sunday -School.' 
'  Well,'  responded  the  probable  future 
president,  '  I'll  risk  it  anyway  ;  may 
be  there's  some  that's  like  me.' 

An  old  gentleman,  finding  a  couple  of 
his  nieces  fencing  with  broomsticks, 
said,  '  Come  come,  my  dears,  that  kind 
of  accomplishment  will  not  help  you  to 
get  husbands.'  'I  know  it,  iincle,' 
responded  one  of  the  girls  as  she  gave  a 
lunge  ;  '  but  it  will  help  us  to  keep 
our  husbands  in  order  when  we  have 
'em.' 

Some  years  ago  a  clergymen,  walking 
in  the  churchyard  at  Alloway,  remarked 
to  the  grave-digger,  who  was  in  the  act 
of  making  a  grave  : — '  Yours  is  an  un- 
pleasant avocation  ;  no  doubt  your  heart 
is  often  sore  when  you  are  engaged  in 
it.'  The  sexton  looked  up  and  pawkily 
replied,  '  Ou,  ay,  sir,  it's  unco  sair 
wark,  and  wee  pay.' 

Let  us  do  our  duty  in  our  shop  or  in 
our  kitchen,  the  market,  the  street,  the 
office,  the  school,  the  home,  just  as 
faithfully  as  if  we  stood  in  the  front  of 
some  great  battle,  and  knew  that  victory 
for  mankind  depended  on  our  bravery, 
strength  and  skill.  When  we  do  that, 
the  humblest  of  us  will  be  serving  in  the 
great  army  which  achieves  the  welfare 
of  the  world. 


I  A  young  man  recently  called  at  a 
little  domicile  in  Vicksburg.  A  small 
boy  and  a  big  yellow  dog  were  snuggled 
on  the  doorstep,  and  the  young  man 
asked,  'Will  the  dog  bite'/'  'Veil,' 
said  the  boy,  '  it's  owiti  to  certain  thinofs 
ef  he  do  or  not.  Ef  yer  want  to  colleck 
sewing-machine  money,  he's  fierce  as  a 
tiger,  but  ef  yer  got  anything  to  give  us, 
he's  harmless  as  a  kitten — ain't  yer, 
Towser?  ' 

An  important  divine  was  preaching  a 
sermon   of   scraps  to  a  congregation  of 
country  people.   At  the  end  of  each  par- 
agraph an  old  man  in  the  audience  would 
quietly  remark,  '  That's  Boston, or  that's 
Rutherford,    or   that's     Doddi-idge,    or 
that's   Baxter,'    as   the  case  might    be. 
At  last  the  minister   lost   his  patience, 
and  cried,    '  Tak'  the  fule  body  out  !  ' 
'  Ay,   that's  his  ain  i  the  hinner  en'  ony 
way,'  said  the  old  man,  and  withdrew. 
A  worthy  curate  in   a   country    town 
recently     welcomed    home    a    younger 
sister,  who  was  to  act  as  his  housekeeper. 
She  had  come  fresh  from  the  polite  so- 
ciety of  a  genteel   watering-place.     Her 
first  meal  in  his  house  was  of    '  the  cup 
that   cheers    but   not   inebriates.'     The 
good  man  proceeded,    as  usvial,   to  say 
the     simple    '  grace  before  meat,'    and 
was  startled,  if  not  edified,  by  his  sister's 
remark  :     '  Don't    do    that    any  more, 
John  ;  it's  not  fashionable  at  tea-time.' 
Some  years  ago,  when  a  new  I'ailroad 
was  opening  in  the  Highlands,  a  High- 
lander heard  of  it,    and  bought  a  ticket 
for  the  first  excursion.     The  train  was 
about  half  the  distance  when  a  collision 
took  place,  and  poor  Donald  was  thrown 
unceremoniously  into  an  adjacent  park. 
After  recovering  his  senses  he  made  the 
best  of  his  way  home,  when  the  neigh- 
bours   asked    him    how    he    liked    his 
drive.      '  Oh,'  replied  Donald,  '  I  liked 
it  fine  :  but  they  have   aa  awfu'  nasty 
quick  way  in  puttin'  ane  oot.' 

A  person  once  asked  John  Prentice, 
the  grave-digger,  if  he  considered  him- 
self at  liberty  to  pray  for  his  daily 
bread.  '  Dear  sake,  sir,'  he  answered, 
'  the  Lord's  prayer  tells  us  that,  ye 
ken.'  'Ay,  but,'  said  the  querist, 
'  do  you  think  you  can  do  that  con- 
sistently with  the  command  which  en- 
joins us  to  wish  no  evil  to  our  neigh- 
bours ? '  '  Dear  sake,  sirs,'  cried  John, 
rather  puzzled,  '  ye  ken  folk  maun  be 
buried  !  "  This  was  quite  natural^  and 
very  conclusive. 


BRIC-A-BRAC. 


A  man  cannot  smoke  his  cigar  too 
short  unless  he  smokes  it  too  long. 

How  is  it  that  the  dresses  ladies  want 
to  wear  out  are  mostly  worn  in-doors  ? 

If  there  be  no  enemy,  no  fight ;  if  no 
fight,  no  victory ;  if  no  victory,  no 
crown. 

A  man's  curiosity  never  reaches  the 
female  standard  until  some  one  tells  him 
that  his  name  was  in  yesterday's  paper. 

How  solemn  is  the  thought  that  the 
morning  of  each  day  presents  me  with  a 
blank  leaf,  which  I  have  to  fill  up  for 
eternity. 

It  is  wonderful  how  silent  a  man  can 
be  when  he  knows  his  cause  is  just,  and 
how  boisterous  he  becomes  when  he 
knows  he  is  in  the  wrong. 

Why  is  paper  money  more  valuable 
than  coin  ?  Because  \ou  double  it  when 
you  put  it  in  your  pocket,  and  when  you 
take  it  out  you  find  it  in-creases. 

A  robust  countryman,  meeting  a  phy- 
sician, ran  to  hide  behind  a  wall  ;  being 
asked  the  cause,  he  replied,  '  It  is  so 
long  since  I  have  been  sick  that  I  am 
ashamed  to  look  a  physician  in  the 
face. ' 

One  of  the  recent  electoral  jokes  at 
Edinburgh  was  the  publication  of  a  little 
volume  on  the  political  achievements  of 
a  noble  candidate.  The  reader,  on 
opening  it,  found  that  the  pages  were 
blank. 

A  clothier  has  excited  public  curiosity 
by  having  a  large  apple  painted  on  his 
sign.  When  asked  for  an  explanation, 
he  replied,  'If  it  hadn't  been  for  an 
apple  where  would  the  ready-made 
clothing  stores  be  to-day  ? ' 

It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  pass  through 
the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  young 
woman  in  fur-lined  silk  cloak  to  walk 
around  without  letting  it  fly  open  just  a 
little  to  show  that  the  fur  is  more  than 
mere  border. 

A  farmer  who  was  boasting  of  his  '  re- 
spect for  man  —  for  man  pure  and 
simple,'  was  nonplussed  by  his  wife's 
saying,  '  And  yet  you  always  count 
your  cattle  by  the  head,  while  your 
hired  servants  are  only  your  hands. ' 

A  little  fellow  lately  asked  his  parents 
to  take  him  to  church  with  them.  They 
said  he  must  wait  until  he  was  older. 
'  Well,'  was  his  shrewd  response, 
'  you'd  batter  take  me  now,  for  when  I 
get  bigger  I  may  not  want  to  go.' 


Co9 

The  man  who  paves  his  own  way  te 
fame  has  frequently  to  walk  over  a  rough 
and  rugged  road. 

The  proper  way  to  check  slander  is  to 
despise  it  ;  attempt  to  overtake  and  re- 
fute it,  and  it  will  outrui  you. 

'Mother,  send  me  for  the  doctor." 
'  Why,  my  son  ? '  '  Cause  that  mau 
in  the  parlour  is  going  to  die— he  said  he 
would  if  sister  Jane  would  not  marry 
him — and  sister  Jane  said  she  would 
not.' 

The  fancy  portrait  in  Punch  is  that  of 
\    the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  to  which  the  lines- 
are  appended  : — 

'  I'm  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 
■  My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute- 

Though  that  isn't  quite  what  they  say 
In  the  parts  about  Arrauand  Bute.' 

!  A  shoemaker  was  the  other  day  fitting 
j  a  customer  v/ith  a  pair  of  boots,  when 
I  the  buyer  observed  that  he  had  but  one 
j  objection  to  them,  which  was  that  the 
j  soles  were  a  little  too  thick.  '  If  that  is 
'  all,'  said  Crispin,  '  put  on  the  boots. 
and  the  objection  will  gradually  wear 
away. ' 

All  in  her  eye — Peggy  Johnston  (bar- 
gaining with  peddlar  for  a  pair  o'  specs): 
j  '  Na,  na,  they'll  nae  dae.'  Peddlar 
j  (after  half-a-doz^n  have  proved  unsuc- 
I  cessful,  hands  her  a  pair  without  glasses 
\  in  them):  'Try  thae,  my  woman.' 
;  Peggy  :  '  Xoo  ye've  fitted  me.  Thae's 
'    the  best  specs  ever  I  had  on.' 

Economical — Scene — Highlands.  Ten 
j  milas  from  a  post  oftice.  Betty  (who  has 
1  been  visiting  a  sick  relative),  to  nurse  : 
!  '  Weel,  ye'll  write  me  in  a  week  or  so, 
I  an'  lat  me  ken  if  she's  getting  ony  bet- 
ter.' IS'urse  :  '  A  will  dae  that  ;  an'  as 
!  A  hae  plenty  o'  time  A'll  jist  gang  an' 
dae't  e'en  noo,  for  it'-s  mony  a  time  a 
I  week  ere  we  get  a  chance  o"  r.nybody 
'    gain'  to  the  post-office  here.' 

Fact,  of  Covrse. — Scene — Cottage 
garden,  Sunday  morning ;  the  tenant 
is  busily  employed  in  securing  a  swarm 
of  bees  just  hived  from  his  neighbours 
garden — the  Free  Kirk  ministers. 
Enter  Minister  (excitedly)  :  '  These 
are  my  bees.'  Tenant:  'You  are  wel- 
come to  take  them. '  Minister  :  '  It's  a 
pity  that  bees  should  hive  on  Sunday. 
Very  annoying  indeed.'  Tenant :  '  You 
see,  sir,  they  are  Auld  Kirk  bees,  sir, 
an'  Auld  Kirk  bees  always  hive  when 
ready,  be  it  Sunday  or  Saturday.  If 
you  want  bees  no  tae  hive  on  Sundays, 
you  should  try  some  Free  Kirk  yins.' 


ANNOUNCEMENT. 


^PHE  publishers  of  The  Canadian  Monthly,  in  making  the  announcement 
-L  that  they  intend  for  a  time  to  suspend  the  publication,  do  not  relinquish 
•the  hope  that  the  magazine  will  yet  take  a  permanent,  as  it  has  taken  a 
prominent,  place  in  the  literature  of  Canada.  The  experiment  of  establishing 
and  maintaining  a  periodical  of  such  pretensions  as  The  Canadian  Monthly 
in  our  inchoate  state  as  a  nation,  and  in  the  face  of  the  active  and  ever-in- 
creasing competition  of  English  and  American  serial  publications,  it  will  be 
readily  admitted,  was  a  hazardous  and  courageous  one.  That  at  no  time  has 
the^publication  been  a  profitable  one,  but,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  mainten- 
ance of  the  magazine  has  demanded  a  large  and  continuous  outlay  which,  in  our 
limited  field  of  sale  and  the  indifierence  of  our  people  to  higher  literature,  has 
met  with  no  adequate  return,  those,  at  least,  who  have  had  any  experience  of 
publishing  ventures  in  Canada  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn.  In  view  of  this 
circumstance,  though  it  may  fairly  be  claimed  that  the  magazine  has  been  sus- 
tained long  enough  to  test  the  support  its  promoters  naturally  expected  it  would 
v-ceive,  the  public  ought  not  to  be  surpiised  should  its  owners  now  grow  weary 
of  maintaining  the  publication,  or  its  editor  lose  heart  in  the  task  of  conducting 
it,  while  the  support  is  withheld  which  its  character,  its  record,  and  its  aims 
should  more  largely  have  won  for  it. 

To  reproach  the  public  for  its  want  of  appreciation,  we  need  hardly  say, 
is  BO  wish  of  either  publishers  or  conductor.  The  public  has  its  preferences, 
and  has  a  right  to  them,  and  if  it  gives  little  heed  to  native  projects  in  higher 
literature,  or  finds  more  attraction  in  those  that  have  their  source  abroad, 
Canadian  publishers  must  accept  the  situation  and  await  the  development  of 
a  national  spii'it  more  favourable  to  culture  and  intellectual  advancement. 
Till  we  reach  the  self-containedness  and  self-dependence  which  it  is  to  be  hoped 
the  country  will  one  day  attain,  Canadian  literary  enterprise  will  have  little 
to  encourage  it.  Those  who  have  aided,  and  are  aiding,  the  approach  of  a 
better  time  for  Canadian  letters,  if  we  accept  Dr.  Johnson's  dictum 
that  *  the  chief  glory  of  a  people  arises  from  its  authors,'  deserve  the  thanks 
of  every  true  friend  of  Canada.  They  must  be  largely  supplemented,  how- 
ever, and  receive  more  encouragement  from  the  press  and  from  our  public 
men,  before  they  can  hope  to  infect  the  people  with  that  ardent  interest  in 
intellectual  growth  which  is  the  true  mark  of  national  greatness  and  the  best 
quickener  of  national  life.  Without  the  stimulus  of  patriotism  all  enterprises 
of  a  purely  literary  character  must  languish,  and  Canadian  talent  be  drafted  off 
to  more  remunerative  spheres. 

In  the  midst  of  the  present  political  excitements,  few,  it  may  be,  will  heed 
or  concern  themselves  with  this  announcement ;  but  a  day,  we  hope,  will  come 
when  '  the  political  game  '  will  not  absorb  every  thought  of  the  nation  and 
^vhen  literature  will  hold  up  its  head  in  honour.  Till  then  the  higher  thought 
of  the  country  must  find  such  channels  of  utterance  as  public  caprice  or  in- 
difference graciously  open  to  it,  and  Monthly  Reviews  must  uncomplainingly 
suffer  eclipse. 

The  Canadian  Mokthly  Ofl&ce, 
Toronto,  1st  June  1882. 


iJ